The best moments come courtesy of Varda's probably-unwise-in-hindsight decision to let Fëanor play a round. He promptly ran off at the end of the chapter and began to cause as much chaos as elvenly possible. Morgoth winds up hiding under the table several times.
Varda: Well, put her in motion. I need another break after this, and I'll need to find someone else to play for me.
The air near her gave a hopeful whine.
Varda: Not you, Saruman, so don't even ask.
Varda complains about the increasing number of escapes from the Halls of Mandos.
Varda: Eru damn it, it's getting like a sieve in there.
"The final indignity, as [Deirdre] saw it, was being abruptly shoved aside by two mere Elves who dashed into the tent, grabbed the Silmarils from her hands, and ran away again. And then, for no reason she knew at all, the red-haired one who had only one hand came back and kicked her in the ribs."