Alexander minific #5
Title: Alone (1/2)
Author: pseudonihilist
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion, Alexander/Bagoas implied
Rating: PG
Summary: After Alexander forces Hephaistion to renounce his quarrel with Eumenes on pain of death, they meet in Hephaistion’s tent to discuss things.
A/N: Based on Mary Renault’s account of events in her excellent novel, The Persian Boy, from which the quote at the beginning is taken. Part 1 of the bitchslap!fic. Bunny provided by pink_pants, for whom this fic is written. Oh, and I chose Pella because that’s where Hephaistion was born, right? Gah. I need to go read The Nature of Alexander again.
Disclaimer: Text of TPB belongs to Mary Renault, and Alexander and Hephaistion belong to themselves. This is fiction, and I sincerely apologise for any inaccuracies, anachronisms, etc.
Feedback: Would be appreciated.
"I thought [Alexander] had just been afraid of their getting drunk and starting again. But he loitered in his tent instead of coming to bed; then put a dark cloak on and went out. I saw him throw a fold about his head; he didn't want it seen where he was going, though he must have known I'd guess.
He was not very long away. They must have patched it up, after a fashion; one could tell that after. But if it had gone as he wished, he'd not have finished the night as he did with me." - Bagoas, in The Persian Boy
***
There had been the desert, when Hephaistion had felt the sand in his throat, had felt his very life force floating away from him in the filmy, blurry waves of heat rising from every surface under the ferocity of the sun's rays, had smelled his own putrid humanity leave his body as its essence mingled with the stink of his horse, while it lived. There had been the mountains, where, instead of drawing his life away, death had settled in his body, numbing his extremities until he felt leaden, dulling his consciousness with a bitter ice that made him forget how to move, how to manifest his own vitality. There had been the pain of wounds so unbearable that he forgot his pride, the hunger, which made him feel his life so acutely that he wished intensely for its end, and the sickness, which reduced him to the basest, weakest creature, devoid of everything human.
None of these things, however, could battle Alexander and win. He defied death itself, and inspired those who loved him to do the same. Hephaistion remembered his will to live, to survive, to overcome, because of Alexander. Every moment alive meant one more moment lived for Alexander; Hephaistion drew his very breath from the love within him for the man whom some called a god.
But when the god has turned his back, it is harder to keep faith. Hephaistion felt the heat, not of his love, but of his anger, and it was scorching - more harsh than the most brutal ray of the sun, sharper than the coldest wind, more agonising than the tenth day of hunger.
He suffered alone.
His dinner with Alexander and Eumenes had been tortuous. The food was as ash in his mouth, the wine stale and sour, and though he watched their lips move, all he could hear was the coldness in Alexander's voice when he had said, "Hephaistion, I made you what you are. And not for this."
Afterward, he had felt Alexander's hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, being tired of the pretence he had kept up all day, since the quarrel, for Alexander and Alexander only.
He sat in his own tent, now, head cradled in his hands, wrenching sobs being torn from his gut, sounds he had not made even in the moments of blackest despair. He had not truly known despair, he now realised, because he had never been alone. Not in the desert, nor on the mountains, nor in any delerium of sickness or hunger. There had always been Alexander, whom he would deny nothing, and who would never deny him. Everything and anything had been bearable, because Alexander had been with him. Now he stood on a battle field, alone, facing the most terrible enemy of all, the one who knew all his weaknesses, the one who held his heart in the palm of his hand.
Suddenly he heard the muted rustle of his tent flap being pulled aside, and there stood a figure. Even with the fold about his head Hephaistion recognised his lord in the dim lamplight.
"You weep," Alexander said, doffing the cloth and the cloak.
"Yes, I weep," Hephaistion answered, perversely pleased at the savagery in his voice. "Why do you remove your cloak? Surely you do not mean to stay."
Alexander merely looked at him, the muscle in his jaw working steadily, and was silent.
"I do not know why you have come," Hephaistion continued, his voice going lower.
Alexander looked fierce. "Do you know me so little, then, after all these years? A lifetime, Hephaistion!"
Hephaistion could not bring himself to hold Alexander’s gaze. "Yes, I know, you can proclaim for all to hear that you made me what I am. Yet you forget how much I have made you."
The grey eyes flashed at that. "Without you, I would still be king. What would you be without me, Hephaistion?"
