Alexander fic: Night in the Elysian Fields
Title: Night in the Elysian Fields
Author:trust_n0_1
Summary: Hephaistion discovers what lies beyond Hades.
Rating: PG-13 (for character death and angsty themes)
Feedback: Always welcome.
Archive: Let me know
By now Hephaistion has swum in and out of consciousness so many times that he can hardly recall where he was moments ago. All pain has numbed down to a dulling ache and he can no longer hear his blood pounding in his ears as he heaves for air. He cannot tell if there is even need to breathe because his body feels light as smoke rising from a funeral pyre. Perhaps it is the absence of pain that makes it so.
In the back of his mind, he almost remembers the legend about the Fates and how they sever the mortals’ thread of life. He wonders if he’ll feel it through this lightness of being that carries him slowly away from his bed and the world of the living onto the brink of the netherworld.
Water laps at his feet and he knows he has come to the bank of the river Styx. He looks down, steeling himself to stare into the dark water that no mortal has ever stepped across alive. But he cannot see his feet, such is the darkness that engulfs him. Maybe he is lost and then maybe, maybe he will be allowed to return, if only for a little longer. For Alexander.
He looks back on the tunnel which has brought him to the river. At the mouth of it lies the world he left behind. He recalls, vaguely, his last glimpse: lying in his bed, staring at the richly carved door, waiting for Alexander. If only he could linger a while, just so that his beloved could see him one last time. Just so he can tell Alexander that it is alright, that he is ready and that he will wait for him in the house of death, just like they’ve always planned.
For his part, Hephaistion doesn’t need to say goodbye. All that had to be done has already been done, a little bit every day, though some days more than others. He has told Alexander all that he needed to know. But even if Hephaistion understands it, it will not be enough for Alexander. He will remain behind hollow and ruined, craving to have held his Hephaistion one last time. He will blame himself to the end for failing to conquer the one thing that had struck him when he was unprepared.
Hephaistion would be willing to try to forget that he is a mere mortal, for once. He would twist the arms of the Fates and risk eternal damnation if only he could give Alexander that one moment.
‘Come now, you must not think like that,’ he hears a voice and he cannot tell if it comes from inside or outside of him.
‘Why not?’ he asks in spite of himself. He does not care for the voice. He will not be swayed from his decision. His eyes are still fixed on the door and he grits his teeth in determination. He will endure. Alexander is coming, he can feel it.
‘Because I too felt the same once.’
Before he even asks “Who are you?”, Hephaistion knows. Briefly, pain shoots through his floating body. Or maybe it is just knowledge.
‘Patroklus?’
Hephaistion knows the answer as sure as he has known anything in his life.
‘You came for me? Why?’
‘Because I understand. And I know you feel alone and afraid to leave him behind.’
‘I do. I always wished for Alexander to die first, because I feared he would drive himself mad with grief otherwise.’
‘It is humbling to see such love.’ Patroklus is serious and Hephaistion means to tell him what had inspired it.
But suddenly, Hephaistion feels like his body is being torn away from him, and even though there is no pain, he is colder than he has ever been - and yet he does not feel his flesh shivering. His whole perception narrows down to the doorway whose image is beginning to distort into no more than a patch of colour. Hurry Alexander.
‘Am I dying - now?’
‘Yes,’ Patroklus’ voice is reassuring to the point of a susurration. ‘Your spirit is becoming separated from your mortal body. Do not be troubled; it is what happens to all of us. But you must stop fighting it.’
‘I have to fight it! I don’t want to die before Alexander gets back, for his sake,’ Hephaistion protests desperately, watching the doorway become narrower as darkness closes in. ‘He needs to see me, he needs to say goodbye. He will never understand - nor forgive himself.’
The chill becomes even more unbearable when Patroklus speaks. ‘No, he will not.’ Harsh, true and final.
It seems to Hephaistion that Patroklus is now a mist that has wrapped itself around what used to be his mortal body. He is slowly being drawn towards the Styx that flows unlike any river in the mortal world, with the heaviness of molten rock, weighed down by the souls of those it carries.
‘Please,’ Hephaistion begs in vain ‘let me stay.’ His eyes cling to the doorway which is now a mottle of light in the surrounding shadow even though in his heart he knows that even if Alexander would rush in now, it would be too late.
He falls, long a steep, and he would scream if he had voice left. And yet he never sinks into the river but the question is lost to his terrified mind. Chaos grapples at his sanity and he knows that he will spend eternity swirling in Hades with the souls of the damned.
‘Do not despair. It will only be a few moments longer,’ Patroklus says soothingly and Hephaistion is startled. He removes his gaze from the doorway to his world and looks around, discerning the silhouette of the Greek hero ahead of him. He gapes: Patroklus is now a human form, grey against the darkness that is not as penetrating as before. It is then that Hephaistion realizes that he has hard ground under his feet, and that brings about the awareness that his own body, absurd as it may seem, has been returned to him. He feels himself, his arms and legs and the rest of him and it seems that everything is in the right place.
‘What’s happening to me?’ he queries of the walking shade ahead of him. It suddenly seems wrong to think of Patroklus as a shade, because through the waning blackness he can distinguish that the man has the same substance as he does. He is tall and strong, and moves with the fluidity of a big cat.
