Even as she turned, ripping the blood-soaked hair from her face, Tavari saw.

Celegorm was
falling, pierced by Diors blade, his fair face contorted in agony. And, from behind, a roar of
rage reached above the din of battle. Caranthir was running, sword upraised, his ruddy face
fearsome and terrible to behold, towards Diors unprotected back. Others saw, and reacted,
but Tavari was the faster. She did not pause to consider the options. She did not even think.
In a movement ingrained so deeply that even the horror and dread of what she must do
could not halt its inexorable performance, she pulled a gold-fletched arrow from her
quiver, nocked the shaft, and drew. For a split second the arrowhead wavered as she
followed Caranthirs charge, but then her fingers released and the shaft hissed away. Far
across the cave, the King-that-was of Thargelion jerked in midstride and fell to his knees.
Then, slowly he crumpled back to the ground.

Heedless of the battle raging around her, Tavari ran, leaping bodies and dodging blows, her
whole world centered on one feebly twitching form, from whose chest sprouted a gold-
fletched arrow. She fell to her knees at Caranthirs side, blinded by sudden tears; her hand
went to his forehead, fingers thrust into the dark mass of his hair and as she tried to blink
them back the drops fell, spattering against his bloodied face. His grey eyes turned on her,
and as that gaze pierced her soul, she knew that he knew it was she who had been the
instrument of his doom. A sob wracked Tavaris frame and she clutched at the son of
Fanor, her eyes squeezed tight shut against his accusatory stare. A sudden touch made the
breath hitch in her chest. Taking in a deep gasp of air, she opened her eyes to see that
Caranthir had raised a shaking hand- his fingertips touched her cheek, then as she leaned
closer his hand moved to cup her face. She grasped his wrist, the tears rolling silent and
unchecked down her filthy, bloodstained cheeks. Slowly his thumb moved back and forth,
wiping them away.

A thousand words filled Tavaris mind but she could only emit a hoarse sort of cry.
Caranthir too was silent, and grey eyes met blue in indescribable communion. Then his
body jerked, and from his throat came a harsh, rattling cough; blood dripped from his lips,
and he was still. She felt the tension go from his body, the fingers becoming slack against
her cheek and the head, which she had not realized was straining forward, fell back. But the
eyes did not close. Gently, Tavari placed his arm straight at his side and leaned forward.
Still her tears fell and in her heart there was an unknowable, heavy emptiness, as she
lowered her face and pressed her lips to his forehead. Then with the aid of Tavaris slender
fingers, the eyes of Caranthir the Dark closed for the last time.

--

As the world began to fade, it was not his own life that flashed before his eyes, but an
eternity of might-have-beens: running feet and golden haired children, silvery laughter and
galloping horses and bliss. But now there was only this dim, bloody cave, and her tears
dampening his face. My Queen, Caranthir thought, gazing dully up at her. He commanded
his lips to move, to form the words, but they did not respond. How have we come to this?
She was weeping, and he could not stand it. The arrow that pierced his chest, draining the
lifeblood from his heart, was but a dull ache that didnt seem to matter, compared to the
anguish in her face. Tavari. Again, his voice did not respond to the order, but it seemed that
he had strength enough left for one thing more. Slowly his hand raised, and the tips of his
fingers touched her face. With more effort than anything had every cost him, Caranthir
forced his arm up just inches more, until his palm met the soft flesh of her cheek. Jerkily, his
thumb swept across it, attempting to dash away her tears, but succeeding only in smearing
the filth on her face. I forgive you. He wished more than anything that he could say it aloud. I
love you. The remaining breath caught in his throat with a guttural sound that seemed far
away, and the black that had been creeping about the edges of his vision took hold. He did
not feel his head hit the ground, nor see the twist in her face, nor any longer hear the
tumult of battle. The last sensation Caranthir knew was the soft press of lips on his skin,
before there was no more.