A/N: Inspired by Enya's "Watermark," a peaceful song that works very well as a lullaby. Of course, I own neither "Watermark" nor any characters of Tolkien, no profit is being made, and all that jazz.


Faramir lay, daydreaming, on a thick bed of grass. Somewhere to his right, an unnamed stream trickled sleepily. Boromir said something mischievous-sounding from the left, his voice punctuated by Mama's dulcet tones, warm with amusement, and Father's deep chuckles in response to both wife and son. The sun shone fitfully, the light fading and changing as clouds flew across the blue firmament, then past the sun, and then back into sky again, but Faramir didn't mind. It was interesting to watch the change of colors across his lids, from orange to brown to brilliant orange again. Over the sound of the water came the rustling of trees, a soothing sound that mingled peacefully with the sound of the river and the familiar tones of his loved ones' voices. Faramir opened his eyes to see one tree's branches swaying directly over his head, the green leaves shining with sunlight. Faramir turned his head to look at one hand. It was mottled with an ever-changing pattern of sunlight and shadow.

"What are you looking at, my son?" asked Father. Faramir smiled. "The shadows," he said.

Boromir rolled to his brother's side from where he reclined near his parents, coming to rest on his back two feet from Faramir. The older boy put his hand, palm down, on his brother's outstretched fingers, and Faramir marveled at how big Boromir's hand was compared to his own. Together, the boys watched the light play over their joined fingers. Father and Mama said nothing but watched with loving eyes as Boromir and Faramir closed their eyes and fell asleep on the grass.


Dimly, some time later, Faramir felt a gentle touch on his cheek. "I love you, my son," said Mama's voice wistfully.

"I love you. Always," said another voice, Father's this time, his customarily solemn tones tinged with regret. A warm, large hand rested on Faramir's head and gently smoothed his dark hair for a moment before stilling again.

"We'll be waiting for you, little brother," said Boromir, tweaking Faramir's nose playfully. "I love you."

Faramir felt all three hands press down on him for a moment, before quickly becoming less substantial to the touch, until he felt nothing at all.

A moment later, Faramir opened his eyes again, expecting to see blue sky, green leaves, and a golden sun. Instead, he saw only a dark room filled with shadows, save for a few streams of brilliant white moonlight that shone through his window.

It had all been a dream.

Faramir closed his eyes as tears threatened to slip out. It had seemed so real, one of the beautiful last days before his family had been sundered forever, first by sickness, then by death. Then by death again, and again…until he was the only one left, last of the noble line of the Stewards of Gondor, doomed to stand alone until the last of his days.

Or so he had thought.

Faramir opened his eyes again, then turned his head and glanced to his left. Éowyn slept quietly there, her long golden hair glinting in the moonlight and her stomach round with child. He would never be alone again, not in life and not even after death, for now he knew that his family would be waiting for him. He smiled, rolled over, and buried his face in Éowyn's neck, resting his hand on her stomach.

"I love you," Faramir sighed, breathing the delicate scent of the woman he loved. She murmured dreamily and turned her head a little towards the sound of his voice, but did not wake. The baby kicked once under his hand, then was still again.

A smile still on his face, Faramir drifted slowly back into dreams. The moon shone on, and perhaps three faint laughs, like an echo from a time past, swept through the dark room on a summer's breeze shortly before the sun rose.