Alexander: King of the World 0/?

[qaddafi]

King of the World
Author: Qaddafi the Ripper
Fandom: Alexander the Great (original)
Summary: In a different world, Alexander marries before leaving Macedonia. His son accompanies him in his journeys. What changes will this cause, and what will stay the same?
Notes: A million thanks to my proof readers, coraldawn and moon71.



“I am, as my father was before me and his father before him, a king. I will take this world he has left me, and make it mine. And there shall be none who can stand in my way, for I am the son of a god. The nations shall tremble before me, and the world shall bow to me. Never to anyone else, only me. For I am my father’s only son and heir, and this world belongs to me now. I am the king of the world, and anyone who challenges me, I will destroy.”

Prologue: Of Dreams and Inheritance

“Alexander, I would like to suggest a wife for you.”

The king of Macedon managed to suppress a sigh. In the past two years or so since he’d become king, and before that too, he'd entertained countless marriage offers. This latest offer had ambushed him in the hallways of the palace while he was overseeing the final preparations to go into Asia. It wasn’t the first time he’d been ambushed by an offer, but he was already getting sick of it. He would be glad to go to Asia, if for no longer reason than to escape prospective fathers-in-law. “I appreciate the offer, Myron, but I have no intention of marrying anytime soon,” he explained patiently. He had wars to fight with Persia, and he didn't want to sit around in Macedon through weeks of celebration that would accompany a marriage. And what would he do with the wife once he got her? He couldn't just leave her behind after the ceremony, not with Olympias. And he refused to wait around until she bore a son.

Myron, an old friend of Philip's, grinned and winked at Alexander, as if they two were conspirators. “Oh, I know you don't want to wait around here to get married, Alexander. Just like your father you are, wanting to go straight to war. But I've a girl who will fit your needs, I think.”

This time Alexander did allow himself a quiet sigh and drummed his finger impatiently against his thigh. “I'm sure your daughter or niece is lovely, Myron, but I--”

“She is no relation of mine,” Myron cut him off. Alexander reflected briefly that he’d heard that Persians kings were never interrupted, and he thought that might be nice, every now and then. “The last of her kinfolk died a few years ago, and since I was a friend, she's been living with my family ever since. Her father was Stavros, one of Philip's best supporters.” Despite himself, Alexander found himself listening. With so many contrary factions in Macedon, he hadn't wanted to pick a wife since he'd be saddled with the family too. But a girl of good lineage, with no remaining family... It was a better possibility than he'd hoped for. “She's a pretty, young thing,” Myron continued. “Just turned sixteen and ready for marriage. And here's the best part, Alexander. She'd be willing to go with you to Asia.” The older man rubbed his hands together gleefully, already smelling victory.

Alexander raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? Why would she do something like that? It's inappropriate for a woman to follow her husband to war.” A courtesan or camp follower could, but a good Macedonian wife would never think it.

Myron shrugged. “I have no idea why she wants to leave, but I know she's desperate to leave any way she can. You could always ask her yourself.”

Having a girl come to him so he could talk to her was practically the same as being engaged to her. But Alexander had to admit he was curious. He paced the width of the hallway a few times, turning the idea over and over in his head. “I'd like to meet her,” he agreed at last.

It was after noon the next day when Myron ambushed him a second time in the hallways, this time with a young woman in tow. If the man’s ability to ambush him could be transferred to warfare, they would be able to defeat the Persians within two years, Alexander thought darkly. He had been alone except for the company of two of his squires and on his way to a final meeting to make sure everything was ready for the war.

The girl with Myron was a pretty thing, though it was hard to tell for certain with the way she kept her eyes demurely lowered to the floor, but certainly no great beauty. Without hesitation, Myron announced, “Alexander, this is Cyma, my ward.” The girl made a clumsy curtsy, her hands shaking as she held the folds of her long chiton. Alexander frowned, wondering how this girl could be bold enough to wish to travel to Asia with him and his army.

“Welcome, Cyma,” he greeted her, trying to make his voice as kind and gentle as he could. He had spent little time around women, save for his mother, and a timid female he hadn’t the slightest idea how to approach. Neither kindness nor gentleness were things he had much familiarity with, so he hoped he’d done a decent job of it. “Myron tells me Stavros, a great friend of Philip, was your father.”

