By the time she had regained enough of her former strength to stand more than a week later, she had completely exasperated him. Whenever he tried to get any closer to her, or to get her to tell him her story, she always found a way to argue with him. But, despite never being able to see her hair, (for she not once removed the scarf in his presence,) he found her incredibly arousing. No woman had ever dared to stand up to him the way she did (on every opportunity provided, he might add!) no woman possessed the same inner strength she seemed to exude. She frustrated him, teased him, brushed him off and drove him mad with longing. He had begun to take his anger out on the courts of war, the training wardens looking on in awe as their March warden relieved himself of his tension and frustration by near shattering the stone wall surrounding the courts. He needed some answers.

It was her hair that intrigued him. He still had the small lock of hair, he kept it with him always, and would often take it out when he was alone, and stroke it absentmindedly. He wondered that if one small lock could have such a myriad of colours within it, for there were reds, coppers, gold, blondes, even a kiss of crimson, than her hair must be magnificent indeed. Never had he seen hair such a colour. But he could not understand why she would want to hide such beauty, not now she was safe.

It annoyed him, this utter lack of control of himself and his thoughts. This silent musing whenever his mind was not filled with thoughts of the fences. Somehow, his thoughts always returned to her. He was used to being in complete control of his feelings, and those around him. But when it came to her, his thoughts ran wild, driving him near mad with images of the hundreds of things he would like to do to her, once he finally had her in his arms. Of her smiling at him, of her laughing. He had never once heard her laugh, not in all the time she had spent in Lorien. He knew he had to have her, even if it were only to stave himself of his own torment. But he knew for him it ran far deeper than that.

She was slowly beginning to talk to him, for he was the only one whose presence she seemed to vaguely tolerate,(apart from the Lady Galadriel, but she would not go near the Silver Lord) and by vaguely tolerate, he thought to himself wryly, he meant aggravated him by her evasiveness and showed him no semblance of respect whatsoever. He wasn't used to that either.

But no matter how close they seemed to be at times, for he could not deny he valued the thin semblance of her friendship, she seemed to build walls high around herself, to protect herself, seemingly from him. And it near destroyed him, to see the pain that she had suffered eat away at her, that despite her efforts to keep hidden, was always present behind her dual coloured eyes.