A Man Who Flies From His Fear May Find He Has Only Taken A Shortcut To Meet It by LadySternchen  

Fire- Angrod

“No!”

There is no escaping the heat that creeps up the hills. One by one, the pine-trees fall to the wall of fire, lighting up like torches with a sinister crackling. He can shout to his Men all he wants, there is no escaping, not even a fighting back. Against this, they are helpless. His armour gets unbearably hot, and he manages to get it off just in time. All around him lie corpses, their melting armour burning into their flesh. Angrod screams, screams for Eldalótë, screams for Aegnor, but neither answer. He cannot breathe, feels his skin blister-

“Angaráto!”

A sharp pain to his cheek startles him, momentarily distracting him from the battle.

“Angaráto, this is not real!”

He shakes his head, the flames that engulf the whole forest shrinking, the crackling becoming less terrifying.

A campfire. This is a campfire only.

“You were in Dorthonion again, were you not, beloved?” Eldalótë asks softly, while she cradles his shaking form. “This is all long past. You are home, you are with me, and housed in a body that has never known that terror. You are alright.”