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“Milord, what would you have done if the One Ring had come to you?”
Éomer’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, and he raised his brow to stare at her.
Next to him stood Tildra, the middle-aged woman in charge of the Meduseld kitchens, drying her hands with the towel tied to her belt.
Not even a week ago, he had returned from Minas Tirith to arrange for his Uncle’s funeral. In a few days, he would leave for the White City again, this time with a golden bier to carry him home for the last time.
It was barely morning, and after another sleepless night, Éomer had gone to the kitchens for an early breakfast. He would have cooked something himself, but somehow Tildra was always awake.
Now he did appreciate her, but he was in no mood for her incessant chatter and he even told her as much before requesting his meal.
Despite that, she had still blurted out an utterly perplexing question. Moreover, she was looking at him as she was clearly waiting for an answer.
“Tildra, are you well out of your mind?” Asked Éomer, gentlier than he would have addressed someone else.
Tildra smiled, only partially embarrassed. “That wretched thing is destroyed for now and for ever, but is it not a good thinking exercise?”
“Is it worth thinking about?”
“Is anything worth thinking about, milord!” It was not really a question. “Mind you, when I am stirring the cauldron and tending to the fire, and checking the seasoning, I still need something to ponder.”
“And you imagine yourself possessing the Ring? And doing what?”
“I asked you first, milord.”
“I am your King; I could assert my authority over you for this.”
Tildra tilted her head thoughtfully. “Aye, you could. But you would never. Hence, I am curious about what a man like you would do with such power.”
It was too early for such complex thoughts, but he decided to humour her. Tildra was at the heart of Meduseld, and as she had no family and very few friends, Meduseld meant more for her than it could for any other. Keeping her placated was in the best interest of everyone depending on her.
“Allow me to think over it.”
“Very well. I’ll bring you some more bread.”
“Do butter it for me,” Éomer replied before continuing his meal. As he ate and drank, he considered himself. And he considered what he knew about the Ring. Boromir had been felled by it, Faramir had overcome it, Gandalf had avoided it. And then he thought of how difficult it had been to resist Saruman’s speech at Orthanc.
“Mm.” He said after a while, and at his hum, she reappeared on his side.
“Yes, milord?”
“I probably would have taken it with the intention to strengthen Rohan, but I would have succumbed to my own recklessness while chasing after Orcs or something like that.”
“Well, I don’t know, Your Majesty,” she replied, squinting her round little eyes, “I think you would overcome its influence and seek help in destroying it.”
At this he laughed in disbelief. “You give me too much credit. I’m not noble like Faramir or Aragorn. Too many times I have found myself powerless.”
The smile fell from his bearded face as he thought of his last stand at Harlond and for a spell there was a quiet in the kitchens of Meduseld.
“Fair enough. Don’t you want to know what I would do with it?”
Éomer huffed in amusement. “Go on.”
Pressing her hands together in excitement, she sat down next to him and began speaking enthusiastically. “Imagine… Meduseld with a kitchen tenfold the size of this one!”
He chuckled.
“Large, steaming pots and cauldrons everywhere, all neatly organised and at every station there would be a cook and an assistant preparing something new and delicious and nourishing – “
She was on a roll now.
“Only the best ingredients would come to my kitchen – “
Her gestures grew wilder.
“ – No need to explain anything to them, they would hear my voice in their heads – “
Her small face turned pink with exertion.
“ – People would come from far and wide to eat my food – “
Éomer began laughing.
“ I would heal the sick with my teas and my soups would raise the dead – “
His life, he thought as he wiped tears from his eyes, he would lay down his life before he would allow anything – a ring or a magic sword or otherwise – to harm the beloved people of the Mark.