[Thenamir]

Thenamir trudged on in the direction of the old barrow, carrying his toolbox and prepared for long labor and bitter disappointment. Though he now seldom frequented the musty dwelling wherein he had enjoyed much goodfellowship in days past, he still dropped in from time to time to sweep up a bit, replace damaged support joists, and try keep the place in good repair for those who continued on in his absence.

Then came that day when he found the gates were barred and immovable, the bolts secured with many intricate and impenetrable spells and wards of closing. Thenamir was no magician (though previous fixes had some of the barrow denizens muttering about "wizardry"), and no chisel, axe, or mace in his toolbox could penetrate the dreaded Forrowfor that denied him entrance.

Since that day he had returned as often as his other responsibilities allowed, toolbox in hand, to try again. And again. And yet again. All for naught. "It would be easier," he ruminated as he walked, "to break the locks on the Barad-dur itself than to wrest this barrow-gate open."

As he neared the last bend in the road before reaching the entrance, Thenamir thought he heard...something, a very strange noise for that desolate and gloomy place...it sounded like...a boom-boxin' get-yer-groove-on hoedown! He raced aound the turn and found the doors open, a sparkling disco ball visible from the entrance, and a live (well, as live as one gets in a grave) band thumping out dance tunes!

His toolbox and his jaw hit the ground simultaneously...but picking them both up he joined the general merriment and rejoicing...