Overhead flew great birds, their wings so large as they soared through the sky. Barely a cloud could be seen, and what clouds did exist were nothing but wisps of faint white against the brilliant blue of the late morning.

Apple trees planted in great row upon row stretched out as far as the eye could see and grass as green as the moss upon weathered tree softened each step that was taken. Each apple tree was home to more ripening fruits than could be counted, the season's bounty plentiful and welcomed. Some birds brave enough to test the few who walked the orchard picked at those apples that had been unfortunate enough to fall to the ground, and there were even signs of small forest animals that had darted underfoot, had snuck to and fro in the greatest of heists in search of too sweet an apple.

Alexandria took in a deep breath as she rested under the shade of a looming apple tree. She always liked the scents that wafted on the summer breeze, she always liked the heat, if only because it made her feel alive, it made her feel energised and it made her welcome the cooled drink that always waited on her return should she have the desire.

She took the moment she stole to rest against the tree, a hand quick to swipe at a lock of brown hair that had fallen free of her simple braids. Sweat seemed to catch a strand and seal it against her forehead with just enough annoyance that she could be forgiven for scowling, for trying to blow it free though she knew that a fruitless task.

And so she sighed, she set herself down on the ground and she reached for an apple in the basket that rested beside her. Alexandria kicked her legs out in front of her and she enjoyed the coolness of the grass. The summers were hot, sometimes uncomfortably, but they were pleasant, mostly because she wore sandals that let her feet breathe, and the bottoms she wore, part pleated skirt and part airy pant did much to let the breeze cool her during the hottest days. Her arms were bare, too, the cotton singlet loose fitting upon her slender shoulders.

The apple she bit into was sweet, it crunched with each bite and she tried not to make too much of a sticky mess as the juices threatened to spill down her fingers. But she didn't mind, not when most would have done the same during the hottest of the day. But still, she didn't think she could forgive herself for being too childlike and carefree, after all, she thought it not quite becoming of someone in her position.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye and Alexandria smiled as she turned her attention to the blur of red-browns that flashed from shadow to shadow, from apple tree to apple tree. A squirrel, not much bigger than what she could fit in both hands darted from fallen apple to fallen apple. She watched as it stopped at apple after apple only to discard them with what could only be described as disappointed disgust as it found bruise or other sign that the apple not quite up to standard.

A smile crept across her lips as she continued to watch the squirrel as it began to move closer and closer to her though, each bounding flash it took bringing it close enough that if Alexandria was to pounce she was sure she could catch it. But she saw it pause, she saw it sniff at the air, its attention squarely upon the basket of apples she kept close to her side.

"Tell no one, little friend," Alexandria said with a smile and she reached into the basket and fished out an apple she found hard to imagine the squirrel able to ever carry away.

But she was never surprised when she did what she did.

Alexandria rolled the apple across the grass and she smiled a little more happily as it came to rest in front of the squirrel. Its nose twitched and she watched as the little creature sniffed once, twice, perhaps three, four even five times before it seemed satisfied that she had delivered it an acceptable bounty.

And so Alexandria found herself waving goodbye to the little creature with a simple lifting of her hand as it turned and began to roll the apple away to its keep.

She peered up at the sky then, in part to marvel at the clear of the day, in part because she was worried the birds overhead would see the squirrel, and in part to gauge how much time she had left. She checked her basket, too, its contents almost to the brim and she thought it enough for the day, perhaps because she decided it was enough, and perhaps because she knew she had others things that needed tending.

And so Alexandria rose to her feet, basket full of apples cradled against her chest as she began the long walk through the apple trees and back to her home.


The sounds of wood being chopped filled the air and signalled to Alexandria that she was close the edges of the apple trees. She began to hear the sounds of farm animals moving about, of chickens clucking and of the skitter scatter of hoof and paw running about. Another low thunk of wood being split broke the air and she hefted the basket of apples more tightly to her chest as she broke through the last of the apple trees.

Before Alexandria sprawled a small homestead. A main building that she had called home stood erected in the centre of a large clearing. It had windowed walls, a slatted wood roof and a dusty brown paint that had been beaten to the elements over generations. Pens large and small dotted around the building, each one home to a handful of animals each. Brutus the wolf dog lounged under a nearby tree, his tongue lolling out to the side as he tried to escape the heat of the day.

