The captive is slumped against the wall as usual, fiddling with a pack of cards that he can't shuffle terribly well even when he isn't drugged to such languidness. When he hears an unfamiliar voice, Benedict leans forward to peer out of the cell, looking rather like most people would after having been imprisoned for several months with no sign of any imminent release.

In a way, he's the very picture of the purpose this dungeon used to serve. A mage, powerless, hopeless, and, at least as far as he knows, forgotten.
"I'm cold," he replies dully, bearing no particular friendliness for Anders. He'll just go away again too.