Elrond cannot seem to relax his grip on the sword yet; the lines of his body are still tense. He glances at Thranduil. "This is no truce, but we are unprepared." His encounter in the hallway is enough proof of that. His gaze is drawn in the direction Morgoth had gone, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. For all that there are more stories than can be counted about Morgoth, they know very little about his actual personality -- beyond his being filled with hatred and malice. These last few minutes might give them some much-needed insight.

He turns his attention to Galadriel, knowing full well that she was rattled -- as much as or more so than he. "It would have been the second blow," he admits. (But he does not admit that he tried once or twice and was handily pinned.) "I am all right," he tells her, voice still hard. Not unhurt -- his neck is aching and his jaw is stiffening -- but standing. It's good enough and more than he expected.