Another thunk echoed out around Alexandria and she turned to find a large statured man of dark complexion standing in the sun, shirtless and bald head gleaming in the sun with sweat clinging to rippling muscle in the middle of readying an axe for the next swing down onto the wood before him.

"Agamemnon is inside," he said, his voice a deep gravel that was kind and soothingly rich.

"Has he eaten?" Alexandria asked as she came to stop beside Eamon as he swung the axe.

"No," Eamon said with a shake of his head. "He refused again," and she saw him scowl at the wood that had been split just slightly off centre.

"How hard did you try?" and though Alexandria tried not to let accusation or annoyance fill her tone she knew herself partly unsuccessful as Eamon narrowed his gaze at her as he kicked away the split wood.

"Hard enough to know when to stop," Eamon said as he reached for another log. "I left food by his bed," he swung, the thunk loud enough to startle a chicken that had wandered a little closer.

"What did you offer him?" Alexandria said as she placed the basket down on the ground by her feet.

"Soup," Eamon answered. "Meat and roasted vegetable. I even offered to dip the bread for him."

She sighed in response, perhaps partly because she wasn't so sure what to do, and in part because she knew she would say something she would regret if she said anything in reply. She even knew Eamon recognised the sigh for what it was for he waved her off with a grunted curse as he swung his axe down at another log.

"You try," he said as he kicked away the split wood. "Perhaps the old fool will take more kindly to you."

"Will you wash these apples?" Alexandria asked as she nudged the basket with her foot.

Eamon eyed them for a long moment before turning to the pile of wood he still needed to split.

"Only if you cook for the night," he said simply as he prepared the axe for another swing.

"Ok," she said as she picked up the basket of apples and settled it onto her hip as she began moving towards the main building she called home. "They will be on the kitchen table," she said over her shoulder.


The home Alexandria shared with Eamon and Agamemnon was large enough for the three of them. It had its own spaces for them all to seek quiet from each other and space large enough for them all should they feel the need or desire to share in each other's company. A large living space dominated the interior with a table set in its centre. A fire place currently unused for the summer was recessed in the wall and a kitchen lined the far wall. Windows dotted the walls, too, each one with wooden shutters that did enough to keep the sun out during the hottest days of the year, and that did enough to hold the warmth within when the lands froze in the winters.

Old weapons, swords, knives, bows and arrows and axes hung upon hooks hammered into the largest of walls. Each weapon told a story and a fable and Alexandria wondered what would happen when the wall was unable to accommodate the new weapons that were to arrive with each passing spirit.

But she shook those thoughts from her mind as she set the basket of apples down onto the kitchen counter and began to wind her way through the large space and between couch, chair, book strewn across floor or odd trinket discarded with a promise of being packed away lost to memory.

A single hallway led off from the main room and deeper into the building. As Alexandria walked down the hallway she passed closed door after closed door, each one hiding away the remnants of a long since gone occupant, or simply awaiting the return of another. She passed Eamon's door, his opened, and she couldn't help but to roll her eyes as she saw the bed he left unmade and the broken axe that was left scattered on his floor. She passed her own with a content smile as she peered inside to find the bed still made, the only signs of change since the morning being the candle that had slowly melted down, its scent enough to fill the room, and the slightest of large depressions upon her bedding a clear sign that Brutus had seen fit to find shelter at some points while she had been outside.

But Alexandria came to Agamemnon's room to find his door ajar, the flickering light of a dancing candle creeping out from behind the door and the sounds of a little too hoarse breathing for her liking the only things amiss.

"Agamemnon?" Alexandria called out quietly as she pressed her ear to the door.

A cough and a curse before a ragged enter was heard and so she steeled her mind as she pushed open the door enough to slip inside before she let it close behind her.

A single bed sat backed against a wood slat wall. A bedside table sat beside it with a bowl of soup, a glass of water and a plate of sliced bread. A single window remained open and let a ray of light into the room with a vibrancy and warmth that could at times become grating.

