This is longer than a true drabble, but *shrugs* it's short. Blame the teenage-Fëanor muse Lipstick sent me. :D
Disclaimer: This a parody of a universe that I didn't create. But I go there sometimes to tease the hobbits and pinch the rears of cute elves.

“I wonder,” began Finarfin, “About some things my half-brother said before he left. I would have you assuage my fears.”

The Valar sat in a circle around him on their thrones, with the eldest children of Iluvatar seated at their feet. “What do you wonder, Son of Finwë?” they said.

“Oh, you know, the whole thing that we are thralls of the Valar, who can’t get off their collective asses to deal with Morgoth and if they are the so-called protectors of us then why have they left the elves of the outerlands twisting in the wind all this time, and we are your servants and thralls sort of stuff.”

The Valar blinked, and then burst into laughter.

Finarfin waited nervously for them to stop. “So it’s not true?”

“That you are just pawns here for our amusement? No.”

“Oh. Well. Then I shall be on my way then.”

The Valar watched him walk down the green hill back to Tirion. “You there,” Manwe said to one of the seated elves, “Dance!”

The Vanya jumped up and began dancing fervently.

“Alright, that’s enough. Do you know what you just did?”

The Vanya shook his head, still smiling enthusiastically at being singled out.

The Lord of Air asked, “Do you know the analogy of the butterfly? That a single beat of a butterfly’s wings can cause a great and deadly storm? Congratulations, you just sunk Numenor.”

The Vanya looked considerably less enthusiastic.

“HEY!”

“What? Finarfin? You’re back?”

“Yes, I dropped something. How could you do that after what you just told me?!”

“We didn’t think you’d mind.”

“How could I not mind?!”

Varda smiled sweetly and patted him on the head. “Don’t fret. You can dance next time.”