𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒕
"The storm howls, but the real electricity is trapped behind canvas."
☆ Listening to "Beyond" by Leon Bridges while writing this. ☆
Pairing: Ser Duncan the Tall x fem reader (18+).
Warnings: none.
Synopsis: he returns to the tent soaked and wounded.
Author's note: I finally wrote something for him too, maybe the next one will be with Cregan again hihihi. There will most likely be a part 2! I hope you like it!
The reader is of legal age (I will never write for underage readers, only 18 and up).
Minors must not interact (MDNI).
If you want to make any requests, feel free to do so!
English is not my native language so I ask you to have a little tolerance :)
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The storm shows no sign of letting up, and the cold wind whistles furiously, weaving through the cracks in the tent and sending a shiver down your spine. In the center, the flames of the fire dance lazily, casting long, flickering shadows on the canvas walls.
That soft crackle creates an intimate refuge, a suspended nest that isolates you from the chill and darkness of the night. You move closer to the brazier, reaching out to capture its amber glow "Cold, huh?" a deep voice breaks the silence, startling you. You whirl around.
It's him, Duncan. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel your cheeks on fire; you find yourself smiling at him, unable to compose yourself "Oh, yes... quite a bit." you reply impulsively, quickly withdrawing your hands to hide them in the folds of your robe.
He's soaked, head to toe. He's stayed out late practicing for the upcoming tournament, and you can't help but feel a pang of pity. You hear his still-ragged breathing as he heads for the nearest table "I better get all this off my back, or I'll get sick... and that's really not the point." he murmurs.
At those words, the blush on your face deepens. He's such a disarmingly handsome boy, and the intimacy of that tent makes everything more intense. You jump up, shaking out your skirt with shaking hands "Do... do you need help?" you ask in a feeble voice.
As you wait for his answer, your mind wanders to your first meeting. Being the daughter of a humble farmer from the nearby village, he had sent you there as a helper for the days of the great tournament, and that was the least you could do.
You still remember how your legs shook when you saw him arrive on horseback, followed by a child you'd guessed was his squire. You'd stepped forward with your head down "Do you need help?" you'd asked, leaning in a little closer to get a better look.
"Oh, yes, thank you. Very kind" he'd replied, with his usual awkward manner and a small smile that had won you over. You'd nodded and disappeared, leaving him there for a few minutes before returning to say "Follow me." and he'd followed you into this tent.
Since then, you'd been his servant, but Duncan had never treated you like one. He spoke to you as an equal, worried about your well-being, asked if you needed anything. It was the first time anyone had treated you this way, and you were deeply surprised.
"No, don't worry. Thank you" he said now, giving you another of those smiles that took your breath away. Unable to meet his gaze, you turn your back out of politeness, but he notices "Oh, there's no need." he murmurs, starting to undress.
You feel him struggling against the buckles of his chest piece, his fingers numb from the cold. The wet leather resists, but with a firm tug, Duncan manages to undo it. He lifts the metal plate over his head, releasing a trail of icy water that trickles down his neck, and drops it to the floor with a dull thud.
The padded tunic, soaked like a sponge, has stuck to his skin. He writhes, crosses his arms, and yanks it up forcefully, peeling it away from his body. He tosses it into a corner, leaving him shirtless. A slight shiver shakes his shoulders, but he finally seems to breathe deeply.
That's when you see it. A gash opens on his chest, a wound from which a trickle of dark blood drips down to his waist. It's not deep, but it's still ugly. Your breath catches in your throat. You take a step toward him, your gaze wide with concern.
"I-I didn't see that..." you say in a trembling voice, placing a hand beside the wound. You look into his eyes, panic taking over "Let me help you, please." Duncan stares at you for a moment, surprised by such urgency, then tries to play it down.
"It's nothing, really..." he smiles at you, but you know you instantly worry about even the smallest cut, and you just can't help but help him. You begin to move frantically around the tent, looking everywhere for something to cover and clean the wound.
"Here!" you exclaim, retrieving a long strip of white linen that you washed and cleaned that very morning "This should be fine" you whisper, walking back to him with quick steps "Sit down and stay still." surprisingly, he obeys your command. You stare at him for a split second before dipping the cloth into a nearby glass filled with wine.
"I know, it’s not great... but this is all we have" you say, feeling your cheeks burn as you squeeze the cloth. You move closer and place the cloth over the wound, trying to be gentle.
Duncan doesn’t let out a single moan so as not to scare you, but you notice his fists curling into his knees until his knuckles are white, and his chest muscles tense from the burning "Sorry..." you whisper, moving the cloth slightly to clean the cut "I’m almost done, just a second."
After about half a minute, you walk around him and slide the bandage around his torso, tying the two ends at the back in a tight little knot. You return to him "How was it?" you ask, meeting his gaze. Duncan raises his eyes to yours and flashes a funny smile.
"Well, not bad, I must say" he starts to stand up, but you immediately stop him, planting a hand on his shoulder "No, no, no you're not moving from here, okay?" you look at him with a firm gaze, pointing a finger at him "Just wait a moment."
The wind outside continues to whip, but the air between you has now suddenly become thick, warm, almost electric. Your hand on his shoulder feels every single vibration of his breath. Duncan doesn't move. He sits there, his gaze fixed on yours, that half-smile slowly fading into something much deeper.
"Just a moment, huh?" he repeats in a lower voice, almost a whisper vibrating in your chest. You only now realize how close you are to him. The heat of the fire behind you envelops you, and the smell of rain on his skin mixes with the tartness of the wine.
The skin on his shoulder is goose-chill from the cold, but it burns where you touch it. The muscles of his torso, sculpted by hours of training, rise and fall rhythmically. A sudden sense of embarrassment takes your breath away. You start to pull your hand back, frightened by your boldness, but Duncan is faster.
His hand, large, warm, and rough, rises and grasps your wrist. His touch is gentle but firm. He doesn't squeeze, he simply holds you, pinning your fingers just inches from his face. The contrast between your skin and his, marked by the sun and fatigue, makes your heart beat twice as fast.
"Don't run away" he murmurs, his eyes sliding from your lips until they meet your gaze again "You were so determined a moment ago." the blush that had previously barely touched your cheeks now spreads down your neck, reaching below the neckline of your dress.
You try to formulate a coherent sentence, to act like a sensible servant, but the closeness of his body erases all thought "I... I just wanted to make sure you were okay." you find the courage to whisper, your gaze inevitably falling on the white linen sash swathed around his chest, just above his heart.
Duncan tugs gently on your wrist, forcing you to take a step forward until your knees brush his. Now you're forced to lean slightly closer to him. You can feel the heat emanating from him, the masculine, primal scent that makes your head spin.
"But i told you that I'm fine" he whispers, and his free hand slowly moves up your arm, leaving a trail of fiery shivers on the light fabric of your sleeve. His fingers rest at the nape of your neck, brushing the strands of hair that the wind has ruffled.
"You're shivering... and I don't think it's from the cold of the night." His thumb caresses the line of your jaw, lifting your face slightly. You feel Duncan's warm breath on your lips, a silent invitation that collapses any remaining distance in the tent.
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