Lonely Ghosts Come Calling by Elrond's Library  

Caranthir lay on the cold ground of Menegroth, gasping, when he heard it. Her.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, calm, soothing.

He sobbed.

The arrow had punched through his armor, embedded itself with gleeful abandon in his ribs. He could feel the trickle of blood in his lungs, slowly drowning him in his own fluids. He could feel the space between his guts burning, stomach acid slowly eating him back.

And above all, the pain. Raw, unfiltered, awful. All consuming. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

He opened his eyes, bleary with tears. Caranthir expected to see nothing, or the ceiling of the cave he had fallen in, but no, no, there she was.

“Haleth,” he whispered.

Ghostly hands brushed over his lips, sending them tingling and then numb. “Hush, husband mine. It’ll be okay.”

“Faithful to you,” he grunted, ignoring her sage advice as usual. It was important that he told her. She had to know. “Loved you, every day.”

“I know,” Haleth smiled, sunny sweet and full of joy. “I saw. I was with you every step of the way.”

“Son,” he gasped. “Safe.”

She hummed, her smile comforting. “Erestor will be okay. You did all you could. Rest. Relax. The pain will end soon.”

Caranthir was dying. He was dying alone, or not entirely alone perhaps, and all he could do was cry.

“Hush, husband mine,” Haleth whispered again. “Let go.”

“Mandos won’t take me,” Caranthir groaned.

Haleth, far above him, pressed her forehead against his. “I’ll take you to Mandos. I’ll take care of you. It will be okay. Just let go.”

“Love you. Missed you.”

She kissed his lips, gentle and sweet.

Caranthir let go.

As always, she was there to catch him.

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