To the Olympics! Ch. 2
Title: To the Olympics!
Genre: Adventure/Drama
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Summary: The summer of 340 BC: Alexander and Hephaestion attend the Olympics! While exploring new places, meeting new people, facing culture clashes and getting into a fistfight or two, friendship deepens into something more.
© Copyright Joyeee 2008
A/N: Just want to reemphasize that this is a more episodic story, so the storyline will wander about a bit, and characters may appear for just one or two chapters. But anyone familiar with this fandom can probably guess which two will stay onstage throughout! :)
Chapter 2: Pella's Noble Sons
While Aristotle was delicately extracting the first plant from the wildly tangled heap in his antechamber, his students were winding their way along the neat walkways of Mieza toward the stables. As they turned a corner, Cassander shaded his eyes against the noonday sun and frowned. "A ride to the orchard's just fine, but it's a pity that half the day is gone already. I suppose there's no point in starting out toward Pella today instead of tomorrow."
Nearchus shook his head. "Even Alexander's Ox-head would take from sunup to sundown to get back, I wager."
Harpalus opened his eyes wide with an air of mock suspicion. "If I'm not mistaken, Cassander . . . you're quite eager to get going!"
"Cassander? Eager to travel?" Chuckling, Ptolemy clapped him on the shoulder. "What next, a Southerner who can hold his drink?"
Cassander shook off Ptolemy's hand with an exasperated grin. "You're just as anxious to get going as I am! Weren't you already packing a week ago?"
"True." Ptolemy did not look the least bit troubled by Cassander's revelation; instead a mischievous smile flashed across his face. "But I think Perdiccas has us all beat; he had a gift ready for a certain special someone back home a whole fortnight ago!"
The next moment Ptolemy had to duck as Perdiccas' fist came hurtling his way, but there was no malice in the blow and Perdiccas was grinning as he replied, "My welcome will be that much warmer than yours, won't it?"
A chorus of wolf whistles answered that, but the group never broke stride even as Ptolemy and Perdiccas began darting in and out among the others, chasing each other around. Erygius let out a long whistle. "Seems Cassander's not the only one who's eager to get back to Pella -"
"I know I am," Alexander declared suddenly from the back of the group, halting everyone else in their tracks. It was not every day that Alexander and Cassander could agree on something.
Meeting their stares, Alexander blinked, as if shaking off a daydream. "Well, Mieza is . . . um, pretty . . . and we're learning a lot here . . . but after all . . ." His hands clenched, his tense silence throughout the day flaring suddenly into obvious frustration, but he said no more and finally turned his gaze away.
Alexander might be the king's son, but even those who had not known him well before Mieza had recognized long ago that Alexander did not - would not - take advantage of his royal blood to lord it over others or vent his temper on blameless bystanders. Therefore, the looks they now exchanged were puzzled, curious, but not overly anxious. Perdiccas and Nearchus glanced questioningly at Hephaestion, but upon catching their gazes he shrugged; he was just as perplexed as everyone else.
"Well, after all . . ." Cassander cast Alexander a final wary look, then slowly, prudently decided to carry on the conversation as if nothing had happened. "Why shouldn't we be eager to return? We grew up in what is now the capital of Macedon!"
"True," Ptolemy sighed. "There's not much here by comparison. Just a handful of cottages . . ."
"Mieza's not just a handful of cottages," Hephaestion spoke up. His expression was quite serious, but his eyes held a merry glint. "There are . . . trees. Many, many trees."
Perdiccas grinned, catching right away on to the jest. "Trees galore! And haven't you noticed all the grass around us?"
Suddenly raising one hand in a gesture eerily reminiscent of their teacher, Laomedon intoned with exaggerated gravity, "Tall grass, short grass, broad-stemmed and thin-stemmed, dark green and light green with fifteen different shades of green in between!" Over the loud, appreciative laughter of his fellow students (all of whom had been prompted during one lecture or another to classify simple things like grass into dozens of categories), he finished with a flourish, "What do you mean, 'there's not much in Mieza?'"
"There's too much of one thing - insects!" Nearchus muttered, flicking away a particularly large beetle buzzing noisily around his head. "First thing when I get back, I'm going to the best bath-house in the city! I don't remember this many insects in Pella even at the height of summer!"
