Last night at the Prancing Pony

It seems to be quite a rule in Middle-earth that people acquire many names during a long life. Elves, for example, easily list father's name, mother's name, nickname, and various further epithets. The same is true for Dúnedain. Which may not always be wise.
 
Time: Early summer, 3019 TA

BARLIMAN: Your name?
ARAGORN: Aragorn.
BARLIMAN: Funny. Last time you registered here it was Strider.
ARAGORN: Oh, yes, that was. But I prefer to have it Telcontar now. It sounds less vulgar.
BILL FERNY: Hear, hear! The way we folks talk isn't good enough for him any more. What d'you think you are, man, a Dúnadan or some such?
GLOIN: Hey, Barley! Don't let this queer guy fool you. I have heard him being called Dúnadan as if it was his name.
ARAGORN: Well, that must have been in Rivendell then.
BOMBUR: Rivendell? Rivendell? Isn't that where I met you once, and Elrond called you Estel?
ARAGORN: That is a long story. At any rate, to cut this short, I am Elessar and...
BILL FERNY: Eh, man, didn't you just say your name was Aragorn?
ARAGORN: It is Aragorn and Elessar.
BARLIMAN: So what do you want me to write down? Elessar like King Elessar?
ARAGORN: Look. I am King Elessar! And I am Aragorn, and once I was Estel, and then there was this bloody hobbit who nicknamed me Dúnadan, and – I don't even know what they call me in Harad where the stars are strange, but I would kindly ask you to get this darn registration done and give me the key for my room, PLEASE!
FORLONG THE FAT: Hey, I recognise you! You are this Thorongil guy! Thief, whinced at me that his sword was broken, then went off with my best one. Now will you return those forty castar my blade was worth, or will you draw right here on the spot...
ARAGORN: <jumps through the closed window, climbs the western gate and prefers to spend this night in the barrow of the last Prince of Cardolan>