Hephaistion kept his head down and, for once, spoke without weighing the consequences. "I would have a home in Pella, a wife, many children, perhaps. I would not have the nightmares of men dying terrible deaths by my spear, or the many scars that still give me pain, though they healed long ago, all so that you could conquer the world and see its end. I would not be hated and despised by those who seek to gain influence with you. I would not be so dependent on your favour that I cease to know whether I follow your orders out of love or fear. I might be - content."
The silence was deafening before Alexander spoke. "And that is what you want! Very well, Hephaistion - "
"I did not say - "
"You dare to interrupt your king!"
Their eyes locked in the fiercest battle either had ever fought, and Hephaistion was oblivious to all but Alexander’s molten anger.
"Yes, I dare!" he cried, finally. "I dare because when you are my king, I am nothing more to you than your precious loyal Krateros, or that barbarous Eumenes, or worse, your Bagoas - "
"Tread with care, Hephaistion, or by the gods, I will - "
"Bagoas!" Hephaistion repeated bitterly, remembering the desert, and how much it had cost him not to leave the boy behind. And Alexander, it seemed, was incapable of making a similar sacrifice for him. "Mother of Zeus, it is a pretty state of things when I make way for a eunuch. I don’t know why I am surprised that you would make me do the same for such as Eumenes."
Before he even finished Alexander had started forward and grasped his hair with one hand, forcing his head back and looking down at him, his expression murderous. Well, Hephaistion thought. Let him kill me in this rage, and then he may understand half the passion with which I have always touched him.
But as quickly as it had come, the rage seemed to burn out of a sudden, and Alexander sank to his knees on the floor between Hephaistion’s legs, his hands resting at Hephaistion's waist.
"When did we come to this?" he whispered dully.
Hephaistion had no answer, yet he dared to reach out and rest his hand on Alexander’s golden head.
"I have tried so many times, Hephaistion," Alexander continued. "I have tried to make you understand. You are everything to me, you must know that."
Hephaistion’s voice was low. "How am I to know, after today? What am I, if I cannot have that from you which no one else has?"
Alexander looked up. "Am I not here?" He pushed his head gently into Hephaistion’s broad hand, which had begun to stroke the curls softly. "It is not Eumenes, nor Bagoas, whom I have come to. It is you." He closed his eyes. "You say you are not content - "
"I did not mean - "
"You did. I do not blame you for feeling thus. Believe me, Hephaistion, I know of the sacrifices you have made for me. No one could be more grateful than I. But do you not see that, in the eyes of the world, and especially such as Eumenes, I give you more than all the rest combined? Could I, should I be unfair to them, for your sake alone?"
Hephaistion could only tighten his grip on Alexander's shoulder, not trusting himself to speak. He could only listen to the voice of the one he adored, and try feel every word as deeply as he might.
"It is here, when we are alone, that what I say to you matters most. You are right, I cannot be the king in this tent, with you. I am - your boy," he said simply. "And I swear to you now, that you have me, all of me. You conquer me when I am at my strongest, and rebuild me when I am at my weakest. What would I do without you? Yet such is my life, that I must hide the fact that this king, this leader of the greatest army in the world, is a slave to you. So go, Hephaistion. Though I am selfish, I can make this sacrifice. Return to Pella, and begin that life which will make you happy, however much it pains me to see you go. Have the sons you wish for, and live a long life of prosperity and contentment."
Hephaistion felt the wetness of tears at his knee, where Alexander had rested his cheek. "I do not desire contentment. I would have followed you to the very ends of the earth; you know it well."
At that, Alexander lifted his head and looked up at Hephaistion, his cheeks tear-stained. "Then do not leave me," he choked. "You know I could not live without you."
Hephaistion pulled up on Alexander's shoulders, so that they were both standing. "I will never leave you. You could strip away all my clothes and honours, and I would still follow you, a lonely beggar dressed in rags at the end of the line."
Alexander clung to him, then, burying his face in Hephaistion's neck. "Forgive me, my love. I had to do it."
"I know," Hephaistion whispered. In my mind, I know. It is my heart that doubts. But the words remained unspoken.
Thus, when Alexander began to kiss him, he pulled away.
"I cannot be content with only part of you. Not tonight."
The hand at his chest stilled. "I have just explained, surely you know - "
"I know you will leave me, afterward, and I know who is waiting for you."
Alexander's hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Very well." He turned, picking up his cloak, and draped it around himself. "Good night, Hephaistion," he said softly, and turned to leave.
After he was gone, Hephaistion still sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the tent flap. There would be no sleep for him that night, nor any Persian boys to ease his pain.
***
to be continued, hopefully.