"Exactly," Cassander agreed. "It'll be nice to be back in civilization for a change."
"Now you sound like a Southerner," Erygius jibed, then flung an arm dramatically across his forehead. "A dandy plucked up by the roots from the warm, sunny shores of the Aegean and thrown mercilessly into the wild hills of the north!"
"You know I don't mean it that way," Cassander retorted. "But here we've been burying our heads in old theories and ancient philosophies - we don't even really know what's happening in the world anymore!"
At that, Alexander stiffened again, but the motion was small enough that most of the others took no notice, and the conversation continued this time without skipping a beat. "Mieza is supposed to be a shrine," Perdiccas smiled. "Did you expect more than cottages, and trees and insects?"
"I did!" protested Harpalus. "It's a shrine to nymphs. Speaking of which, once we're back in Pella the first place I'm going is . . ."
On a sun-warmed haystack, a dozing cat started awake as a chorus of bawdy laughter erupted from the nearby stables. It raised its head to cast a disapproving stare at the young men who had so noisily interrupted its slumber, but only long enough to watch them thunder out of the stables on their horses. As soon as they galloped off, leaving the stableyard sunny and peaceful again, it turned its other side to the sun and settled back down to its nap.
* * * * *
The ride to the orchard was too short to burn off their restlessness. Once there, they soon began parading around, daring each other to various tricks of horsemanship.
Alexander held back, not compelling his stallion to perform anything. "You're spoiling him!" Ptolemy cried from afar, having just jumped his horse over a high clump of hedges; Bucephalus answered with a contemptuous snort. But Alexander only gave a half-hearted smile.
Sensing that now was not the time to bait Alexander, the others moved on in their efforts, concentrating especially on Hephaestion, who, when coaxed and wheedled and badgered enough, could be counted on to dare (and accomplish!) some pretty eye-opening stunts. Hephaestion grinned at some of their ideas, but before they could prevail on him Leonnatus' stomach growled loudly. Over the laughter, Leonnatus reminded them all with mock indignation that they had not gotten any lunch, rushing so summarily by the kitchens on the way from class. The others agreed, and they thought up a challenge for Hephaestion that would serve several purposes at once: to pick a small basketful of apricots while following a very precise, very twisty course between the trees of the orchard.
At this, Alexander seemed to rouse himself a bit. "You'll have to ride at a canter at least, of course," he put in with a shadow of a smile.
"Of course!" Harpalus agreed cheerily. Despite one lame leg which prevented him from learning all the fighting that the others did, he was familiar enough with their exercises, and continued, "Simple enough for all of you to hack things up while you're riding, anyway. But apricots bruise easily, so this will require some finesse!"
"Hephaestion could canter through with his eyes closed. And look how many apricots there are; even if he doesn't try to pick any they'll be raining down on him!" Perdiccas snorted, rousing a round of laughter as Hephaestion rolled his eyes at the obvious exaggeration. "Throw in another condition!"
Laomedon glanced around. "Look! The flowers, the ones Aristotle said were brought from Egypt long ago -"
"Lilies of the Nile," Ptolemy put in.
"Right. The tallest reach above a horse's flank, see? So it shouldn't be too difficult to gather some of them as well."
Erygius caught on immediately to his brother's scheme. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "You'll have to lean down to pick the flowers, and reach up to get the apricots! And by the end you won't have either hand free for reins!"
"I was going to suggest something like a jump over the tallest stalks, with an armful of apricots." Laomedon gave his brother's shoulder a light punch. "But picking flowers as well as apricots? Aren't we a little demanding today?"
Leonnatus' stomach growled again, and he clutched it in mock despair. "Have pity on a poor starving soul!"
Alexander's smile grew as he gave Leonnatus' broad shoulders a squeeze, reminding everyone that it was no ill-nourished wretch who had thrown them all so many times on the wrestling grounds, and by the time he looked toward Hephaestion his usual spirits seemed to have returned. "For a poor starving soul's sake, Hephaestion . . ."
Hephaestion said nothing. But he met Alexander's gaze, and his smile, slight though it was, was enough to answer Alexander's challenge - so utterly confident that it was all but a challenge in itself.
Though the look was directed at Alexander, the boys all knew precisely what it meant: their challenge was accepted. With a few twigs and a folded cloak, they fashioned a rough imitation of a basket. Hephaestion eyed it with a skeptical grin, but accepted it as easily as he had the challenge itself.
