On Hephaestion
So... this sort of came out of nowhere, except for that little voice that is Roxane screaming in my brain because Alexander is ignoring her. It's untitled, but may someday be part of something larger.
Summary: Roxane is jealous. Seleucus doesn't really care, but thinks she ought to know her place.
Disclaimer/Warning: Well, this isn't exactly fanfiction, but it's not exactly original fiction either. Historical fanfiction, maybe. Or maybe it's actually just historical fiction. I certainly don't own the characters, but nobody else really does either, they belong to themselves. So... yeah. Right now it's a oneshot. And short. Yes.
Untitled
“He is nothing but Alexander’s whore!” she shrieks, drenching everything in wine as she overturns the table, scattering goblets across the tent.
Seleucus barely blinks as burgundy droplets fly inches from his eyes. “Perhaps he is only Alexander’s whore,” he remarks, as calmly as if commenting on the weather. “And you are Alexander’s wife. That is one way to look at it. And yet,” he pauses a moment, whether for effect or simply to collect his thoughts is unclear, “and yet, of all mortals - men and women alike - it is only Hephaestion who holds any sway over the king. It is only Hephaestion who has the confidence of security to approach him when he is at his worst. It is only Hephaestion who holds his full trust. It is only Hephaestion in whom he confides. It is only Hephaestion who knows the true Alexander.”
She grits her teeth, fists clenching.
Seleucus continues undeterred. “You may hold Alexander’s attentions and affections for a while. He will dote upon you. He will visit your bed. He may even love you, in his own fashion. Alexander loves well, and often. He loves us all for loving him, and we love him for loving us. He will give you gifts and honors. He is very generous. You will feel that you are the most powerful woman in the world, to hold the love of such a man. It is a heady thing. We all feel it, when he looks at us, when he speaks to us. And you, you have captured him so well that he has made you his bride. But know this, you are nothing to Hephaestion, and, no matter what you do, it is to Hephaestion that Alexander will return.”
He meets her furious gaze almost dispassionately. “I would rather be Hephaestion, Alexander’s whore, than you, Alexander’s wife, any day.”
END
Summary: Roxane is jealous. Seleucus doesn't really care, but thinks she ought to know her place.
Disclaimer/Warning: Well, this isn't exactly fanfiction, but it's not exactly original fiction either. Historical fanfiction, maybe. Or maybe it's actually just historical fiction. I certainly don't own the characters, but nobody else really does either, they belong to themselves. So... yeah. Right now it's a oneshot. And short. Yes.
Untitled
“He is nothing but Alexander’s whore!” she shrieks, drenching everything in wine as she overturns the table, scattering goblets across the tent.
Seleucus barely blinks as burgundy droplets fly inches from his eyes. “Perhaps he is only Alexander’s whore,” he remarks, as calmly as if commenting on the weather. “And you are Alexander’s wife. That is one way to look at it. And yet,” he pauses a moment, whether for effect or simply to collect his thoughts is unclear, “and yet, of all mortals - men and women alike - it is only Hephaestion who holds any sway over the king. It is only Hephaestion who has the confidence of security to approach him when he is at his worst. It is only Hephaestion who holds his full trust. It is only Hephaestion in whom he confides. It is only Hephaestion who knows the true Alexander.”
She grits her teeth, fists clenching.
Seleucus continues undeterred. “You may hold Alexander’s attentions and affections for a while. He will dote upon you. He will visit your bed. He may even love you, in his own fashion. Alexander loves well, and often. He loves us all for loving him, and we love him for loving us. He will give you gifts and honors. He is very generous. You will feel that you are the most powerful woman in the world, to hold the love of such a man. It is a heady thing. We all feel it, when he looks at us, when he speaks to us. And you, you have captured him so well that he has made you his bride. But know this, you are nothing to Hephaestion, and, no matter what you do, it is to Hephaestion that Alexander will return.”
He meets her furious gaze almost dispassionately. “I would rather be Hephaestion, Alexander’s whore, than you, Alexander’s wife, any day.”
END