[The Barrow-Wight]

Barrow-wight unlocked the small wooden door and walked slowly into the dark room within. Carefully, with arms outstretched, he shuffled across the floor searching in the inky blackness for the lantern that should have been setting next to the door but was not. He cursed quietly as his knee came into sharp contact with the corner of a crate, the clinking of the bottles within sounded eerily like chimes in a cold morning breeze. His fingers at last found what he was looking for, and he quickly opened the lantern’s glass door and lit the wick.

The light revealed a small and tightly packed storage room filled with many barrels and crates, all stacked in dangerously high piles that reached the ceiling. Markings showed that some of the containers came from such far away places as Dol Amroth and Erebor. The White Horse was the best inn in Edoras, and its Innkeeper, Bethberry, made sure her customers had the best possible selection of food and drink. Grumbling at the bruise that was sure to grow on his injured knee, Barrow-wight continued into the kitchen and then out to the main room of the inn.

Shivering, he made his way to the great fireplace and started a few logs burning. Late November in Edoras was already cold, and it would take a while for the fire to heat the large room. He stood and looked around, making sure the tables were clean and the chairs were all in place. The first group of visitors would be coming soon, and he wanted to make sure the place was presentable. Hopefully old Fróma, the cook, would arrive soon and get the ovens lighted. The morning crowd was a hungry lot.

Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and carefully opened the shutters which swung inwards and were secured to the wall with metal hooks. The windows, newly imported from Minas Anor, were covered in spiderweb patterns of frost. The darkness outside was slowly giving way to the coming sun, and people were already moving along the street beyond the glass. He heard Fróma come in the back door.

“Hurry and light the fires,” he shouted back to the old man who was getting a bit deaf. “I already see people heading our way.”

He opened the door and greeted the first guest with a happy “Good morning!”

I can’t wait until Bethberry returns, he thought. I hate opening up. It’s too cold.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]