Agamemnon was an old man with a grey beard that was trimmed short enough to make it easy for him to maintain. Despite his age he still had an almost full head of grey hair, though it lacked the volume of a man many decades his younger. His face was weathered, too, it showed signs of war with a sliver of a white scar that stretched down his cheek, his neck and dipped under the collar of his loose fitting shirt.

Even the hands that remained folded in his lap from where he sat up with his back against the bedrest were scarred, his knuckles etched with white lines, some deeper than others, some barely visible.

But despite the violence that adorned his body Alexandria saw kindness in his eyes, she saw mirth and warmth and a little devilish glint that never seemed to fade.

"Eamon says you will not eat," she said as she came to sit by his knees on the side of the bed.

"Eamon says many things," Agamemnon said with a dry smile as the thunk of wood being split filtered in from his open window.

"And the things he says are true," Alexandria countered as she pointed to the bowl of soup that still simmered, though she was sure its temperature was now closer to cool than to hot.

"I am not hungry," Agamemnon said as he lifted his chin and let the iron in his eyes fill his gaze.

Alexandria sighed as she reached for the bowl and took it in her hands, one hand taking the spoon as she slowly began stirring the soup in an attempt to waft the scents his way.

"You must gain your strength," she said as she offered the bowl towards him with as much forcefulness as she dared.

Agamemnon shook his head just once before he leant back against the bedrest a little more fully with a groan that seemed just a little more put on than needed.

"I am not hungry," Agamemnon said and this time his voice seemed more weary and less full of the bravado it had been moments earlier.

"At least drink," Alexandria pushed as she placed the bowl down and reached for the glass instead.

Agamemnon seemed to think over it, and she watched as his eyes moved from the glass and to her eyes and back. She wasn't entirely sure what it was, perhaps it was the murkiness in his gaze that had seemingly increased with each passing day, perhaps it was the slightest of tremors she could see in his fingers, or even in the way his skin seemed to fluctuate just a little with each rising of the sun. But whatever it was, whatever ailed the old fool, Alexandria found herself fretting, she found herself uncertain and full of frustrated annoyance.

"Please," she didn't mean for her voice to come out as quiet as it did. "At least drink."

A sad smile began to creep upon Agamemnon's thin lips then, but the expression seemed to at least reach his eyes as he lifted a hand that seemed far too frail all of a sudden.

Agamemnon's hand took hold of the glass, it shook almost imperceptibly in his grasp and Alexandria helped him bring it to his lips as he took in a slow and measured sip. But he coughed, he grimaced and he choked before he could even take a second sip.

"Here," and Alexandria pulled the glass away and held up the corner of a cloth to his chin where water dripped.

Agamemnon seemed part abashed, and part reluctantly thankful for the help before he settled more comfortably into the bed as his eyes closed in a slow blink.

"More?" Alexandria asked only to be met with a subtle shake of his head.

"No," Agamemnon managed to say, his voice hoarse and broken by a shaky breath. "Thank you, Alexandria."

Alexandria looked away then, but she didn't quite know why she did so. A sadness had crept over her before she had even really realised what it was, but it caught her off guard and made her want to crush anything she could reach. It made her want to reach out and shake something until it snapped beneath her frustrations and it made her want to crawl into the darkest corner she could find and hide away until whatever emotions she felt faded into oblivion.

She was surprised to feel Agamemnon's frail hand close around her wrist and squeeze as tightly as he could muster and as she met his gaze she found him smiling at her with a vibrancy once more.

"I will not have you feeling sorry for yourself," he said.

She tried to smile but she knew the only thing that must have shown was more grimace than anything.

"I will have you know I once could charm any woman into bed," Agamemnon said with a glint into his eyes. "Sometimes even more than one."

That made Alexandria laugh and the sound was as genuine as she could muster given her thoughts.

"You are a dirty man," she said with a smile as she pat the hand that squeezed her wrist.

"I am an old man," Agamemnon countered. "A very old man," and he reached up and brushed her cheek with a tenderness she had come to cherish. "Do not worry for me, Alexandria."

Alexandria took hold of his hand and brought his knuckles to her lips as she pressed the lightest of kisses to his skin. She tried not to squeeze too hard, if only because the skin she felt seemed so very thin, it seemed so very delicate and fragile within her grasp.

