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The commander ascended the stairs with relief as the chorus of laughter and chatter faded behind him.
He was exhausted. He hated boats, and he felt useless after today's events. While the others drunkenly reveled in their victory, he felt his temper shorten as the evening drew on. They were simply to be transported across The Waking Sea when they were attacked. He and his recruits weren't trained for nautical combat, not like the Inquisitor was.
She was incredible. After the ship's ranking officials were slain, she didn't hesitate. She barked out orders left and right, flinging herself into action as she unraveled masts with Cassandra and The Iron Bull. She steered the ship with it's massive wheel, her muscular arms rippling with strain as she maneuvered the vessel in a way that made his stomach churn.
He recalled a past conversation with her where she mentioned being of a sea-faring clan, a fact that she proved today. She was grinning wildly throughout the entire encounter, her curls soaked to the sides of her head when he, nearly in a panic, composed himself enough to approach and ask for her orders.
She had narrowed her eyes at him, making his neck stiffen as she looked him up and down, the ship rolling back and forth. She smiled and over the crashing waves roared:
"You and the soldiers, remove your armor! There's no saving you if you go overboard!" With that, she was whisked away by the sound of Dorian calling for her.
He shook his head in embarrassment, heat rising up his neck. Surely she saw how feeble he was--
His thought was interrupted as he reached the top of the stairs. Under the stars, sitting on the railing of the ship, sat the Inquisitor herself. She was dressed simply, her coarse curls dried and fluffy from the salty water. Her brown skin glimmered in the moonlight, and her eyes gazed across the expanse of water with a distant look. His breath hitched as he stared dumbly.
Maker, she was beautiful.