Ten minutes later, they cheered and crowded round as Hephaestion galloped back. Laughing, he handed down the armful of flowers so as to have both hands for the makeshift basket, but despite his care it nearly collapsed in on itself from the weight of the fruit. Fortunately the others were crowding up, eager to help unload the goods, and the implosion of the basket was not the minor disaster (the bruising of all those apricots!) it might have been.
The Nile lilies, white and rose and royal purple, made fine adornments for the manes of their steeds. Letting the stallions off to graze for themselves, the boys settled back. For the rest of the afternoon they lounged blissfully in the bright little clearing, chatting, dozing, daydreaming, reclining there on their cloaks as comfortably as on palace couches.
Alexander soon withdrew into himself again, leaning back on his hands as he sat staring into the distance, never quite unwinding. But the others knew better than to pry. And besides, they saw no need to bother themselves, for Hephaestion was lying there on the grass next to Alexander. With his hands clasped comfortably as a pillow under his head, he appeared quite unaware of Alexander's fingers tapping irregularly, restlessly, almost close enough to brush his arm, and in the dappled light he even seemed half-asleep. Yet on the few occasions that Alexander spoke, he always answered. And whatever his answers were, the crease in Alexander's brow always smoothed out after, if only for a few moments.
The scents of the orchard permeated the sun-warmed air. The shade of the trees and the light of the sun mingled, bathing the grove in a soft, pleasant light. And the apricots glowed like golden baubles in the youths' hands as they spoke of this and that, making and remaking their plans for the coming holiday, each grander and more exciting than the last.
The next evening, Pella welcomed home the sons of some of its most illustrious families. Despite (or perhaps because of) months on end sequestered away in the stately gardens of Mieza under the disciplined tutelage of one of the finest philosophic minds in all of Hellas, the young men descended on the city with all the spirit and force of a crazed whirlwind blasting down from the highest peak of Olympus.
However, there was one exception to the general excitement. And that exception was the scion of the most illustrious Macedonian family of them all - Alexander, son of Philip Basileus.
to be continued
Ch. 3 here
Genre: Adventure/Drama
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Summary: The summer of 340 BC: Alexander and Hephaestion attend the Olympics! While exploring new places, meeting new people, facing culture clashes and getting into a fistfight or two, friendship deepens into something more.
© Copyright Joyeee 2008
A/N: Just want to reemphasize that this is a more episodic story, so the storyline will wander about a bit, and characters may appear for just one or two chapters. But anyone familiar with this fandom can probably guess which two will stay onstage throughout! :)
Chapter 2: Pella's Noble Sons
While Aristotle was delicately extracting the first plant from the wildly tangled heap in his antechamber, his students were winding their way along the neat walkways of Mieza toward the stables. As they turned a corner, Cassander shaded his eyes against the noonday sun and frowned. "A ride to the orchard's just fine, but it's a pity that half the day is gone already. I suppose there's no point in starting out toward Pella today instead of tomorrow."
Nearchus shook his head. "Even Alexander's Ox-head would take from sunup to sundown to get back, I wager."
Harpalus opened his eyes wide with an air of mock suspicion. "If I'm not mistaken, Cassander . . . you're quite eager to get going!"
"Cassander? Eager to travel?" Chuckling, Ptolemy clapped him on the shoulder. "What next, a Southerner who can hold his drink?"
Cassander shook off Ptolemy's hand with an exasperated grin. "You're just as anxious to get going as I am! Weren't you already packing a week ago?"
"True." Ptolemy did not look the least bit troubled by Cassander's revelation; instead a mischievous smile flashed across his face. "But I think Perdiccas has us all beat; he had a gift ready for a certain special someone back home a whole fortnight ago!"
The next moment Ptolemy had to duck as Perdiccas' fist came hurtling his way, but there was no malice in the blow and Perdiccas was grinning as he replied, "My welcome will be that much warmer than yours, won't it?"
A chorus of wolf whistles answered that, but the group never broke stride even as Ptolemy and Perdiccas began darting in and out among the others, chasing each other around. Erygius let out a long whistle. "Seems Cassander's not the only one who's eager to get back to Pella -"
"I know I am," Alexander declared suddenly from the back of the group, halting everyone else in their tracks. It was not every day that Alexander and Cassander could agree on something.
