Be it silence or doses of valium, mild,
Hatha yoga, or meditation stones piled,
No sanity, no reason, no sleeping spell,
Can calm Feanor’s son with temper fell,
Thingol’s minstrel, he’s threatened to kill,
But I’d bet that on our silmaril,
Although he claims he’d win a fight,
Caranthir’s bark seems worse than his bite.
Whoever Gil-Galad’s mother was… I want to be her.
If the woodelves were “more dangerous and less wise” than their Noldor kin then laughing-maniacally-while-shooting-dwarves begins to make more sense.