Disclaimer: This bit’s PJ’s, but at least he has the Tolkien Estate’s permission – then again, I’m not making the money he did!
He remembered... he remembered - shouts, the smell of oil; bitter liquid that splashed over fevered flesh, cold enough to rouse him. He’d struggled to wake… ‘Why are they shouting?’ He heard his name, heard his father, calling down – curses? On those who would – would what? His mind drifted. Struggling back brought him to the threshold of pain that blessed unconsciousness had kept at bay. He snatched a breath as agony surged through him, swallowing a draft of choking smoke and hot air. Suddenly, he felt hot flames, then he was pushed free, and he drank fresh air with a cry.