Elrond pays no attention to the din around them. He is stroking his wife's hair, whispering to her.

His fingers are leaving bloody marks on her skin and he wipes them as well as he can on the trampled grass, but cut on his shoulder is weeping and the blood runs down his arm.

She's not hurt. Elsewhere. So she can be moved. But he doesn't trusts his arms to lift her and so they stay on the ground, his body shielding hers.