There were not many things to collect. Rowan had one leather bag that could hang on her back between her shoulders and tailbone, and she would have to leave all that was too heavy or would not fit. She grabbed and folded two work dresses (the only type she owned), a warm shawl, underthings, and three pairs of stockings for her feet. She already wore a belt and boots. All of the money she had saved went in a small pouch that was tucked into the bottom of the bag, followed by a satchel of biscuits, gloves, and a small quilt she'd made when she had first moved into the room above the tavern. Last, she dug through the clothing that remained in her drawers and found the tiny case that held the ring Strider thought so important and that could have brought, could still bring, her death.

Rowan stood for a moment in the center of her room, somewhat in shock over what she was doing. Her sudden trust in this strange man was almost unbelievable and nearly made her question her decision, but she reminded herself that she had already made this choice, down in the kitchen, and the alternative to leaving Bree was too frightening. Despite her unhappiness during the last two years at The Prancing Pony, an incredible sadness overtook her as she looked at the little room. She did not have much, but there were still things of hers that she cherished that she could not take with her, like the book of fairy stories that she had read with her grandmother. Impractical, and heavy, to take on such a journey. At the moment she would have begun to cry, though, she swallowed the stone rising in her throat and turned on her heel, shutting the door behind her.

She found Strider where she had left him, in the kitchen where a small fire was still burning. It lit his face in such a way that he looked dangerous and yet good, like a man from another age when grand histories were acted out by grand people. Although Rowan was certain he must have heard her come down the stairs, his eyes did not leave the fire until she softly said,

"I've brought it."

He looked up, not at her, but at the small box she held. His face was still a little inscrutable to Rowan, but if she had to guess, she would have said that he was trying to mask fear with the appearance of hope.

"Let us see what kind of ring this is, and if perhaps I have made a mistake and you can remain here at home."

As she handed him the box, Strider asked, "Have you ever worn it?"

"No. It's always just stayed in that box. My grandmother...she said the ring was a bit funny, but probably worth a lot. She made me promise not to put it on and not to sell it unless I desperately needed money. If it was cursed or something like, she said, she didn't want someone else suffering from it."

Strider was listening, although his eyes didn't leave the box, which he still had not opened. Suddenly his mind seemed to change about something.

"Perhaps you should do this. Take it out, Rowan, and toss it into the fire."

"What?"

"I am fairly certain the flames will not hurt it, and if they do, it will be a relief for you. Trust me."

Rowan opened the box and took out the ring, a thick but simple gold band that was too big to fit on anything but her forefinger, or even her thumb. It felt surprisingly heavy, as if beneath the gold it was really a ring of lead. It flew into the fire at her toss, as she looked at Strider while he watched the ring. After minutes of silence, besides the crackles of the flames, the Ranger reached for a pair of fire tongs and used them to retrieve the ring.

"Hold out your hand. It will not burn you."

She had trusted him this far. As the ring dropped into her hand, Rowan was shocked to find that it was not even warm. Strangely, it felt a little lighter than it had previously, and seemed slightly smaller.

"How strange," she said. Strider only replied,

"Look on the band. Is there anything there, anything written?"

Rowan looked carefully, wanting to be certain before she answered. At first, she could see nothing but the brilliant, untarnished gold and felt for the smallest moment that all this was a ridiculous mistake, as Strider said it could be. No sooner had she felt it, though, than she began to see red letters appearing on the band, as though they were coming through a fog but getting more and more clear with every passing second. Never had fascination and fear been so intertwined for her.

"There is something here. Words, but in some language I can't read. Do you want to look at them?"

As she looked up she found that Strider was finally looking at her, and he was doing so with a mixture of pity and anger, as though Rowan was telling a story about someone who had wronged her.

"There is no need. I can tell you what they say. They are words from an old rhyme: 'One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.'"

Rowan could not understand what the words meant, or how they pertained to her, or why it was she who possessed such an object. She knew now, however, that she fully trusted in this Ranger, and that she would probably never return to Bree. Her thoughts were filled with images of dark, fiery places peopled with monsters from children's nightmares. After she did not speak for some minutes, Strider said,

"We leave within the hour."