He kissed the man's forehead. Still warm, still pliant, only moments since life had fled.
On battle-churned ground, pierced by arrows, the son of Gondor lay. In life, an angry man. Resentful, proud, given in to temptation. But strong and loyal and, finally, honorable.
Tears fell onto the lifeless face Aragorn held in his hands, pain and care already receding from its troubled brow. Was death the only thing that could have brought Boromir peace? Could the right words, the right gestures have eased his burden beforehand?
Aragorn kissed the forehead again, wishing he'd done this while Boromir was alive.