She nodded. “He died when I was very young. My mother was dead too, and I had no other family, so Myron took me in and raised me as his own daughter.” Her voice was barely audible, and Alexander had to fight down a swell of distaste. Even if this girl would be willing to go with him to Asia, he wouldn’t want her as his wife anyway. He wanted the mother of his heir to be like his own mother: an strong and capable woman who was never afraid. A child resembled both his parents, and a weak mother could make his son weak in turn. And a weak son could never become king of the Macedonians, a fierce and hardy people who made a habit of killing kings they didn’t like.

He would have to be polite and humor the girl a bit longer though, for Myron’s sake. But he wouldn’t put up with her any longer than he must. He shifted impatiently where he stood, wishing he could pace but knowing it would be rude to Myron. “Myron also tells me that, if I did make you my wife, you would leave for Asia with me.” A bit blunt perhaps, not the way Philip - consummate politician that he had been - would have put it, but Alexander was determined to be a different king than Philip had been.

“That is not entirely correct,” Cyma said, her voice a tad louder than earlier and with a hint of steel beneath it. Alexander cocked his head to the side, curious. “Whether you make me your wife or not, I will not stay here once Myron has left with you for Asia.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Surely you don’t intend to become a camp follower.” That was no place for a Macedonian woman of noble blood. And no girl as quiet as this one seemed would last long in that role.

For the first time, she raised her head. She didn’t quite dare to look him in the eye, but he could clearly see her firm resolve. It surprised him, pleasantly so. She might act demure, but there was some life in her after all. “By whatever means necessary, I will leave Macedon,” she stated. “Perhaps I will go to Asia. Perhaps I will go to Athens, or elsewhere in Greece. But I will not stay here.”

“Why?” he demanded, bewildered, leaning in her direction and crossing his arms.

And fear once again entered her eyes. She glanced to and fro at the other men present within earshot and not entirely inebriated. “I shouldn’t say, here,” she murmured, her voice again becoming barely audible.

It was clear in that moment that the reason she wanted to leave Macedon was because she feared someone here, feared that person enough to risk her life in getting away. And whoever she feared, it would be someone who would stay here while Alexander went to Asia, and someone of power who might hear this conversation. Alexander frowned and wondered who. Antipater, perhaps, or his son Kassandros? But this girl could not be of much consequence to either man, or to any man by Alexander’s thinking. A woman perhaps could and would bring this girl harm, but what woman had the power...

His mother. Olympias had power in Macedon, more than any other woman and many men. Why she might wish to bring harm to Cyma specifically, Alexander didn’t know, but he did know that his mother was willing and able to kill women that she disliked, or who got in her way. Cyma may never have fallen under either category, but Alexander could guess that she might fear Olympias nonetheless.

“My mother?” he asked. She jerked a bit and stared at him for a moment, before averting her eyes. And in that moment, he had confirmed for himself that Olympias was indeed the one Cyma feared, and that she knew he had guessed. Which meant she was an intelligent woman also. Perhaps he was beginning to like her, just a little bit. “Why do you fear her so?” he asked. His mother, by reputation, was a person who could inspire fear in others. Having never been afraid of her himself, Alexander could never quite understand why.

She took a deep breath before answering. “It was during a festival when Philip was still king,” she explained softly. “Many of the noble women who live nearby were gathered together. Philip had just married again, so Olympias was in a bad mood. She had the corpse of a baby. It couldn’t have been dead for long. I could see its eyes,” she added, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. “She drank the dead baby’s blood, to curse Philip’s new marriage, she said. She said that only you would become the next king, and she would destroy any woman who tried to stop you. My father was a distant relative of Philip’s, and even though I’m a woman, I began to fear that she would try to kill me.” She shook her head, the rest of her body shaking with it. “It’s foolish, I know. But I can’t forget about it, and every time I see Olympias, I feel like I could die. I can’t stand being near here, which is why I have to escape.”

Neither Alexander nor Myron said anything for a long time after her speech. Alexander hadn’t heard about that little incident before, and he wondered briefly from where Olympias had gotten the dead baby. He was certain that Olympias would not hurt this girl. Cyma was no obstacle to him, least of all now that he was king of Macedon and captain-general of all the Greek forces. But there was no guarantee that Olympias would see things that way, and he wouldn’t be here to keep an eye on her. In the end, the girl would be willing to leave Macedon behind, and wouldn’t that work perfectly for him?

