Lothlorien was not a land that often took in travelers but, when they did, they always had the same look about them: bone-weary, road-worn, and more likely injured than not. The party of soldiers that returned to the Keep this day were that same sort of traveler. They each looked harried and exhausted, their clothing matted and muddy, their expressions drawn, and while she had no particular love of the Inquisition (at least not of late), Galadriel was courteous to a fault.

She debated the merits of assisting them, or what might be done, but it wasn't long before she made up her mind.

In the end, she decided that she would offer to take the mounts of those who had returned. To brush and dress them while the scouts saw to themselves and their own comforts. It was a courtesy that didn't grate upon her and one that she could offer with ease. She had never met the horses but, muddied and windblown as they were, it took only a few gentle phrases in Sindarin before the creatures happily followed after her. She collected them, one by one, until she came to Blackwall and his own.

"I shall take him, if you like," she offered without prompt and motioned to his steed. "I am fond of horses and, I expect, you might relish a moment to rest after traveling such a long road?"