Meeting their stares, Alexander blinked, as if shaking off a daydream. "Well, Mieza is . . . um, pretty . . . and we're learning a lot here . . . but after all . . ." His hands clenched, his tense silence throughout the day flaring suddenly into obvious frustration, but he said no more and finally turned his gaze away.
Alexander might be the king's son, but even those who had not known him well before Mieza had recognized long ago that Alexander did not - would not - take advantage of his royal blood to lord it over others or vent his temper on blameless bystanders. Therefore, the looks they now exchanged were puzzled, curious, but not overly anxious. Perdiccas and Nearchus glanced questioningly at Hephaestion, but upon catching their gazes he shrugged; he was just as perplexed as everyone else.
"Well, after all . . ." Cassander cast Alexander a final wary look, then slowly, prudently decided to carry on the conversation as if nothing had happened. "Why shouldn't we be eager to return? We grew up in what is now the capital of Macedon!"
"True," Ptolemy sighed. "There's not much here by comparison. Just a handful of cottages . . ."
"Mieza's not just a handful of cottages," Hephaestion spoke up. His expression was quite serious, but his eyes held a merry glint. "There are . . . trees. Many, many trees."
Perdiccas grinned, catching right away on to the jest. "Trees galore! And haven't you noticed all the grass around us?"
Suddenly raising one hand in a gesture eerily reminiscent of their teacher, Laomedon intoned with exaggerated gravity, "Tall grass, short grass, broad-stemmed and thin-stemmed, dark green and light green with fifteen different shades of green in between!" Over the loud, appreciative laughter of his fellow students (all of whom had been prompted during one lecture or another to classify simple things like grass into dozens of categories), he finished with a flourish, "What do you mean, 'there's not much in Mieza?'"
"There's too much of one thing - insects!" Nearchus muttered, flicking away a particularly large beetle buzzing noisily around his head. "First thing when I get back, I'm going to the best bath-house in the city! I don't remember this many insects in Pella even at the height of summer!"
"Exactly," Cassander agreed. "It'll be nice to be back in civilization for a change."
"Now you sound like a Southerner," Erygius jibed, then flung an arm dramatically across his forehead. "A dandy plucked up by the roots from the warm, sunny shores of the Aegean and thrown mercilessly into the wild hills of the north!"
"You know I don't mean it that way," Cassander retorted. "But here we've been burying our heads in old theories and ancient philosophies - we don't even really know what's happening in the world anymore!"
At that, Alexander stiffened again, but the motion was small enough that most of the others took no notice, and the conversation continued this time without skipping a beat. "Mieza is supposed to be a shrine," Perdiccas smiled. "Did you expect more than cottages, and trees and insects?"
"I did!" protested Harpalus. "It's a shrine to nymphs. Speaking of which, once we're back in Pella the first place I'm going is . . ."
On a sun-warmed haystack, a dozing cat started awake as a chorus of bawdy laughter erupted from the nearby stables. It raised its head to cast a disapproving stare at the young men who had so noisily interrupted its slumber, but only long enough to watch them thunder out of the stables on their horses. As soon as they galloped off, leaving the stableyard sunny and peaceful again, it turned its other side to the sun and settled back down to its nap.
* * * * *
The ride to the orchard was too short to burn off their restlessness. Once there, they soon began parading around, daring each other to various tricks of horsemanship.
Alexander held back, not compelling his stallion to perform anything. "You're spoiling him!" Ptolemy cried from afar, having just jumped his horse over a high clump of hedges; Bucephalus answered with a contemptuous snort. But Alexander only gave a half-hearted smile.
Sensing that now was not the time to bait Alexander, the others moved on in their efforts, concentrating especially on Hephaestion, who, when coaxed and wheedled and badgered enough, could be counted on to dare (and accomplish!) some pretty eye-opening stunts. Hephaestion grinned at some of their ideas, but before they could prevail on him Leonnatus' stomach growled loudly. Over the laughter, Leonnatus reminded them all with mock indignation that they had not gotten any lunch, rushing so summarily by the kitchens on the way from class. The others agreed, and they thought up a challenge for Hephaestion that would serve several purposes at once: to pick a small basketful of apricots while following a very precise, very twisty course between the trees of the orchard.
