“You know, most are wise enough to ask permission before entering my chamber.” She murmured drowsily, refusing to turn over, eyes still shut against the predawn light that she knew would soon shine through the gaps in the shutters. The dwarven woman wasn’t exactly comfortable with Benoît at her back, but she had never once given indication of such. Admitting uneasiness was offering him power she was unwilling to cede; every interaction between them was a complex match of wills, a struggle for something akin to dominance that neither quite achieved. Besides, they both knew well enough what he had done, and Tamar at least was unwilling to revisit that hurt without provocation.
“Wisdom takes the fun out of a lot of things, mon cheri.” There was a purr in his voice that sent thrills down her spine. His hand at her waist was warm as it slid beneath the folds of her nightshirt. He pressed in against her. When he spoke again, his lips ghosted against her ear. “Come here.”
“Hmm.” Noncommittal at best. Tamar did not move. She let him spend a moment, reacquainting herself to his scent and his touch, before saying, “You should have written ahead. I’m afraid I’m too busy for games today.” She did not apologize. She was not sorry.
He continued to press himself close to her, holding her insistently. She stiffened.
“…are you naked?” He chuckled, and she could hear the shameless grin he wore.
Tamar twisted, wary of whether he was still wearing his hook and pushing him so that he lay flat on his back with her own mass pinning him to her mattress, taking full advantage of her greater strength. “You’re impossible.” She was trying to frown, but only partially succeeding. The expression on his face was undeniably charming. Benoît was doing his best to disarm her, and she knew it. She also knew that she was probably going to let him.
“I have meetings this morning, with the Banns.” She said. He grinned savagely.
“You may go to them. Lord over your subjects, as is your right as Arlessa.” He had not released his hold on her waist, and as he spoke his hand traveled mischievously. “When you return, I shall do the lording.”
“We’ll see.” Tamar replied, reaching to arrest his wrist. “And it’s ‘Commander’.” The correction was a terse one. ‘Arlessa’ made her think of fat old deshyrs, rotting away in council meetings at the foot of Orzammar’s throne. Tamar Aeducan was the Commander of the Grey. Running her Arling was of secondary importance.
"Try not to miss me too desperately while I'm away, Captain." She added, as a more gentle afterthought. She let her lips drop to caress his almost tenderly before quitting the bed herself, pulling her nightshirt over her head as she went without shame. There was nothing of her person he had not yet explored, and thoroughly. Based on his appearance in her bed, it was an adventure he wished to repeat. If she were entirely honest, she received a certain amount of satisfaction at the thought. It was true that the pirate captain vexed and frustrated her. It was also true that he fascinated her. It was an assuredly unwise match, but she found herself caring little for wisdom in this case. Her person was her own to risk, and if it was the curse of all Grey Wardens to die young, she had no intentions of missing out on this thrill. It was the one luxury she would allow herself.
Benoît was her favorite and only distraction.
