Note: All quotes from other characters that Aragorn hears in his dreams are taken from various chapters and Appendix A in The Lord of the Rings.

Disclaimer: Nothing of J.R.R. Tolkien's is mine, except for the pleasure that his books have always given me.

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'Surely this is a troll-hole, if ever there was one!' said Pippin. 'Come out, you two, and let us get away. Now we know who made the path—and we had better get off it quick.'

'There is no need, I think,' said Strider, coming out. 'It is certainly a troll-hole, but it seems to have been long forsaken. I don't think we need be afraid. But let us go down warily, and we shall see.'

—"Flight to the Ford," The Fellowship of the Ring

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The four hobbits had been so relieved to have discovered Bilbo's stone trolls in place of live ones that they seemed to have cast all further fears aside, Aragorn was pleased to note. At least, three of the hobbits appeared carefree. Aragorn was uncertain as to what Frodo's silence meant—whether he had anticipated the joke that the sight of the long-vanquished trolls would play upon his kinsfolk, or if he was too preoccupied with his injury to keep his attention on the outside world for long. The answer worried Aragorn, because it mattered. They were traveling slower than he liked, even slower than he had hoped, given the additional obstacles posed by the terrain. If Frodo was already fading, with days of travel still to go before the little party could possibly reach Rivendell, all their efforts might be in vain.

Aragorn put the thought from his mind. He could do nothing to improve their circumstances. The party would be best served by Aragorn holding them to the required path for as long and as fast as they could travel, and keeping his concerns to himself.

And concerns he had. Although it was true that the troll-hole he had explored with Merry had indeed been long abandoned, the clearing that held the trolls themselves told a different tale. Whilst the hobbits finished their luncheon beneath the shadow of the trolls' legs, Aragorn had made a circuit of the glade. The grass near the edge of the little meadow had been recently crushed by gigantic, flat feet. When Aragorn explored the exit point into the wood, a broken limb, still redolent with sap, warned him that the passage must have been forced no later than the night before. For this reason, as well as the need to find the Ford, Aragorn was eager to reach the Road. At that point, there would be the Nine to contend with. However, Aragorn doubted that they would make their move yet. They must think hourly that Frodo would fall under their spell, and might well be puzzled why he had not already done so.

The small creature's fortitude was a constant source of wonder to Aragorn. He was awed by the ability of the delicate-looking hobbit to withstand the influence of the Morgul wound, two weeks after receiving it; the Nine would have even less reason to suppose that Frodo was capable of it. On the other hand, a troll would make short work of all the hobbits, whenever and wherever he found them. No, the troll fells must be deserted at speed. The Road it must be, and as quickly as possible.

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Sam grew more fretful as the daylight faded. The sun had set behind the hills, and the trail their party followed underneath the overlapping limbs of the trees grew increasingly dark with the advancing night. Still Strider led them on, as quickly as they could walk. Sam had to hand it to him; that old Strider seemed to know his business. Yet Sam felt uneasy. He hadn't gone into the troll-hole like Mr. Merry had, but just the stink of it were enough to discourage Sam. It bothered him that that same stink tainted the meadow where Mr. Bilbo's trolls stood. Were they magical creatures, that they kept that smell about 'em, so many years after they were gone? Whatever it was, Sam was right glad to put the clearing behind him, for all that the sunlight and the memory of Mr. Bilbo had seemed to cheer his master for a time.

Sam cast a wary glance at Mr. Frodo, perched on Bill's withers whilst Sam walked alongside, holding the lead rope. His master was swayin', and it weren't just from the rhythm of the pony. It had been a long day, and they still were not down to the Road. Now and again, Sam caught the Ranger sneaking glances at Mr. Frodo when he looked about to make sure the party was in file behind him. For all their guide's scraggly face and weather-beaten looks, Sam thought he detected worry in the Man's expression. Well, that were fine by Sam. He had no more doubts that Mr. Strider was a true friend of Mr. Frodo's, for all their shaky start. Concern for his master was the surest test of friendship that Sam could think of.

Bill stopped suddenly, planting his legs so smartly that Mr. Frodo was flung forward onto his neck, and might have fallen had Sam not been there to catch and steady him. Bill threw his head and snorted, jerking the lead rope free. Mr. Frodo winced at the jostling, reaching for his shoulder. Sam grabbed hold of his master and eased him from the pony's back, afore Bill could cause him any more distress.

"What's the matter with you, Bill?" Sam demanded, torn between anger and concern as he buffered Mr. Frodo's descent with his body. Mr. Merry, who'd been walking behind, rushed forward to lend a hand.

At Mr. Merry's movement, Bill laid his ears right back. Tired as he was, he gave a little buck, and then bolted, ears flat and eyes wild.

Pippin, walking between Bill and Strider, was caught by surprise. "Hey!" he yelled, as part of the pony's baggage slapped him in the shoulder, toppling him to the dirt.

Strider, alerted by the noise, sprang out of the way. Bill took off into the darkening woods at a canter.

"Stop him!" Sam yelled.

To Sam's dismay, Strider turned right back, not seeming to mind the pony at all. He paused only long enough to pull Pippin to his feet, then strode to where Sam and Mr. Merry were standing, holding Frodo between them. Sam's head tipped up, and up, as the Man closed in. He'd been near three weeks in the company of this fellow, and Sam still weren't used to his height. But those weeks were more than enough for Sam to keep his wits about him. He began to speak his mind, even before the Ranger reached him.

"What's the meanin' of letting Bill run off? We need him for Mr. Frodo!"

To Sam's bewilderment, Strider ignored his outburst, reaching past him to seize Mr. Frodo under the arms. "Give him to me."

Astonished, Sam loosened his hold. Mr. Merry seemed surprised in the other direction, and tightened his grip, so that Mr. Frodo cried out when Strider tried to lift him.

"Quickly!" Strider barked. Mr. Merry let go. Strider gathered up Mr. Frodo behind the shoulders and knees. "Arm yourselves," he instructed.

Mr. Pippin had joined them by then. His eyes widened at Strider's command.

Mr. Strider straightened, holding an alarmed Mr. Frodo against his chest like a child. The Man's grey eyes flashed in the gloom. "Hurry!" With that, he dashed into the woods, due east, by Sam's reckoning, which was not the direction Bill had took. The pony had vanished heading downhill, towards the south.

Mr. Merry drew the blade that old Tom Bombadil had given him at the barrow. It rang chillingly in the quiet of the woods. Mr. Merry shot his companions a fierce look. "Come on!" he cried, before rushing off after Strider and Mr. Frodo.

Startled out of his shock, Sam fumbled for the weapon at his side. He pulled it out, feeling a right fool. He had no learnin' in this. What's more, Sam had no idea what he were supposed to fight. He hoped it weren't wolves. Sam had heard horror stories about wolves, and he didn't care to meet one. But something was on its way without question; nothing less could account for reliable old Bill spooking the way he'd done.

Beside Sam, the metallic ring of steel pierced the still air, as Mr. Pippin drew his own blade. Sam met Mr. Pippin's eyes. The young hobbit looked as full of fear and determination as Sam supposed he must himself. Then Mr. Pippin dashed away after his cousins. Sam followed on the instant, plunging onto the soft pine needles on the forest floor, striving with all his might to catch the long-legged Ranger, who was already far ahead.