He watched her as she strung her impressive bow; a weapon that had taken down many of his own forces, before she became one of them. She'd toss her pauldrons into her tent only a few moments before, pushed her hood down, while she focused on her task, so her pale yellow hair caught in the breeze. The wind played with it, brushed it back over a bare shoulder.
Summoned from the depths of his memory, conjured by the sight before him, Aedelas Blackmoore's voice ran through his mind. You'll have one like that, soon enough, lad. The thought made him smile, a cold, knife-edged expression. As if on cue, the object of his scrutiny lifted her gaze, locked red eyes on his.
This was no meek servant girl, with bruises on her throat and her eyes downcast. This creature had fought him all the way. Even now he could see the fire in her eyes, as she stared at him, across the distance of the camp. She obeyed, because she must, but the wild, willful heart remained. He didn't mind. Her resistance made things far more interesting. He liked the way she'd challenge and fought him. Quick surrender, while often useful, could be so boring. Working for victory was so much more satisfying than having it handed to you.
So the first stage of battle played on for a long stretch of minutes. She was so still, unblinking, under the onslaught of his steady attention. Her chin held up, mouth set in a firm line. She gave him nothing, until he inclined his head just slightly, to convey his growing amusement. That was enough. She stood, as regal as any queen, turned her back to him, and moved into her tent.
He didn't hold back the rumbling chuckle as strode forward. Stubborn as she was, she was smart enough to know when she was beaten. It always just took her a while to get there. He had time, in endless supply. And he intended to fill it, in any way he saw fit.
"To fair-haired girls, indeed."