Disclaimer: I down own LOTR. Simple as that.

(And many thanks to the person, (I do not know if she wants to be named) for showing me a different view for the story. Thank you)

A/N: Another trial run at "First Impressions." If you want this to continue review (which means don't rely on other people to do it for you) and tell me what you thought. Or if you wish, a simple one-liner will do. Flames accepted. There are major changes to the beginning! THANK YOU!

First Impressions

Prologue

Aragorn,

I was a young man when I first laid eyes on, Aragorn, or Estel as was more commonly known in his younger days. Many years later I can honestly say that my first impression of the boy, for as a boy I will always think of him as, was; this is the heir to Gondor's throne?

This thought came to me as he strode across the dusty sands of the training grounds. He was in the ungainly stages of boyhood, perhaps only thirteen. His hair hung lank around his shoulders, as he slouched, shuffling across the ground. He made sure to cast looks at every other pair in the rectangular area, letting everyone know his displeasure at being there.

I can frankly say I was quite surprised, for Elrond had told me how enthusiastic the young man was about sword fighting and I certainly wasn't his first teacher. In fact, I was there mainly to stem the questions that had been coming from the young Estel about his human heritage, as well as to provide Gilraen with some company.

Despite all this however, at the look of the disgruntled youth dragging his feet across the arena, I might have found myself on the ground in a fit of uncontrollable laughter had I been more like the sons of Elrond; Elladan and Elrohir. As I was more resigned, I scowled instead, disbelief written across my features. Me, tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair yet unblemished by the grays of the elderly, the man who of twenty summers was battle-hardened by the skirmishes in the North, was to teach this boy. You have got to be kidding.

(Although, as I had later found out, Estel's primary disgruntlement that fine afternoon was largely due to his earlier berating at Elrond's hands, as he was caught in the act of pulling a prank, of which his brothers had helped orchestrate. But at the time, I had no such knowledge, and was primarily disappointed in what I saw.)

"Are you Halbarad?" Estel asked grouchily, as he came to a stop before me. Disinterestedly he kicked at the sand beneath his feet; tiny motes of dust flying into the air.

With growing horror I now saw he was barefoot, unshod. I saw the peek as he glanced up, the smirk as he saw that he had finally registered some other emotion in me besides a scowl. I quickly tried to replace my angry face but the damage had already been done.

Ai Estel! Such a troublesome child you were that first day!

So many years later it still seems as if it happened only yesterday. The tale has become a popular campfire joke, often causing Aragorn (if he is around) to blush red, as if he too recalls the memory clearly.

It is one that I will never forget, even in death.

But here, it is not why I sit by the glowing embers of a dying fire, telling a tale that has long since passed into the tapestry of the past. What happens now, so many years later where I sit now is the eve of war, the time when Aragorn shall be known as Elessar and all that he has strived for come to pass.

The days of sullen boyhood have long since passed, and I have aged. Though I am of the Dunedain, I feel my years heavily, for I am older the Aragorn, a man who has seen too much war and blood in his life.

I sit here- while the camp quiets, the Rangers sleep, and the watch patrols silently- to write Aragorn's story. A story not told from his eyes, but from the eyes of the man who stood by his side as he grew. From the first impressions of the child who wanted nothing more then to be rebellious against an act he felt unfair, to the man I now know.

I choose to tell you it now Aragorn, for I have never spoken so much about your trials and errors or how proud I am of the man you have become.

I know, when you read this, I will be dead. I am not scared. I know the battle tomorrow is my last. I have heard the beat of the raven's wings in my ears. But while I yet live, I have one more task I must perform, and though it may take all night, I will finish it.

Here is the story of Aragorn of Isildur's line, told through eyes of Halbarad, Ranger of the North: