Alexander: Alexander's Legacy
Finally, after only, um, two and a half years? Yeah, finally I'm writing fic again and fulfilling those requests. Here's the first.
Alexander's Legacy
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Summary: for parisad . Barsine learns of Alexander's death. 800 words.
Barsine sat next to the window, watching her son and some of his friends play. She smiled at her Herakles. He had boundless energy and a sharp mind. His dark hair flew around his face as he ran around. He had so much of Alexander in him.
It was a shame, she sometimes thought, that he probably wouldn't be a king. She hadn't seen Alexander in years, although she did get letters from him every six months or so. Herakles had no memory of Alexander at all.
In her more practical moments, she knew why Herakles wouldn't become king. She'd spent time in her youth living in Macedon, and she knew that they would never elect a king who had not been raised among them.
But that was fine. Herakles was strong and clever and didn't matter if he never became king.
The door behind Barsine opened so hard it slammed against the wall. She turned around to see a servant standing there, panting. “What is it?” she asked, standing up.
“A messenger has just arrived, madam,” he said. “He has terrible news.”
Barsine clenched her hands into fists. “What is the news?”
“He said that Alexander is dead.”
There was a long moment of silence. Barsine closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. At last she said, “Please bring him to speak with me. And fetch my son.” The servant nodded and hurried out.
Barsine crossed the room and sat in her chair. She smoothed the creases from her dress and finger-brushed her hair. Then she took a deep breath and sat up straight. A few minutes later, the servant came back in, bowing in a man.
He was Greek, by his looks, possibly Macedonian. His clothes were splattered with mud and he hadn't bothered to take off his cloak. He offered her a shallow bow. Barsine barely restrained herself from jumping at the gesture. Greek men didn't bow to Persian women.
“You must go to Babylon immediately,” he said without preamble. “Alexander has been dead for fifteen days, and you have his only living son.”
Barsine frowned. “Who did he name as his successor?”
“No one. Some people are calling for his brother, Arridaios. Others want to wait for Roxane to have her child. They forgot about you and your son. If you go to Babylon, your son will surely be named the next king. He's Alexander's only child.”
“Thank you,” Barsine said, inclining her head. “I will gather together my son and leave shortly.” The man nodded and left the room. Shortly after he left, Herakles entered.
“Mother, are you ill?” he asked, sitting in the chair next to hers. “You don't look good.”
“Oh, Herakles,” she said and began to cry. She half-turned in her chair and pulled him into her arms. She buried her face in his head and let the tears fall.
“Mother! What is it?” Herakles cried, pulling away from her far enough to see her face.
Barsine wiped a hand across her eyes, brushing some of the tears away. “Herakles, your father is dead.”
“Oh,” Herakles said. He blinked and didn't fight when she pulled him back into her arms. “Does this mean I'm going to be king?”
“Maybe. There are others who could become king too.” She ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “There will be fighting. Many people will die. If we go to Babylon, we might die too.” If there was one thing she'd learned when living in Macedon and when with Alexander, it was that Macedonians were very picky about who their king was, and had no problem killing those who weren't quite up to speck.
Herakles shivered. “I think I would be a good king.”
“You would be a very good Persian king,” Barsine said. “But you would be a very bad Greek king.” She shook her head. At this point, no one would make a good king. There was no one in the entire world who could compare with Alexander, and she wouldn't let Herakles die for the trying. Alexander's legacy would be fighting, and she would not be a part of it. “We need to leave, as soon as possible.”
“Where are we going?”
“As far away as we can go. Past the edge of the world, if we can.” She stood up and pulled Herakles to his feet. Her tears had dried now. “Now gather your things. We need to leave before that messenger realizes that we're not going to Babylon.”
Herakles nodded, obedient. Another boy would have argued, wanting to be king more than anything, but Herakles never argued with her about important things. She smiled after he left the room. He will not be you, Alexander, she thought, and I am glad for that. Then she pushed such thoughts away and began packing her own things.