“It might be good for me to marry before leaving,” he said, trying to sound casual but watching her closely. He had no skills in deception that he knew of, but he wasn’t precisely trying to deceive her. “Who knows how many years it might be before I can return to Macedon? But I would hate to leave a new bride behind, and I don’t even have time for a wedding ceremony, so great is my desire to be off to war as soon as possible.” The longer he and his army waited, the harder to would be to start a war with Persia.

She stood a bit straighter. Though she must have been nervous, she spoke with calm assurance. “I have no need of a lavish spectacle of a marriage. Nor do I have a need to become your wife.” And hearing that, straight to his face, was enough to convince him she wasn’t a coward, however much she might fear Olympias. “But I am willing to travel with the army, in whatever bad areas they settle down for the night. I am not afraid of hardship, and I would like to see more of the world. I have heard it is very beautiful,” she finished with a hint of longing.

“You are very different from any woman I have ever met,” Alexander murmured quietly. He drummed his fingers against his other arm. He had not met many women, and even less close to his own age, but he was sure she was different from other women. Perhaps it was only desperation that made her that way, but she was willing to leave, and soon. Cyma might not have heard what he said, but from the triumphant look from Myron, he had heard. “We have a few more days before we must depart. I will consider your words. In the meantime, please consider yourself a guest here at Pella.”

And shortly Myron and Cyma were gone. He had a major decision to make, and soon.

* * * * *
That evening he paid his mother a visit. The rest of the day had been a trial only a person of great patience could have endured. Alexander, who could be patient in battle but nowhere else, was ready to hit someone. Of the two squires who had been with him during his talk with Myron and Cyma, one was a terrible gossip, a fact which Alexander had only recalled afterwards. The news that he was considering taking a wife before leaving for Asia spread across Pella faster than fire. He had spent the remainder of the day fielding questions, and becoming increasingly more irritated. First, people wanted to know if he really was thinking about marriage. Though he didn’t give an answer to that question, a few more men had tracked him down to remind him about their own daughters or nieces or even granddaughters, and what good wives those girls would make. He’d glared at those men until they retreated, leaving him alone with a group of his friends. His friends, least of all able to believe the news, pestered him again and again, demanding to know if he’d actually found a girl to marry, what his mother had to say about it, and since when had he been interested in girls anyway. Most of all, Kassandros had made a nuisance of himself. He’d suggested his own sisters to Alexander many times before, and it seemed he couldn’t imagine Alexander marrying some other girl, on account of their own friendship. Alexander still scowled broadly at the thought of his friendship with Kassandros. He had certainly never noticed any friendship between them.

When he received word that Olympias wanted to speak with him, it came as a relief. At least, when he was with her, he only had to deal with her and not half a dozen other people too. Whatever thoughts he might have entertained about Olympias being better than a roomful of curious people, he quickly took back. She had heard, same as everyone else, that he was considering marriage, and she had even discovered to whom. She was not happy with him, not happy loudly and at great lengths. “How could you even consider marrying that girl?” she demanded sharply. Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “She is the worst possible candidate as mother for your heir. Can’t you see that?”

“She is a bit quiet, I will grant you that, Mother--” Alexander began cautiously. He did not ask how she had learned that it was Cyma he was considering. There was little that went on in Pella that Olympias did not learn of. Even if Alexander decided not to marry her, he would do what he could to save her from his mother’s wrath. If she had to stay behind in Macedon, she’d need help, after this.

“She is not just ‘a bit quiet’,” Olympias interrupted him. She stood and began to pace the room, now and again waving her arms about theatrically. “She can barely string five words together. In all the years that I have known her - and I have known her for some time - the useless girl has barely said a word. I think she might be a bit daft. Even when I spoke ill of Myron, she just frowned and said nothing! No, you must not marry that girl, my love. What would you do if your sons took after her? There are any number of girls who would make you much better wives than she would.” And she proceeded to list, at some length, girls of whom she would approve of as Alexander’s wife. Every single one of them, he knew or suspected, was someone Olympias could easily manipulate. Then, as if uncertain a list of approved girls would be enough, she reiterated her litany of Cyma’s failings at greater length.