At this, Alexander seemed to rouse himself a bit. "You'll have to ride at a canter at least, of course," he put in with a shadow of a smile.
"Of course!" Harpalus agreed cheerily. Despite one lame leg which prevented him from learning all the fighting that the others did, he was familiar enough with their exercises, and continued, "Simple enough for all of you to hack things up while you're riding, anyway. But apricots bruise easily, so this will require some finesse!"
"Hephaestion could canter through with his eyes closed. And look how many apricots there are; even if he doesn't try to pick any they'll be raining down on him!" Perdiccas snorted, rousing a round of laughter as Hephaestion rolled his eyes at the obvious exaggeration. "Throw in another condition!"
Laomedon glanced around. "Look! The flowers, the ones Aristotle said were brought from Egypt long ago -"
"Lilies of the Nile," Ptolemy put in.
"Right. The tallest reach above a horse's flank, see? So it shouldn't be too difficult to gather some of them as well."
Erygius caught on immediately to his brother's scheme. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "You'll have to lean down to pick the flowers, and reach up to get the apricots! And by the end you won't have either hand free for reins!"
"I was going to suggest something like a jump over the tallest stalks, with an armful of apricots." Laomedon gave his brother's shoulder a light punch. "But picking flowers as well as apricots? Aren't we a little demanding today?"
Leonnatus' stomach growled again, and he clutched it in mock despair. "Have pity on a poor starving soul!"
Alexander's smile grew as he gave Leonnatus' broad shoulders a squeeze, reminding everyone that it was no ill-nourished wretch who had thrown them all so many times on the wrestling grounds, and by the time he looked toward Hephaestion his usual spirits seemed to have returned. "For a poor starving soul's sake, Hephaestion . . ."
Hephaestion said nothing. But he met Alexander's gaze, and his smile, slight though it was, was enough to answer Alexander's challenge - so utterly confident that it was all but a challenge in itself.
Though the look was directed at Alexander, the boys all knew precisely what it meant: their challenge was accepted. With a few twigs and a folded cloak, they fashioned a rough imitation of a basket. Hephaestion eyed it with a skeptical grin, but accepted it as easily as he had the challenge itself.
Ten minutes later, they cheered and crowded round as Hephaestion galloped back. Laughing, he handed down the armful of flowers so as to have both hands for the makeshift basket, but despite his care it nearly collapsed in on itself from the weight of the fruit. Fortunately the others were crowding up, eager to help unload the goods, and the implosion of the basket was not the minor disaster (the bruising of all those apricots!) it might have been.
The Nile lilies, white and rose and royal purple, made fine adornments for the manes of their steeds. Letting the stallions off to graze for themselves, the boys settled back. For the rest of the afternoon they lounged blissfully in the bright little clearing, chatting, dozing, daydreaming, reclining there on their cloaks as comfortably as on palace couches.
Alexander soon withdrew into himself again, leaning back on his hands as he sat staring into the distance, never quite unwinding. But the others knew better than to pry. And besides, they saw no need to bother themselves, for Hephaestion was lying there on the grass next to Alexander. With his hands clasped comfortably as a pillow under his head, he appeared quite unaware of Alexander's fingers tapping irregularly, restlessly, almost close enough to brush his arm, and in the dappled light he even seemed half-asleep. Yet on the few occasions that Alexander spoke, he always answered. And whatever his answers were, the crease in Alexander's brow always smoothed out after, if only for a few moments.
The scents of the orchard permeated the sun-warmed air. The shade of the trees and the light of the sun mingled, bathing the grove in a soft, pleasant light. And the apricots glowed like golden baubles in the youths' hands as they spoke of this and that, making and remaking their plans for the coming holiday, each grander and more exciting than the last.
The next evening, Pella welcomed home the sons of some of its most illustrious families. Despite (or perhaps because of) months on end sequestered away in the stately gardens of Mieza under the disciplined tutelage of one of the finest philosophic minds in all of Hellas, the young men descended on the city with all the spirit and force of a crazed whirlwind blasting down from the highest peak of Olympus.
However, there was one exception to the general excitement. And that exception was the scion of the most illustrious Macedonian family of them all - Alexander, son of Philip Basileus.
to be continued
Ch. 3 here