ETA: Continued in Legend
Author: pseudonihilist
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion, Alexander/Bagoas implied
Rating: PG
Summary: After Alexander forces Hephaistion to renounce his quarrel with Eumenes on pain of death, they meet in Hephaistion’s tent to discuss things.
A/N: Based on Mary Renault’s account of events in her excellent novel, The Persian Boy, from which the quote at the beginning is taken. Part 1 of the bitchslap!fic. Bunny provided by pink_pants, for whom this fic is written. Oh, and I chose Pella because that’s where Hephaistion was born, right? Gah. I need to go read The Nature of Alexander again.
Disclaimer: Text of TPB belongs to Mary Renault, and Alexander and Hephaistion belong to themselves. This is fiction, and I sincerely apologise for any inaccuracies, anachronisms, etc.
Feedback: Would be appreciated.
"I thought [Alexander] had just been afraid of their getting drunk and starting again. But he loitered in his tent instead of coming to bed; then put a dark cloak on and went out. I saw him throw a fold about his head; he didn't want it seen where he was going, though he must have known I'd guess.
He was not very long away. They must have patched it up, after a fashion; one could tell that after. But if it had gone as he wished, he'd not have finished the night as he did with me." - Bagoas, in The Persian Boy
***
There had been the desert, when Hephaistion had felt the sand in his throat, had felt his very life force floating away from him in the filmy, blurry waves of heat rising from every surface under the ferocity of the sun's rays, had smelled his own putrid humanity leave his body as its essence mingled with the stink of his horse, while it lived. There had been the mountains, where, instead of drawing his life away, death had settled in his body, numbing his extremities until he felt leaden, dulling his consciousness with a bitter ice that made him forget how to move, how to manifest his own vitality. There had been the pain of wounds so unbearable that he forgot his pride, the hunger, which made him feel his life so acutely that he wished intensely for its end, and the sickness, which reduced him to the basest, weakest creature, devoid of everything human.
None of these things, however, could battle Alexander and win. He defied death itself, and inspired those who loved him to do the same. Hephaistion remembered his will to live, to survive, to overcome, because of Alexander. Every moment alive meant one more moment lived for Alexander; Hephaistion drew his very breath from the love within him for the man whom some called a god.
But when the god has turned his back, it is harder to keep faith. Hephaistion felt the heat, not of his love, but of his anger, and it was scorching - more harsh than the most brutal ray of the sun, sharper than the coldest wind, more agonising than the tenth day of hunger.
He suffered alone.
His dinner with Alexander and Eumenes had been tortuous. The food was as ash in his mouth, the wine stale and sour, and though he watched their lips move, all he could hear was the coldness in Alexander's voice when he had said, "Hephaistion, I made you what you are. And not for this."
Afterward, he had felt Alexander's hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, being tired of the pretence he had kept up all day, since the quarrel, for Alexander and Alexander only.
He sat in his own tent, now, head cradled in his hands, wrenching sobs being torn from his gut, sounds he had not made even in the moments of blackest despair. He had not truly known despair, he now realised, because he had never been alone. Not in the desert, nor on the mountains, nor in any delerium of sickness or hunger. There had always been Alexander, whom he would deny nothing, and who would never deny him. Everything and anything had been bearable, because Alexander had been with him. Now he stood on a battle field, alone, facing the most terrible enemy of all, the one who knew all his weaknesses, the one who held his heart in the palm of his hand.
Suddenly he heard the muted rustle of his tent flap being pulled aside, and there stood a figure. Even with the fold about his head Hephaistion recognised his lord in the dim lamplight.
"You weep," Alexander said, doffing the cloth and the cloak.
"Yes, I weep," Hephaistion answered, perversely pleased at the savagery in his voice. "Why do you remove your cloak? Surely you do not mean to stay."
Alexander merely looked at him, the muscle in his jaw working steadily, and was silent.
"I do not know why you have come," Hephaistion continued, his voice going lower.
Alexander looked fierce. "Do you know me so little, then, after all these years? A lifetime, Hephaistion!"
Hephaistion could not bring himself to hold Alexander’s gaze. "Yes, I know, you can proclaim for all to hear that you made me what I am. Yet you forget how much I have made you."
The grey eyes flashed at that. "Without you, I would still be king. What would you be without me, Hephaistion?"
