The ring was an unfamiliar heavy weight on my hand, pinning me to an unlooked for fate.

“He gave me Narsil, too.”

Elrohir laughed. “Narsil? What does father expect you to do with it?”

I grin. “Put fear into the hearts of my foes. Drawing it, I declare, ‘Here is the Sword That Is Still Broken.’ They’ll flee my wrath unfought. ‘Twould be a good stabbing sword, with such a jagged point.”

”It was a hand-and-a-half! The hilt would unbalance such a short blade.”

“But not unmasterable, I think.”

“Estel, no!”

“I am Aragorn.” I go to commission a sheath.

Written for fliewautet: who wanted Pre-Ring War Aragorn