Aragorn groaned. This was the last straw. He couldn't take any more. It was time to go home, crawl under the covers, and retreat from the world.

His day had started out badly and become increasingly worse as the day progressed. First, he had overslept, missing breakfast. Next, when he was getting dressed, the leather strings on his pants had broken, making it necessary to change his clothes, causing him to be even later to the practice field. Then, when he finally made his way down to the practice field, he saw that his brothers had already started their lessons without him. He was supposed to be helping observe and train some of the men from nearby villages who had asked for help in learning the best way to fight orc incursions. It did not make a good first impression on the men when he arrived late, in clothes that did not match. Having to endure his brother's teasing did not lighten his mood at all. Then, since several of the men had never picked up a bow and arrow in their lives, the lessons did not go well. Aragorn had been helping one young man learn to aim correctly when a stray arrow streaked past his nose and buried itself in the post next to him, pinning his sleeve to the post. The only good thing that Aragorn could think of was that the arrow did not bury itself in his head rather than the nearest post, but it had been much closer than he liked. He spent the rest of that lesson coaching and giving pointers from a distance. The way his day was going, he did not want to give the students another chance to kill him.

Then, once the lesson was over, he returned to his room to change clothes once again, discarding the shirt with the noticeable hole in the sleeve and finding a shirt that actually matched the pants he was now wearing. He made his way down to lunch with his stomach growling. The thought of the food awaiting him made his mouth water. He was so hungry that he would have eaten anything placed in front of him. But no, just when he was about to take his first bite, a large number of wounded had streamed into Imladris. A nearby village had been attacked by orcs, and many people had been wounded. All available healers were needed. After hours of stitching wounds and treating orc poisons, Aragorn was nearly ready to drop from exhaustion.

As he was leaving the healing wing to return home for a long awaited dinner, the skies opened up and rain poured down upon him in streams so heavy that he could not see more than a few feet in front of him. Trudging back to the main house to once again change clothes before heading down to a late and likely cold dinner there was but one thought in his mind. "When it rains, it pours."