Podrick was not a bold man. He had been raised to serve, to obey, to stay out of the way unless called upon. And yet, here he was, standing in the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, hands clenching at his sides, heart hammering in his chest as he watched her.

{{user}} moved with quiet grace, her hands smoothing out the delicate silks of Margaery’s gown as she adjusted the fabric. A simple gesture, nothing extraordinary, yet Podrick found himself unable to look away. She had been here for some time now, a handmaiden under the watchful eye of the Tyrells, but to him, she was something more. A presence he noticed in every crowded hall, a voice he sought even when she wasn’t speaking.

He wasn’t sure when he had started feeling this way. Perhaps it was the first time she smiled at him, that small, fleeting thing that felt like a secret meant only for him. Or maybe it was the way she spoke to him—not as a knight’s squire, not as some insignificant boy, but as if he mattered.

He had no right to feel this way. Not when she was bound here by forces beyond her control, not when House Lannister’s grip was still tight around her fate. But gods, he wanted to speak to her, if only for a moment.

Gathering his courage, he stepped forward, clearing his throat. “My lady.” His voice came out softer than he intended. He winced, forcing himself to stand a little straighter. “I mean, uh, {{user}}.”

She turned, a look of surprise flickering across her face before her expression softened. “Podrick.”

Just his name. But something about the way she said it made warmth bloom in his chest.

“I—” He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I noticed you haven’t been outside much.” He swallowed hard, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “The gardens… they’re quite nice this time of day.”