Of all the girls she mentioned, never for one of them did she even mention if the girl would be willing to leave with Alexander for Asia. But then, she did not want Alexander to leave, at least not yet. He would win his glory in battle, her certainty of that was clear as the sun on a cloudless day, but he should stay in Macedon longer, marry and have at least one heir before departing. It was what Philip would have done, one of the very few things on which she agreed with her late husband on.

After her third repetition of Cyma’s failings, Oympias finally wound down and Alexander quickly excused himself before she could list anew the girls she did approve of. As soon as he was clear of her rooms, he headed back to his own, intending to barricade himself if that was what was needed to get away from the discussion about his possible marriage.

Safely in his own quarters, he paced back and forth and considered Cyma. She was far from daft, that he was sure of. As for shy, she well might be, but that was hardly a fatal flaw in a potential wife. As it was, there had been a time when Alexander had himself been uncomfortable around boys his own age. Olympias’s disapproval of the girl, if anything, made him consider her more seriously. Perhaps it was lingering adolescent rebellion, but he knew he couldn’t marry any girl Olympias suggested to him. He loved his mother dearly, and knew she loved him, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew Olympias would use him, as well as any potential wives or children of his, to get more power for herself. That was just the way she was, and that was the reason he couldn’t leave a wife and child behind in Macedon when he left.

He was still considering when his door opened and then shut. Quiet footsteps approached him and Alexander smiled, stopping his pacing. He knew from the sound of the steps that it was Hephaistion. He smiled warmly at his friend as Hephaistion sat down on the bed and pulled Alexander down next to him, leaving his arm touching Alexander’s. They were both silent for a few moments before Hephaistion asked softly, “Will you marry her?”

Alexander grimaced. Even Hephaistion wanted to know if he would get married. But he answered him, because Hephaistion was the one person he didn’t mind asking him about it. “Perhaps,” Alexander replied. He thought of his friend for a moment: quiet and competent, rigid determination and love wrapped inside gentle touches and pointed questions. “She reminds me of you. A little,” he added.

Hephaistion raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked. “So now you think I’m womanly,” he teased.

“No,” Alexander laughed. “But my mother thinks quiet and serious are horrible failings. I’ve learned otherwise.” He turned to face his friend and draped his arm around Hephaistion. “I don’t think I could find someone better than her,” he added cautiously. “She’s the only one who’s willing to leave with me for Asia.” Both he and Hephaistion had known that one day Alexander would have to marry and sire children, though it was something Alexander didn’t like to think about. Cyma seemed intelligent and somewhat courageous, but he didn’t know her, and he honestly had no idea what to do with a woman in his bed. He had never had the desire to find out, content with Hephaistion as he was. The idea of taking the girl to his bed was a bit distasteful and at the same time nerve wracking. And there was no way he could go through with the marriage if Hephaistion was jealous. Above all else, he couldn’t lose Hephaistion.

“You’re planning to take her with you?” Hephaistion asked with a frown. “That isn’t proper.”

“The girl is terrified of my mother. She said she was planning on leaving Macedon no matter what it took. Marrying me was just one way she could find to leave,” he added sourly. Cyma considering him nothing but a means to an end still annoyed him. “Not that I really want to bring a wife with me,” he added. “But it’d be worse leaving one behind.” And he looked desperately at Hephaistion again.

But his friend smiled at him gently, calmly, without concern. “In that case, I don’t think you’ll find anyone better either,” he agreed. “So marry her before we leave, and bring her with us.”

Alexander relaxed a bit. “You won’t get jealous?” he asked carefully. Hephaistion was possessive of his friendship, and he was worried how envious his friend might get of his love.

“She’s just a girl,” Hephaistion pointed out after a moment of consideration. And there was still no worry in his face. Alexander smiled; Hephaistion was right. How could a woman, any woman, compare with a man? He would never, he knew, call a woman his friend.

Reassured that Hephaistion wasn’t troubled by the prospect of him marrying, one last problem occurred to him. “But what do I do with her after the ceremony?” he asked. To only Hephaistion would he dare raise that question. Any other man would have mocked at him, for not knowing what to do with a bride.

