Faramir dreams of Númenor that was.
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither.
(William Wordsworth, Intimations of Immortality)
Behind him, the wave's roar filled the air. Water pounded over field, through door, down throat, washing away in one unstoppable surge bleating sheep and summer flowers and golden icons to the glory of proud Westernesse. Faramir, waking up in Ithilien, started from his camp-bed.
Númenor... Did cold water splash over his hands, or was this still a dream? But those ancient words were so familiar, so real! "...to Númenor that was..." He had washed and washed but the filth held fast. If this be dream, would he ever wake?
And, before him, the waterfall's unceasing roar filled the air.