Aragorn, known as Strider to some, such as Barliman Butterbur somewhat from The Prancing Pony in the village of Bree, and other Rangers, left the four hobbits: Samwise, Frodo, Merry and Pippin as he went for a look around their shelter area.
Before he left, he tossed them a sword (an elvish blade, to be exact) and cocking the bow strapped to his back and departed, his boots thumping the ground.
He wandered around, searching for any sign of Ringwraiths pursuing them. Then he came to some wood, and after rubbing them together took up a firebrand. He continued his stroll, with a light.
He thought of the devotion he made, coming with Frodo and his hobbit company. He had duties he had wanted to fulfill: take up the throne of Gondor, marry Arwen, and take on the responsibilities as Isildur's heir.
But he was taking them to the House of Elrond, where the fate of Frodo's burden—the ring, ultimately—would be decided. Many would be assembled: Legolas Greenleaf, the elven prince, Gimli son of Gloin, the dwarf, Gandalf he hoped, and from what he'd heard, Boromir, son of Denethor, steward of Gondor, would be in attendance.
Elrond's daughter, Arwen, would also be there, as he had hoped. He wanted nothing more than to see her again.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by an ear-piercing cry of pain. He whirled around, drew his long sword, and clattered and clashed past the dark trees.
He hurtled towards the Ringwraiths, armed with their long, black swords, and took two by surprise. He clashed his sword against its own, and whiffed the flaming firebrand at it.
The wraith was set ablaze, and made a shriek matching that of the Nazgul. Aragorn fought off the next four and started towards the weeping Sam, Merry and Pippin, who crowded around Frodo, was sprawled on the ground, whimpering in pain.
Then he heard a snarling curse. He whipped around and hurled the torch at the last wraith's head. The black-cloaked figure screamed and sprang away, engulfed in flames.
"Strider!" Sam shouted, as he put away his sword. He hustled over to the four, and found Frodo outstretched on his back, his teeth gritted, his face paling. He'd dropped his sword a few yards away, and a hole was in his shirt. Aragorn lifted his shirt up to reveal a black wound near his shoulder. Almost no blood was present, but he immediately recognized the seriousness.
He noticed a black sword lying nearby, almost glowing with evil. He snatched it up and examined it. "A blade of Minas Morgul!" he cried.
"Is he going to die?" Pippin cried, sporting a torch. Sam did the same. "This is very serious," Aragorn said, holding the evil sword up. The blade crumbled and vanished, and he tossed the hilt away.
"Please, help him, Strider!" Sam said, his eyes clouding. "He'll soon become a wraith, just like them," Aragorn said, his lips pressing together. "But this is beyond anything here. We need to get to Rivendell as soon as possible."
Picking the hobbit up and slinging him over his shoulder, he hurried as fast as his boots could go. The three hobbits followed him swiftly. Then they heard the dragon-like shrieks of Ringwraiths in the distance.
"What do we do?" Sam panicked. "There are still wraiths out there!"
"He needs elvish medicine!" Aragorn said hurriedly. "Come with me, Sam! There's an elven flower that grows in this area. If we find it, it can slow the Morgul potion down."
They scurried through the dark fields, searching for the plant that could save Frodo's life. Aragorn spotted one, and dropped to a knee. Taking his dagger, he started to cut it from the ground. Then a long, curved elvish blade went to his throat. "A Ranger—caught off his guard?"
The same, sweet elven voice sensationally brightened his ears. "Arwen?" he asked. She removed the sword, and turned her white steed. Then she walked to Frodo, followed by Frodo.
She said some elven words, and Frodo's face turned paler, and cold sweat dribbled down his face. He kept whimpering in pain, and the beautiful elf knelt by his side.
Aragorn propped down beside her and after ripping a chunk of the orchid he applied some to Frodo's wound.
"Serious," Arwen murmured. "A Morgul knife." Then she turned to Aragorn. "We need to get him to my father," she announced.
Sam, Pippin and Merry stared. "Please stay with the hobbits," Aragorn said, "and I'll ride him out. Once he's safe, I'll send some horses back for you four."
"But I'm the faster rider," Arwen protested. "And the power of my people can protect him once he's in Rivendell."
Aragorn's hand went to hers, and he said, "All right. But be swift." He helped her up, and fixed Frodo onto the seat in front of her. With that, her horse galloped away.
"Strider, the wraiths!" Sam cried. "We're a good six days from Rivendell! He'll never make it!"
Aragorn turned, but said nothing. "We'd best get to Rivendell," he said, "where we're safe. The Ringwraiths are now after Arwen and Frodo, so we best arrive as soon as possible."
He led them farther and farther in the direction of Arwen's horse, and they took a splitting west. They knew it would take plenty of time, but they had to keep going.