Hephaistion laughed at him. “Idiot,” he said fondly. “You do with her the same things we do together.”

“I can’t do all of those things with a woman,” Alexander pointed out, feeling his face flush.

“No, but there are things you can do with a woman that you can’t with a man. You’ll figure it out,” he assured Alexander with a kiss. Alexander sighed and leaned closer to Hephaistion. It seemed there was nothing left keeping him from marrying Cyma. He made up his mind, and then banished all such thoughts as Hephaistion pulled him into a more serious kiss.

* * * * *

Alexander married Cyma in a plain, whirlwind quick ceremony three days before the army marched for Asia. She wore a pretty, if simple, dress while he wore his best tunic and cloak, his splendor easily outshining hers. She was shorter than him and blushed hotly the first time he kissed her. There was little fanfare to the ceremony, and only one night of celebration and drinking, during which Alexander drank rather more than he should have while trying not to think of what he was supposed to do with his bride when the celebration was over. When they were alone together for the first time after Alexander sobered up the next day, she told him how kind he was to her, and that she hoped she would be a good wife to him, and a good mother to their children. Seeing her calm helped him relax and he got through their wedding bed with only a few fumblings.

And then he clean forgot about her, as the army crossed into Asia during spring and his war loomed before him. She had a separate tent from his, though hers was always pitched next to his. He managed a few brief minutes, a few days, in which to visit her. She always seemed calm and happy, and the further away from Macedon they got, the more she spoke to him, and he grew somewhat fond of her. Still, most nights Alexander spent alone, or with Hephaistion. He wondered if Cyma knew about his relationship with Hephaistion, but he never asked her and she never said.

It was shortly after they stopped at Troy that Cyma told him she was with child. They had only spent a one night together, right after their wedding, so he was taken entirely by surprise by the announcement. He was pleased that he would have an heir so soon, and pleased with himself for siring a child that quickly. He offered up a sacrifice to the gods in thanks and in hopes that the child would be a boy, and then he held a massive celebration for the entire army. Over the months and battles that followed, Alexander made a point to visit her more often and watched her belly swell. He told her he hoped the child was a boy. She smiled back at him and told him that bearing his heir was the least she could do to repay his kindness in taking her far away from Olympias, whose letters always contained disapproval of Cyma, even now when Olympias knew the woman was with her son’s child. He never mentioned those letters to Cyma, and certainly never showed them to her, especially when Olympias went on at length about how weak the child would be, just like its mother.

The army was in Gordium, after the battles of Granicus, Miletus, and Halicarnassus, when Cyma went into labor. Alexander was rudely forbidden from the tent by the midwife and paced impatiently outside, Hephaistion and other friends and soldiers also waiting nearby. The labor was long and difficult and Alexander grew more and more upset. He feared the child would be lost, and he worried that Cyma might die too. He hadn’t realized until now just how fond of her he had grown. And he had never told her that he had grown to care for her. He prayed to every god that both she and the child would survive.

Many hours later, he was finally allowed inside the tent by the midwife, who looked sad. His heart in his throat, he entered, with Hephaistion behind him. He had a son, a beautiful, perfect little boy, but Cyma had died. He kissed Cyma’s unmoving lips, asked her forgiveness for not loving her better, and breathed a prayer for her soul. Then he collected the newborn in his arms, already in love with the baby.

Then he walked back out of the tent, to show to everyone else his heir, and to offer a sacrifice in thanks that the child lived.

Notes:

So, yes, I've decided to shoot myself in the ass and write a multi-part story that might never be finished. If enough people like the idea and want to see it continued, I will do my best. I want to finish it, but I know best how lazy I can get, and how discouraged over a story I can get.

This will be based on history and, as the summary promised, some things will be altered, but not all. In this prologue, I tried to address every theory historians have given as to why Alexander didn’t take a wife before leaving for Asia. And then I tried to come up with a character that would make an acceptable wife for him, given the circumstances. I hope she was believable, as well as Alexander being willing to marry her. But enough about her, she’s already dead.

Many Macedonian kings, not just Philip, were murdered, frequently by their own people.

Olympias bitching in letters is pretty much a given. It’s her hobby.