Involuntary Admission

Being the Elder King usually meant that Manwë got to have the last word in things. Now however, it meant he got to have the first shift of Fëar-Sitting in the Halls of Mandos. Giving the good example and all that… It wasn’t very hard, doing Námo’s job. The fëar all neatly responded to the call of the halls when they got separated from their hröar, and he didn’t have to go seek out any disobedient dead. Not having a lot to do, Manwë just sat on the Doomsman’s throne and stared at the ceiling. He missed his airy halls on Taniquetil already… In truth, the Halls of Waiting felt like sitting in a cave; there was dark black marble everywhere, and not a single window. And to add insult to injury, Námo’s throne was terribly uncomfortable. Manwë didn’t know that the Doomsman barely ever sat there, so he wondered how in Eru’s name Námo kept his butt from going numb.
It didn’t take long before the absence of blue sky, snow, and eagles started to affect Manwë. Talking to no one in particular, he mumbled.
“I can see why Námo went mad here… This place is horrible… I’m going mad too, look at me, I’m already talking to the walls…”
He had to do something, and he could better do it quickly before he lost his composure to lack of fresh air and claustrophobia… The best solution would be going home, but thanks to him having to give a good example he couldn’t really abandon the job halfway his shift. No, then the next best thing would be making Mandos’ Halls more like home… and Manwë happened to know exactly how to go about that. A little later, the cries of his eagles echoed through the usually silent halls, and the temperature had dropped several degrees under zero. After adding a “borrowed” pile of pillows from Vairë to it, the throne was a lot more comfortable, and Manwë stretched out in satisfaction with his redecoration efforts. Pristine white snow piled up on the marble floors, soft layers of ice crystals covered the dark walls and seemed to light them up, and from every ridge hung artfully twisted icicles. His eagles weren’t exactly happy to have to stay inside, but luckily Námo’s ceilings were high enough to permit indoors flying. No, Manwë was quite content. Like this, it wasn’t half so bad having to sit there and do nothing… and those pillows were really exquisitely soft… he should ask Vairë if she could make some for his halls, Varda would sure love that… Boredom, familiar sounds, and very soft pillows eventually caused the Elder King to fall asleep. He would have been perfectly happy to lie there and sleep for the rest of his shift –it wasn’t as if those fëar needed anything from him- if not for the sounds of anguish that woke him…
“Huh!? Wha…?”
He startled up, hearing… well, wailing echoing through the halls. And then his eye caught Thorondor, his favorite eagle, sitting in front of the throne. With its heavy voice it stated.
“Manawenûz, I never thought I’d say this, but… you’re an idiot.”
In complete confusion, Manwë forgot his dignity somewhat.
“Huh? What? What did I do?”
The large bird shook its head.
“Lots and lots of ice. Noldor elves. Wails of anguish. Rings a bell, perhaps?”
Manwë blinked.
“Err… no?”
If eagles were capable of facepalming, Thorondor would have done so.
“The Helcaraxë, maybe? Most of the elves who died in the Grinding Ice haven’t been re-embodied yet.”
Well, yes. That rung a bell for Manwë. He looked at his pretty white decorations, not understanding how those could bring anyone to wail in anguish. They were pretty!
“But… it’s just a bit of snow!”
“Yeah, here in this hall it is a bit of snow. They’re having a blizzard, three rooms to the left from here. You really shouldn’t mess with the weather inside a building.”
Oh. Right.
“I… I see…” Manwë pensively bit his lip. “Thorondor, why are you telling me this?”
Again, the great eagle had the urge to facepalm.
“Well, you’re currently holding the position of Lord of Mandos, so you’re supposed to do something about it.”
“But they’re all dead already anyway, what harm can a blizzard do?”
“The Halls of Waiting are supposedly a place to heal from the weariness of a past life. I don’t think much healing is being done with the fëar reliving their traumatic deaths, really.”
For someone nicknamed the Breath of Arda, Manwë was really surprisingly dense at times, Thorondor thought as he watched the positively confused Vala. He greatly respected the Elder King… but in this matter it seemed Manwë was clueless as could be. The eagle helpfully provided;
“You could start with making it stop snowing.”
“Right. Good idea.”

(Author's Notes)
I know Manwë is supposedly the wisest of the Valar, but wise and practical aren't necessarily the same thing. Here, he's the philosophizing, bird-keeping, literally head-in-the-clouds Vala who leaves most of the practical things to his wife while he indulges in making artsy snow figures and worrying about his brother. Also, who else thinks Thorondor is surprisingly down to earth for... well, being a bird, basically?
*chuckles* I wonder how happy Vairë will be when she discovers what has happened to her pillows... and her tapestries, they're probably all frozen stiff... Ooh, Manwë, you better run (like the wind, ehehehe) xD