Eowyn’s Tale

This is based on a TV drama I saw as a child. (For some reason, it really stuck in my mind!) I believe it was adapted from a story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle called The Brown Hand.

…

“My uncle’s healer, Master Swithun,” said Eowyn, “was fascinated by all creatures. He collected the skins and bones and skulls of orcs and goblins and—well—of condemned men, too, when he could get them—to compare their bodies—hoping to understand how the races differed. My uncle’s visitors would bring him specimens from all over Middle Earth—”

Eomer chuckled.

“This is not,” said Eowyn, coldly, “about you and Theodred locking me in the privy with a skinned monkey.”

“Eomer!” Legolas gave Eowyn a sympathetic hug.

“It was pickled,” the King protested, “and sealed in a jar.”

“A glass jar. It was hideous. Anyway, this is a different story.” Eowyn took a sip of wine. “One morning—this was before he had fallen under Saruman’s spell—my uncle, feeling a little off colour—”

“After a night’s heavy drinking, no doubt,” said Eomer.

“—summoned Master Swithun. The healer arrived late, looking pale and haggard.

“‘Whatever is the matter,’ asked my uncle, ‘you are worse than I am.’

“‘My sincere apologies, your Majesty,’ said Swithun, bowing, ‘I confess I can no longer sleep at night.’

“‘Sit down,’ said my uncle, kindly. ‘Sister-daughter, fetch Master Swithun a glass of wine.’

“That was the first time he had ever asked me to pour wine,” said Eowyn, smiling. “I climbed up on a chair—I had to use both hands to lift the jug…”

Legolas patted her hand affectionately.

“‘Tell me,’ said my uncle, ‘what troubles you enough to deprive you of your rest?’

“The healer took the goblet from me with a nod of thanks. ‘To tell the truth, your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I do not expect you to believe this—I hardly believe it myself.’

“My uncle beckoned me to him, and lifted me up on his knee. ‘Go on…’

“‘Four—no, five nights ago now, I awoke with a deep feeling of unease and, sensing that the trouble—whatever it was—lay in my study, I crept to the door and opened it. The light was dim but, sure enough, I saw a man, bending over my specimen collection and, as I watched, he lifted one of the jars. I shouted out in surprise—I do not know what I said—but at that, the man turned, and he threw the jar at me.

“‘It missed me—fortunately, for it was a large jar and the spirits I use to preserve my specimens are harmful to living flesh.’

“‘But what of the intruder,’ asked my uncle, ‘why was he not brought before me?’

“‘That is the perplexing thing, your Majesty,’ said Swithun. ‘He disappeared. I raised my arm, to shield my eyes from the fluid, and when I lowered it, he was gone.’

“‘Where?’

“‘I do not know. He did not pass me at the door and there is no other way out of my study.’

“‘Have you seen him since?’

“‘Every night, your Majesty. Or, rather, I have seen his shadow, moving back and forth beneath the door, and heard him lifting and replacing the specimen jars.’

“‘Has he broken anything else?’

“‘No, your Majesty.’

“My uncle stroked his beard. ‘What do you think of this, Eowyn?’ he asked.”

Eowyn smiled. “‘I think he is a ghost,’ I said.

“My uncle nodded, thoughtfully. ‘You may well be right,’—”

“Where was I when all this was going on?” asked Eomer, doubtfully.

Eowyn shrugged. “Probably learning to be a man—living wild, hunting orcs—”

Legolas laughed and, pulling her close, kissed her cheek.

Eowyn grinned. “May I continue with my story?” she asked Eomer.

“By all means.”

“Well, to cut a long story short—”

“Good idea,” said Gimli.

“My uncle commanded two of his most trusted men—Hama and Gamling—to spend the night in Master Swithun’s chambers. He ordered them to wait outside the study until they were sure that the—the man, whatever he was—had entered, and then, without giving him any warning, to throw open the door and capture him.”

“And what happened, melmenya?”

“He disappeared. One moment he was there, they said, and the next he had disappeared.”

Eomer shook his head.

“It is true!” said Eowyn. “I heard their report. They had not caught him, but they had seen him clearly.”

“So who was he?” asked Eomer, sceptically.

“A complete stranger,” said Eowyn.

“Put Eomer out of his misery, melmenya,” said Legolas, laughing.

“He was a complete stranger,” said Eowyn, “but, from Gamling’s description, it was clear that he was a man of Far Harad and that one of his arms was missing. And that detail reminded Master Swithun of a specimen he had bought from a peddler, many years before—”

“A severed arm? Awwww,” said Gimli.

“So this thing—this ghost—was looking for its severed arm?” said Eomer.

“That is what we deduced. The arm must have been amputated whilst he was still living and now that he had died, he needed it back.”

“Of course,” said Legolas. He turned to Eomer. “The people of Far Harad believe that their bodies must be whole or they will not be permitted to enter the next world. That is why the Hatja of Carhilivren was so concerned to find his son’s remains and bury them properly.”

“The problem,” said Eowyn, “was that the arm had been destroyed in a fire, many years before. So it looked as if the poor creature would be condemned to spend eternity looking for it—”

“And tormenting the poor healer,” said Gimli, taking a swig of ale.

“Yes. My uncle moved Master Swithun to new chambers and ordered that his study be kept locked. But, every night for several weeks, the guards reported seeing the man’s shadow passing back and forth beneath the door.

“Then, one day, Master Swithun was called to attend a young Rider who had been gored by a warg. His arm was so badly torn that the healer had no choice but to amputate. And as he performed the operation, he realised—”

“That he could pickle the arm and leave it for the ghost to find,” said Gimli.

“Yes!”

“And did he?” asked Legolas.

“Yes!”

“And so the ‘ghost’ was never seen again,” said Eomer, dryly.

“He was seen once more,” corrected Eowyn. “He appeared in the Golden Hall, before my uncle, Master Swithun, and me. He raised both hands before his face to show us that, at last, his body was whole, and he bowed deeply, and then he disappeared.”