Double-drabble about the Final Battle.
Dagor Dagorath
The Valar were all assembled in the Ring of Doom, waiting for the End of the World. "The hour grows late," said Mandos in his Voice of Doom, "it is time."
"Look, Námo," said Varda, "I know it is in your prophecy, but are you quite sure that Túrin is the one we need? Wouldn't Húrin be easier to deal with, and rather more likely to be successful?"
"I said Túrin, and I meant Túrin," said Námo, starting to get a little cranky. He hated it when the other Valar tried to contradict him. They simply didn't understand the burden of omniscience - except Manwë, of course, and he didn't have to make Speeches of Doom and thus make himself unpopular.
"Bring forth the Chosen One," said Manwë, his attention recalled to his duty by Varda poking him in the ribs.
In a sudden flash of light, Túrin appeared in the centre of the Ring of Doom, holding Anglachel, which Mandos swiftly grabbed from him while he was still disorientated.
"Now Túrin," said Varda, "listen to me very carefully. When Mandos gives you back the sword, you are to go and kill Morgoth, and no one else. Do you understand?"