Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien, Kortirion is just visiting.
Notes: curiouswombat requested Faramir in Ithilien, but I dare say she imagined something a little more cheerful. Sorry!
In the secret recesses behind the waterfall, the rangers of Ithilien felt safe, safe enough to light fires for warmth and hot food. The smoke dispersed through cunning arrangements of fissures and narrow chimneys, almost like mist rising from the ‘falls – Henneth Annûn remained invisible.
Today’s hunt had been good, four orcs, two hares and three brace of pheasants. Firelight danced bravely in the several small hearth-hollows, warming the rocks, warming the rangers sheltering there. Faramir had ordered wine be mulled, against the night’s chill, now, those not on watch, dozed.
They must bank those fires down... thought Faramir sleepily.
Roaring flames licked up before him in huge devouring sheets. Men shouted, but he couldn’t hear them – nor see them clearly. The fire’s light flared too brightly, smoke swirled too densely... The flames... he must be burning!
He woke with a start - his sergeant was shaking his shoulder. Faramir pulled back from the ranger as if burnt, holding his arm across his chest.
Faramir gulped clean air.
“...you dreamed, sir. ‘Twas naught but dreams.”
Faramir nodded, waved the man away. They may be safe here... but the last thing he’d seen engulfed in those flames was his father’s face.