theranger: (Aragorn Prancing Pony by Wizzicons)
Aragorn fingers the slim scar splitting his upper lip. He often does that when he's thinking about something that bothers him, but he only does it when he's alone.

Memories associated with that scar are too private, not something to be shared with others, and they always seem to surface when he touches it, like he's doing now, back in the quiet seclusion of his room in Elrond's house after the council his foster father has called about the Ring, the cursed Ring the hobbit has brought here.

But there's more than worrisome thoughts about the darkness shading the future that's bringing the scar to the forefront of his mind today. There's the blond warrior from Gondor who sat in Council with them today and called back vivid memories of how that scar came to be, back in what now feels to Aragorn like another life, a life lived by someone else, lived by a man named Thorongil who is not the man he is now.

He's surprised Boromir hasn't recognized him, but then again maybe he's not suprised at all. They are both not the same men, their respective destinies have caught up with them and made them different men from the two young warriors who used to spar together.

Aragorn fingers the scar and remembers how stricken Boromir had been when the tip of his sword, swinging wild out of control after a lunge, had sliced open his upper lip, how he had tended him and begged for forgiveness.

Those days are past now, the man Aragorn is now is a stranger to the Gondorian, still Aragorn can't help remembering.
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