Duncan Theirin - Dragon Age (Patreon)

Enjoy this picture of one of my partner's OCs, with this lovely bit of writing she wrote to accompany it. :)

 

He had gone into the ball tonight expecting it to be like all the others. He would endure the masses of giggling girls, the nobles not-so-subtly introducing their daughters, the stares and excited whispers if he so happened to look at an eligible maiden. Ever since he had come of age, every ball had been the same. Crown Prince Duncan, son of the great King Alistair and next in line to the throne of Ferelden was eligible, and practically every maiden from every noble family in Thedas wanted to win his love. His parents had both assured him that there was no rush to find a bride – he was still young, there was still time. His father in particular had stressed the importance of love in a marriage; without the love and support of his wife, he had said, the crown would have been too heavy a burden to bear. But his parents weren’t the court. The nobility wanted an eligible match for their crown prince, and they wanted it now. They were voracious for news, for gossip and drama, and Duncan shared his parents’ distaste for the whole spectacle.

But tonight had been a different story. The Nevarran Embassy was visiting, and amongst them were several Pentaghasts, of varying proximities to the throne. Duncan had heard of the beauty of the Pentaghast women and he had to admit, the rumours were not far from the truth. But one of them in particular was simply . . . radiant. Tall and slender, with glossy dark hair and melancholy brown eyes. Their gazes first met over dinner, and that split second was enough for something to pass between them. Duncan had spent the rest of the meal in silence, his heart hammering in his chest. When the tables were cleared and the music began, he slipped away into the library to collect his thoughts as the crowd of maidens began to descend.

A stack of books toppled over, making him jump out of his skin. He hurried over to the site of the accident, and there she was.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I was just -”
“No no, it happens all the time. My parents are trying to expand the library, and right now there aren’t enough shelves for all the books – this place is an accident waiting to happen.”
“I wish my family would expand our library. It’s all about Nevarra. It’s as if they try to forget that other countries even exist.” she said seriously.
Duncan chuckled.
“My father didn’t want anything about Orlais, even with the treaty in effect. Mother insisted though, said we should learn all we could about our fellow nations. And now my youngest sister loves Orlesian theatre and my father is deeply unimpressed.”
“Oh, Orlesian plays are so confusing! My aunt took me to one last summer and I swear, I didn’t know what on earth was happening from start to finish. The masks were pretty though.”
“I don’t know what’s happening either. I swear Wynne is just pretending that she knows.”
They shared a laugh.

“I’m Duncan.” he offered shyly.
“Yes, I know.” she smiled. “I’m Magdalena Pentaghast, but everybody calls me Mags.”
“Mags.” Duncan repeated in a low voice, committing it to memory.
“So what brings you in here?” she asked, running her fingers along the leather spines of the books.
“Avoiding the crowd.” he said honestly. “You?”
“The same. I almost stayed at home, but my sister insisted I accompany her on this trip. Pursuing her latest obsession.”
“Oh?”
“You.”
“. . . ah.”
Duncan froze, his eyes wide, feeling like a deer staring at a drawn bow.
“Well, your throne. My sister dreams of being a queen; I don’t think she much cares about how she gets there.”
“They all do.” said Duncan, sighing. “They look at me and they see a crown waiting for them. I don’t think they consider the person.”
“It must be hard.” she said sympathetically. “I’m not close enough in line to be looked at that way; I’ll probably be married off to some nobleman in exchange for a few troops and perhaps a vineyard.”
“Better be a damn nice vineyard.” said Duncan, and she laughed.

They spent an hour or so hidden amongst the books, talking about anything and everything. Duncan felt as though he already knew this woman, and some sort of excited eagerness for her approval was awoken within him. She was gorgeous and sweet, kind and intelligent, and she was just like him in a lot of ways, from the ‘vibrant’ siblings to the solemn duty that came with bearing a royal name.

Finally, their conversation was interrupted as a third person bearing a candle rounded the corner into the small alcove where they sat talking.
Duncan needed barely a glance at the shining auburn hair and intelligent green eyes to discern who it was.
“Hello, Mother.” he sighed, a child caught playing hooky from class.
“Come on, children.” she said. “I’ve a hard enough job keeping the King from sneaking off, I can’t be rounding you up too.”
The two youths stood.
“Mother, this is Magdalena Pentaghast.” said Duncan. “Mags, this is my mother, Queen Laena.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” said Laena, a warm smile lighting up her features.
“Likewise.” said Mags. “It’s an honour.”
Laena shot her son a knowing smile when Mags wasn’t looking, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I must go and find my sister.” said Mags, once the three had returned to the Great Hall. “I will see you later?”
“Yeah, absolutely, later.” said Duncan, and she flitted off.
Beside him, Laena chuckled.
“What?” he asked her, confused.
Her response was just to pinch her son’s cheek and kiss his forehead before hurrying back to her husband’s side, presumably to tell him what had just occurred.

The night passed, the ball wound up, and everybody went their separate ways. Duncan was in his room getting ready for bed and thinking of the woman he had met tonight when his soldier jumped to attention. He tried to ignore it and get on with things, but it stubbornly would not be ignored.
Fuck. Shit. Was the door bolted? Yes. Last thing he needed was one of his parents or sisters to barge in on him like this. He hissed through his teeth as he wrapped his hand around his aching cock, his eyes drifting closed as images swam before him. Mags’ eyes, dark and soulful. Her lips, full and soft-looking. The curves of her body, visible through the tight fabric of her dress. Her sister had insisted she wear it, and right now he could not be more grateful to the unknown woman. He imagined Mags in his arms, kissing her, touching her. He wanted – oh, how he wanted -

He finished abruptly, leaning against his four-poster bed, he burst and spilt forward, making a mess over the sheets and floor alike.
Maker, was he in trouble.

Stripping off his old sheets, he used them to wipe the mess from the floor, fetching new ones from his closet. Mentally he made a note to ask his mother how to begin traditional courtship. He could almost hear her delighted squeal. He was glad his parents had told him to wait.