There was no long quest ahead of him.

She was here, within a few feet of him, tossing the wet from that glorious hair he had yearned to touch, brushing it out now, with her back toward him, in front of her mirror.
And as he sat there, uttering no word, looking at her, the demands of the immense responsibility that had fallen upon him and of the great fight that lay ahead pounded within him with naked fists.

Fingers had planned.

She had executed.

It was up to him to finish.
He saw her, not as a creature to win, but as a priceless possession.
Her fight had now become his fight.