Hephaistion kept his head down and, for once, spoke without weighing the consequences. "I would have a home in Pella, a wife, many children, perhaps. I would not have the nightmares of men dying terrible deaths by my spear, or the many scars that still give me pain, though they healed long ago, all so that you could conquer the world and see its end. I would not be hated and despised by those who seek to gain influence with you. I would not be so dependent on your favour that I cease to know whether I follow your orders out of love or fear. I might be - content."
The silence was deafening before Alexander spoke. "And that is what you want! Very well, Hephaistion - "
"I did not say - "
"You dare to interrupt your king!"
Their eyes locked in the fiercest battle either had ever fought, and Hephaistion was oblivious to all but Alexander’s molten anger.
"Yes, I dare!" he cried, finally. "I dare because when you are my king, I am nothing more to you than your precious loyal Krateros, or that barbarous Eumenes, or worse, your Bagoas - "
"Tread with care, Hephaistion, or by the gods, I will - "
"Bagoas!" Hephaistion repeated bitterly, remembering the desert, and how much it had cost him not to leave the boy behind. And Alexander, it seemed, was incapable of making a similar sacrifice for him. "Mother of Zeus, it is a pretty state of things when I make way for a eunuch. I don’t know why I am surprised that you would make me do the same for such as Eumenes."
Before he even finished Alexander had started forward and grasped his hair with one hand, forcing his head back and looking down at him, his expression murderous. Well, Hephaistion thought. Let him kill me in this rage, and then he may understand half the passion with which I have always touched him.
But as quickly as it had come, the rage seemed to burn out of a sudden, and Alexander sank to his knees on the floor between Hephaistion’s legs, his hands resting at Hephaistion's waist.
"When did we come to this?" he whispered dully.
Hephaistion had no answer, yet he dared to reach out and rest his hand on Alexander’s golden head.
"I have tried so many times, Hephaistion," Alexander continued. "I have tried to make you understand. You are everything to me, you must know that."
Hephaistion’s voice was low. "How am I to know, after today? What am I, if I cannot have that from you which no one else has?"
Alexander looked up. "Am I not here?" He pushed his head gently into Hephaistion’s broad hand, which had begun to stroke the curls softly. "It is not Eumenes, nor Bagoas, whom I have come to. It is you." He closed his eyes. "You say you are not content - "
"I did not mean - "
"You did. I do not blame you for feeling thus. Believe me, Hephaistion, I know of the sacrifices you have made for me. No one could be more grateful than I. But do you not see that, in the eyes of the world, and especially such as Eumenes, I give you more than all the rest combined? Could I, should I be unfair to them, for your sake alone?"
Hephaistion could only tighten his grip on Alexander's shoulder, not trusting himself to speak. He could only listen to the voice of the one he adored, and try feel every word as deeply as he might.
"It is here, when we are alone, that what I say to you matters most. You are right, I cannot be the king in this tent, with you. I am - your boy," he said simply. "And I swear to you now, that you have me, all of me. You conquer me when I am at my strongest, and rebuild me when I am at my weakest. What would I do without you? Yet such is my life, that I must hide the fact that this king, this leader of the greatest army in the world, is a slave to you. So go, Hephaistion. Though I am selfish, I can make this sacrifice. Return to Pella, and begin that life which will make you happy, however much it pains me to see you go. Have the sons you wish for, and live a long life of prosperity and contentment."
Hephaistion felt the wetness of tears at his knee, where Alexander had rested his cheek. "I do not desire contentment. I would have followed you to the very ends of the earth; you know it well."
At that, Alexander lifted his head and looked up at Hephaistion, his cheeks tear-stained. "Then do not leave me," he choked. "You know I could not live without you."
Hephaistion pulled up on Alexander's shoulders, so that they were both standing. "I will never leave you. You could strip away all my clothes and honours, and I would still follow you, a lonely beggar dressed in rags at the end of the line."
Alexander clung to him, then, burying his face in Hephaistion's neck. "Forgive me, my love. I had to do it."
"I know," Hephaistion whispered. In my mind, I know. It is my heart that doubts. But the words remained unspoken.
Thus, when Alexander began to kiss him, he pulled away.
"I cannot be content with only part of you. Not tonight."
The hand at his chest stilled. "I have just explained, surely you know - "
"I know you will leave me, afterward, and I know who is waiting for you."
Alexander's hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Very well." He turned, picking up his cloak, and draped it around himself. "Good night, Hephaistion," he said softly, and turned to leave.
After he was gone, Hephaistion still sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the tent flap. There would be no sleep for him that night, nor any Persian boys to ease his pain.
***
to be continued, hopefully.
ETA: Continued in Legend