The city of New York was unlike any city that he'd ever seen. The buildings were made of metal and taller than the trees of Lorien. The people walked with a hurried sense of purpose that might have, in ages past, been a descriptor of the inhabitants of Minas Tirith. Though, that purpose had long been forgotten in the constant battle against the darkness of the valleys of Mordor and the decay of the White City. But, even in its strangeness, New York was fascinating and a better adventure than those of recent years. Not that, as the king, he had any particular longings for adventure.
There was a certain lightness to his burden here. He no longer had to walk in the shadow that had long clouded his life, the shadow of the ring and its burden to his line. No, now he could live as he had chosen to live -- as king, yes, but also, as someone of earlier times, able to embrace the pleasantness of living. That was how he approached his being here, and that was how he was able to cope with all the bizarries with a certain level of amusement.
There wasn't much that fazed Aragorn in his present state.
Having heard of Sam's arrival via the network, he had decided to drop-by the hobbit's lodgings. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam's ability to adapt, for hobbits were a hardier folk than he'd ever imagined. But he was worried about his friend, and he knew that they needed each other in these strange times. That was how the Fellowship had managed to survive for so long: friendship. Whether his own with Legolas and Gimli, and Sam's with Frodo, their close relationships had carried them through the darkness. And it could be the same now, if they worked together.
"Master Gamgee?" he said, knocking with one hand while carrying a plant in the other. He'd picked it up at one of the local street stands, knowing that the hobbit had a fondness for gardening. These market stands weren't much different from his own experiences in the world of men. Perhaps not everything had changed. "Sam? I thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing."
He was wearing what he'd worn on his arrival, stripped down to the essentials: his boots, red shirt, and trousers. He didn't think that he needed his full kingly regalia, and really, when he went out in public with the sigil of Gondor stitched to his chest, it only brought unwanted stares.