This is... crack. I'm trying not to mangle the canon events too much, but I'm most definitely mangling the Valar here. It's also Hurt/Comfort, so no absolute hilarity all the time. I promise you will laugh though.
Hope the Valar will forgive me. Feedback is hugely appreciated!
The Circle of Doom had been called together, but it was missing one crucial element: its Doomsayer. Vairë had been very peculiar about that when she made the request for the gathering, Námo Mandos was not to be told anything about it. Such a request, coming from the Doomsayer’s wife, was certainly disconcerting… They had all heeded it. When at last Ulmo –the perpetual latecomer- arrived and took his place in the circle, Manwë coughed for attention.
“Vairë. You requested an urgent meeting of the Máhanáxar… Now we have gathered, tell us of your reasons.”
The Weaver of Stories hesitatingly spoke up.
“It’s about my husband, Námo. I… I fear he has… lost his mind.”
Immediately there was worried whispering in the circle. Manwë coughed again to bring the Valar to silence.
“He… It’s hard to explain. It started long ago, after the unchaining of Melkor. I think he knew of what would happen, to the trees and Arda... But he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t warn us. You know he can only proclaim his dooms when commanded. And then the doom of the Noldor, and the wars… He sees all the fëar of the dead, he hears their stories and sees the damage the war has done to them… I weave the history of the world, watching it as an observer, but he… he sees it through the eyes of the weary and damaged.” She waited a moment. “I know you think of my husband as a cold, stoic person, someone without mercy, without compassion… But he is not, and all the sadness he has hidden over the years has started to… to eat away at his mind.” A tear ran over her cheek, shocking the other Valar. “He is losing himself more and more, and the visions of the future are too much for him to bear now. They have become waking nightmares for him from which even I can’t rouse him. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognize me…”
Nienna got up to comfort her sister in law, while the rest of the Valar exchanged concerned glances and shared thoughts not for Vairë to hear. It was Irmo who spoke up first.
“I can help him, but he would have to let me. In all the ages of our existence he hasn’t once allowed me, or Estë, to help him with the weight of his burden. If you could convince him…”
Vairë shook her head.
“He won’t leave his Halls, not ever. Even in his delirium he is hopelessly devoted to his task, although he is barely capable of performing it anymore. Not to mention that he always made a point of never asking for help.”
“Then we just have to force him! Oromë and I can catch him easily, and then bring him to you!”
That caused Irmo to indignantly glare at the Vala of War.
“You can’t force mental help on someone, Tulkas! The person has to allow you in his mind, otherwise it’s an act comparable to rape!”
“I see your point, Irmo… but if Vairë is correct then there may be no other way. If your brother is truly this ill, he cannot be held responsible for his choices, and therefor we can’t allow him to choose whether or not you treat him.”
The Master of Dreams glanced unhappily at the crying women, and then at Manwë.
“If you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and bringing him to me for treatment, then who will run the Halls of Mandos in the meantime? Even in illness Námo has been performing his task, and we can’t have the fëar of the dead without supervision…”
Varda smiled and answered before her husband could.
“That’s easy. We will take over from him until he’s better.”
“Who will take over? Some of us have tasks to tend to as well…”
“We’ll switch, take turns. Irmo and Estë don’t need to take a turn because they’ll be looking after Námo, and Vairë needs to weave, but the rest of us can certainly take over for a little while, no?”
They all had to admit that Varda’s plan wasn’t bad. After all, how hard could it be, running the Halls of Mandos? First they had to capture the Doomsman though, and that wouldn’t be an easy job if the Weaver were to be believed…