His hand settles on her arm, the nearest point of contact, and Galadriel does nothing to discourage it. Once the door is closed, she moves closer to him, far closer than they would stand in public, and returns the gesture, settling her hands at his elbows and drawing him near. Her expression is easy, but his is not.

He is troubled, hounded by something, and it draws a well of concern within her.

"You have come to visit me," she says, a kinder observation than the state of him. "How unusual, but nowhere near unwelcome.

"Do you have need of me, melda nin?"