"If I make stewed apples will you eat some?" she asked, and she found herself trying to blink away the wetness that clung to her vision.

Agamemnon smiled as he brushed away a single tear that had escaped past her defences before he nodded with as much eagerness as he seemed to be able to muster.

"Perhaps I will."


Alexandria walked into the main room to find a now shirted Eamon at the sink, Brutus by his feet and slices of apples haphazardly strewn across the floor as Brutus lapped them up with as much gusto as a starving warrior.

"Did the old fool agree to eat?" Eamon asked as he looked up at her.

"Yes," Alexandria said as she moved to stand beside Eamon.

Despite Eamon's words, she knew he worried just as much for Agamemnon as she did, just in his own way. Eamon had lived with Agamemnon for far longer than she had, and before her it had just been the both of them. Agamemnon had been even more stubborn almost a decade ago when she had first arrived, the only thing to dull the pride being the age that he had until recently refused to accept.

"He does not complain or ask for help as much as he should," Eamon said, this time his voice a little more quiet as he glanced past her and to the hallway where Agamemnon rested.

"He is prideful," she said simply as she took one of the freshly washed apples from the pile Eamon had been sorting.

"He is a fool," Eamon said with a shrug as he passed her a knife.

"He is old," and she looked up at the taller man to see him smiling despite the sadness that lingered behind his gaze.

"Perhaps we should ask Heda for a healer next messenger visit?" he said, in part rhetorically, in part uncertain question.

"Agamemnon would not stand for it," she said and she tried not to let the sadness push back the humorous thoughts threatening to surface at the way the elderly man would berate them both should he find out what they spoke of.

"Agamemnon can not stand regardless," Eamon said with a quiet bark of laughter.

Alexandria couldn't fight the smile that bubbled to the surface, and though she felt guilty, though she felt at fault, she couldn't deny the humour in the conversation.

"I am making stewed apples," she said in way of explanation as she began slicing into the apple. "Will you have some, too?"

Eamon took an exaggerated moment's consideration of the question only to be met with Alexandria punching him lightly in the shoulder as he winced and staggered backwards with far too much dexterity and spring in his step for his size.

"Brutus will get your stewed apples then," Alexandria said as she smiled down at the large dog to find him gnawing on half an apple piece as his tail wagged haphazardly upon the floor.

"He will not."


Stewed apples with cinnamon sprinkled on top with a single scoop of cream Alexandria had come to recognise as one of Agamemnon's favourite foods. At first she had been all too happy to indulge his affection for the somewhat unhealthy treat until his age had begun to catch up with him. But even then she couldn't deny that it still gave her a little comfort knowing that she helped to ease his pains when she could.

And so Alexandria walked down the hallway, two bowls of stewed apples in hand, Eamon having already wolfed his down almost as fast as Brutus had his.

"Agamemnon?" she called out gently as she came to the elderly man's door.

Lexa pressed her ear to it to find the only sound to meet her was the shallow breathing and ragged stutter that seemed ever constant upon the man's lips. As she pushed open the door carefully with her foot she found Agamemnon reclining in his bed like he had been when she had left him, his hands folded neatly in his lap and his eyes closed. His chest rose slowly, each inhale and exhale seemingly hard fought and weary.

Alexandria crept into his room with as light a step as she could before she placed both of the bowls down beside the other still untouched foods. Agamemnon stirred at the slightest clinks as she let the bowls settle and as she glanced over at the sleeping man she saw a flash of pain spasm across his face before it settled into a tense easiness that seemed so very strained.

Alexandria moved to the still open window and she shuttered it as quietly as she could, each too loud sound that echoed out around her making her wince. But Agamemnon didn't seem to notice in his restless slumber and for that she was thankful, if only because she wanted him to rest as much as he could, while he could.

She didn't mean to do it, either, but Alexandria found herself settling down into the chair that sat beside his bed. A book she had read far too many times in the last few weeks that was opened to a page she had all but memorised lay across the chair's cushion. Alexandria made herself as comfortable as she could as she began to read, both her legs tucked under herself.

And so, not for the first and hopefully not for the last time, the only sounds to break the quiet around her were the pages she turned, the quiet call of animal outside and the ragged breaths that broke past an old friend's lips.