Denethor:
"Confounded Dwarf!" growled Denethor, as they descended down to citadel to confer with Húrin and his mechanics. "Not a tharni between us. What else have we got of value- other than your precious stamp collection?"
"Well, the treasury's been sacked as well," said Faramir, "in addition to the private purses of us and the crew."
"This is a city of proud Númenorean heritage!" stated Denethor. "We must have many treasures!"
"Quite frankly, I doubt that this tollmaster- whoever he is- really cares for art," said Faramir. "That sign of his didn't look very cultured."
"Sirs," Beregond called down to them. "Another sign ahead. It reads: 'WARNIN: SLO 2 50 Kill-o-meeters Per Hour four toll-boothe'."
"Ignore it!" said Denethor. "I've made up my mind. If Thorongil gets to be Overlord of the West, then his city is exempt from paying tolls."
"There's another sign," Beregond called again. "It reads: 'STOP OR DYE, STOOPIDS!"
"Only someone who could actually back up their claim would make a claim like that," said Faramir, looking a bit apprehensive.
"Er... better slow down to 50," Denethor told Beregond, before turning to Faramir. "Dwarfy didn't rob the tombs, did he?"
"No..." said Fararmir, hesitantly, "why?"
"Because I'm about to do a little grave-robbing," said Denethor. "The Crown of Atanatar Alcarin is still in Eärnil II's tomb, right?"
"But, Father!" protested Faramir. "That's Aragorn's crown!"
"Wrong," replied Denethor. "It's the tollmaster's now!"
"But... but... you could be sacked!"
"The Stewardship is a heriditary office!" replied Denethor grandly. "Besides, I've got too much popular support. Thorongil would face civil war."
"You have popular support?" said Faramir. "Wow... when did this happen?"
"Another sign!" called Beregond. " 'Proseed to Gully Five 2 pay Trol the tol."
"A troll!" said Denethor. "So that is the fiendish tollmaster. Scratch the crown idea... what food have we got in the city?"
"Some dried apples, a bunch of Fritos, and several sacks of yam cubes in Targon's cellar," replied Faramir. "Nothing fit for trollish consumption."
"What DO trolls eat?"
"Sheep, cattle, goats, and other creatures of the same sort such as Dwarves or Hobbits," replied Faramir.
"Pity we didn't have Dwarfy handy," muttered Denethor. "What else do trolls like?"
"I've heard they have an affinity for talking accessories," said Faramir. "But I gave our last talking purse to Eowyn."
"And I'm too cheap..." said Denethor. "Well, if worst comes to worst, we can always huck you overboard. You must be worth one city's toll, I'd think."
"Father! You can't be serious!"
"You're right," agreed Denethor. "I always do these sorts of things to Boromir first. Where is that boy, anyway..."
"He took a boating cruise down the Anduin from Rauros," explained Faramir.
"Hmm... pity. Maybe I will have to toss you out."
Meanwhile, they were rounding the last foothill of the Grey Mountains, and tall, dark, shadowy figure stood stark against the setting western sun.
"The troll!" cried Faramir.
"Stop the city!" cried Denethor. Beregond hit the brakes abruptly, and Minas Tirith ground to a halt.
"OH GREAT TROLL!" Denethor called out from the city walls. "WE WISH TO PAY THE TOLL! TELL US WHAT THE FEE IS, THAT WE MAY SEE IF WE HAVE IT!"
There was no answer. The toll-troll did not move.
"OH GREAT TOLLMASTER!" Denethor tried again. "WHAT MUST WE PAY TO PASS YOU?"
Still, there was silence.
"Maybe he doesn't want the toll!" moaned Faramir. "Maybe he just wants to kill us!"
"Why on earth would he want that?" asked Denethor. "We've never met him before in our lives."
"Actually, I think I saw him once in a bar in Anorien..." said Faramir. "He looks like a guy I bummed twenty tharni off of."
"What was a troll doing in Anorien?" asked Denethor. "And what were YOU doing in a bar?"
"Sirs," interjected Beregond, "the troll still isn't replying."
Timidly, Denethor and Faramir descended out the city gates to speak to the troll face to face. They walked right up to the troll, and Denethor again began to speak.
"Hail, Lord of the Olog-hai! We are but poor travellers in a country far from home. This pitiful city is all we have to our names. Please give us safe passage through your realm, that we may find ourselves in better fortune!"
The troll said nothing.
"Father..." said Faramir. "I'm beginning to wonder if maybe the troll can't hear us."
"Of course he can hear us," said Denethor feverishly. "We just haven't said the right thing. Maybe if we swore an Oath, calling on Eru, with Manwë and Varda as our witnesses..."
"No, Father, I think there's something wrong with this troll," persisted Faramir. "It's not moving."
"It's biding its time," said Denethor, squinting his eyes in the late evening sun. "Just watch! As soon as the sun goes down, he'll pounce on us like kittens on a ball of yarn!"
"But wait!" cried Faramir. "Trolls turn to stone in the sunlight! This is a stone troll!"
"Of course it's a stone troll," said Denethor. "All trolls are stone trolls. Did you think it was an Ent?"
"No, I meant that it's turned to stone! It's harmless! Apparently, going North-West did us some good. There's no thick Mirkwood to shield him from the daylight!"
"Spare me the denouement!" said Denethor. "Tell Húrin to get the engine going. And send Beregond and a team down here to haul the troll back into the city. Looks like we've got ourselves a new hood ornament."
And so, Minas Taxi cruised on past its terrible, horrifying, but completely stone-frozen toll troll.
It continued on a course
Due West of its current position.