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It’s become a sort of a habit. When she did it for the first time, you got very flustered, overcome by a sort of tingly, fluttering excitement — and it isn’t any different now, except you’ve grown to expect it.
Every time you part for the evening she takes your hand into hers and presses a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. “Good evening, my lady,” she always says, and oh, if only she knew how giddy it makes you when she does that. “Good evening, Ser,” you respond, unable to contain the wide smile that appears on your face when she looks at you, lips on your hand, and genuine, innocent, puppy-like devotion in her eyes.
To anyone else, it would be obvious how deeply you feel for her, how much you want her to take you in her arms and kiss you. Anyone else would see the affection in your gaze when you smile at her — but it’s Brienne, and she has absolutely no clue.
She is content to walk you to your chambers every night, happy to offer you her arm as you stroll together, eager to give you her cloak when you’re cold, to serve you in any capacity she can, to truly treat you like a princess — and not just because you are one. Wonderful, kind, devoted Brienne — so very chivalrous and so completely oblivious.
You give her little hints, small signs you like her — you adjust the unruly strands of hair that fall on her forehead, touch her bicep way too often for it to be an accident, hug her any chance you get, ask her to take long strolls with you every evening, compliment her, smile at her, try to sit as seductively as you possibly can when you stop to rest on a little bench in the palace garden, crossing your legs and adjusting your dress so it shows a hint of the lovely curve of your breasts, sometimes even touching her knee with your hand.
Brienne doesn’t seem to understand any of that. Oh, she gets flustered, alright — but the dots don’t seem to connect for her as to why that is. It’s frustrating — but you could never be upset with her. You just don’t know how you could make it any more obvious.
You adore many things about Ser Brienne — her kindness, her idealism and her deep belief in knightly values, her reluctant, but genuine smiles, her devotion to you, her blue, blue eyes and her golden hair, her freckles, and the little scars on her face — but there is one thing never fails to make your heart beat faster, and it is her hands.
Her hands are calloused and rough, with long, thin fingers, and short and practical nails unlike your own long and manicured ones. They are strong and big, and your heart always beats faster when they touch you — which usually only happens when she takes your hand to kiss it when you part for the evening. There was also that one time when you bumped into the garden bench and almost fell — as you were in the middle of telling her a particularly exciting story — but she caught you with those strong arms of hers, and for the first time ever you felt her hands on your waist.
Ever since that night you are obsessed with her hands.
Tonight’s stroll is as lovely as always — perhaps even more so. The sun is starting to set later and later as winter shifts into spring, and it’s getting warmer outside — the smell of blooming magnolia trees fills the air, and their pink flowers look beautiful in the faint purple light of dusk. You and Brienne watch the sunset together.
Life couldn’t get any better. Except — maybe — if she kissed you.
“Tonight’s sunset is very beautiful,” Brienne says.
You look at her. “Yes, it is,” you say, gazing at her blue eyes. They look almost purple in this light. “Particularly so.”
“It might be because of the rain earlier today,” she muses.
You shift closer to her, your knee bumping into hers. She tenses up a little, but she doesn’t react in any other way, nor does she move away.
“It might be,” you respond.
You sit in silence for a little while, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the distant, blue mountains. You are very aware of how close she is to you, able to feel her body heat and her smell — armour leather and faint traces of soap.
You shift your gaze downwards, towards her hand resting on her knee. You speak before you can stop yourself.
“Would you mind giving me your hand, Ser?”
Brienne seems confused. “My hand?” she asks. “Of course, my lady, but what for?”
What for — the question is so very Brienne that you almost laugh. “I just want to see something,” you say.
You take her hand into your own, lifting it up, and she silently lets you. You examine her callouses, caress her palm, before lacing your fingers with hers in the air.
“They aren’t very pretty hands, I’m afraid,” she says apologetically, offering you a nervous smile.
“I like them.”
You place your palm against hers, comparing the size. Her fingers are so much longer, her palm so much bigger than yours.
“They’re rough and calloused,” she says.
“I like that too.”
“And too big,” she adds.
“I can see what your hands look like, Ser,” you say, smiling, “and my final judgement is that I like them very much.”
Brienne doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She opens her mouth, then closes it. You stay like that for a bit, palms against each other, still and silent in the purple dusk. The sun has almost set now.
Brienne is the first to speak. “It’s getting dark,” she says. “Would you like me to walk you to your chambers, my lady?”
“I would like that very much, my dear Ser.”
Reluctantly, you let go of her hand. She stands up first and helps you get up from the little bench. You are delighted to feel her hand on your own once again, but it lasts only until you are up and standing. She then offers you her arm — the next best thing — and you are happy to take it. You walk in pleasant silence, and you press yourself as close to her as you can, desperate to have her near you.
By the time you reach the grand door that leads to your chambers, the longing you feel for her is too much to bear. As much as you love it when she kisses your hand, you don’t think you can stand the same old dance tonight — you want more.
She moves to take your hand, starts to bow already, and you can feel the “good evening, my lady” on the tip of her tongue.
“Wait,” you say, and she waits.
Ever so slowly, you take her hand. You can’t bow to kiss it, as she is already so much taller than you, but you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss to her knuckles. You hold her gaze as you do it, excitement tingling in your belly.
She is visibly flustered. Her cheeks turn a lovely pink and she blinks rapidly. Her chest seems to be heaving just a tiny bit. Adoration sparkles in her eyes, mixed with reluctance and confusion, as if she expects you to somehow take the kiss back.
“I hope you will forgive my boldness, Ser — I simply couldn’t resist.”
You watch her blushing face in the dim light of the hallway. She looks at you, her big, blue eyes full of awe. Her voice is breathy when she speaks, almost a whisper.
“No one’s ever kissed my hand before.”
That’s enough to make you kiss her hand again. You look at her, searching for some sort of further reaction.
She makes no effort to retreat her hand, just stands there, looking at you like you’re something special — so you kiss her hand again, and then again, moving from her knuckles to her fingers, then turning it to plant a kiss on her pulse-point. She takes in a quiet, but sharp breath.
“I—” she starts.
“Yes?” you ask, then plant a kiss on a calloused spot on her palm.
“I forgot,” she manages to utter, “what I was about to say.”
“Then, my darling Ser, if there are no more things to say, perhaps you might take me in your arms and kiss me?” you ask, planting one last kiss on her fingers, grinning from ear to ear.
“I’ve never really done that before,” she whispers, eyes glued to your lips.
“It’s alright,” you say, “neither have I.”
You melt when you feel Brienne’s hands on your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself be supported by her strong arms as you get on the tips of your toes. Your knees feel weak and your heart beats fast and you feel slightly dizzy — but that’s nothing compared to when her lips touch yours.
You kiss in the dark hallway until your legs start to hurt from standing on your toes. You fall back onto your heels and Brienne grips your waist tighter, not letting you wobble — then leans down, bending her neck awkwardly, to plant one last kiss on your lips.
She still kisses your hand before she wishes you a good night. Of course she does — darling, chivalrous Brienne.
You can’t stop smiling as you watch her walk down the hallway, nor when you enter your chambers, nor when you get ready for bed, nor when you lie down to sleep.
There is never again a walk that passes without sweet kisses — be it hands or lips.