Well now they're best friends. Benedict smiles, emboldened by her obvious dislike of Templars.
"Would you?" He shifts from where he's sitting, making his way through the water (his waist and below still submerged, of course) until he's next to Galadriel, his wrists held out to her. "What kind of elf are you, anyway?" She's no Circle mage, that's for certain, and she doesn't have the lines on her face like the savage Dalish.