Patroklus turns and smiles. His eyes are kind and fierce at the same time.
‘You are going home.’
He stops and Hephaistion joins him only to realize that they are sitting at the edge of a rock. Below them lies a steep valley, lit with grey tinges by the strong glow of large stars. Awestruck, Hephaistion cannot believe there is a sky above him and tears spring from his eyes: in his mind, he realizes, he knows exactly how this blessed place looks in the daylight. He can smell the freshest of blossoms and the sea laps up the shore quietly somewhere in the distance: it is the Macedon of his childhood, the place he still cherishes above all the beautiful places he has seen.
‘The Elysian Fields in the night can be an overwhelming sight. I cried the first time too,’ Patroklus assures.
‘I was allowed entry into the Elysian Fields?’ when he finds his voice, Hephaistion is incredulous. ‘How? Why?’
‘Your beloved’s wish was granted and you have been named a divine hero by the Oracle at Siwah.’
‘But how can that be? I only just died.’ It was strange to say those words acknowledging his own death without as much as a tremor.
‘Time as you knew it in the mortal world has no meaning in this place,’ Patroklus explained. ‘It is the same with the land that you see before your eyes. What you behold here is the image of the place closest to your heart, and it might be entirely different from the picture I see in my mind and where Achilles and I live.’
‘Does that mean….’ Hephaistion’s tremulous voice breaks and he cannot finish the sentence. He dares not hope against hope.
But Patroklus nods in understanding. ‘Your Alexander will be here soon. You do not have long to wait.’
~ END ~
© Copyright 2005 Trust_n0_1. All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Trust_n0_1.
Author:trust_n0_1
Summary: Hephaistion discovers what lies beyond Hades.
Rating: PG-13 (for character death and angsty themes)
Feedback: Always welcome.
Archive: Let me know
By now Hephaistion has swum in and out of consciousness so many times that he can hardly recall where he was moments ago. All pain has numbed down to a dulling ache and he can no longer hear his blood pounding in his ears as he heaves for air. He cannot tell if there is even need to breathe because his body feels light as smoke rising from a funeral pyre. Perhaps it is the absence of pain that makes it so.
In the back of his mind, he almost remembers the legend about the Fates and how they sever the mortals’ thread of life. He wonders if he’ll feel it through this lightness of being that carries him slowly away from his bed and the world of the living onto the brink of the netherworld.
Water laps at his feet and he knows he has come to the bank of the river Styx. He looks down, steeling himself to stare into the dark water that no mortal has ever stepped across alive. But he cannot see his feet, such is the darkness that engulfs him. Maybe he is lost and then maybe, maybe he will be allowed to return, if only for a little longer. For Alexander.
He looks back on the tunnel which has brought him to the river. At the mouth of it lies the world he left behind. He recalls, vaguely, his last glimpse: lying in his bed, staring at the richly carved door, waiting for Alexander. If only he could linger a while, just so that his beloved could see him one last time. Just so he can tell Alexander that it is alright, that he is ready and that he will wait for him in the house of death, just like they’ve always planned.
For his part, Hephaistion doesn’t need to say goodbye. All that had to be done has already been done, a little bit every day, though some days more than others. He has told Alexander all that he needed to know. But even if Hephaistion understands it, it will not be enough for Alexander. He will remain behind hollow and ruined, craving to have held his Hephaistion one last time. He will blame himself to the end for failing to conquer the one thing that had struck him when he was unprepared.
Hephaistion would be willing to try to forget that he is a mere mortal, for once. He would twist the arms of the Fates and risk eternal damnation if only he could give Alexander that one moment.
‘Come now, you must not think like that,’ he hears a voice and he cannot tell if it comes from inside or outside of him.
‘Why not?’ he asks in spite of himself. He does not care for the voice. He will not be swayed from his decision. His eyes are still fixed on the door and he grits his teeth in determination. He will endure. Alexander is coming, he can feel it.
‘Because I too felt the same once.’
Before he even asks “Who are you?”, Hephaistion knows. Briefly, pain shoots through his floating body. Or maybe it is just knowledge.
‘Patroklus?’
Hephaistion knows the answer as sure as he has known anything in his life.
‘You came for me? Why?’
‘Because I understand. And I know you feel alone and afraid to leave him behind.’
‘I do. I always wished for Alexander to die first, because I feared he would drive himself mad with grief otherwise.’
‘It is humbling to see such love.’ Patroklus is serious and Hephaistion means to tell him what had inspired it.
But suddenly, Hephaistion feels like his body is being torn away from him, and even though there is no pain, he is colder than he has ever been - and yet he does not feel his flesh shivering. His whole perception narrows down to the doorway whose image is beginning to distort into no more than a patch of colour. Hurry Alexander.
‘Am I dying - now?’
‘Yes,’ Patroklus’ voice is reassuring to the point of a susurration. ‘Your spirit is becoming separated from your mortal body. Do not be troubled; it is what happens to all of us. But you must stop fighting it.’
‘I have to fight it! I don’t want to die before Alexander gets back, for his sake,’ Hephaistion protests desperately, watching the doorway become narrower as darkness closes in. ‘He needs to see me, he needs to say goodbye. He will never understand - nor forgive himself.’
The chill becomes even more unbearable when Patroklus speaks. ‘No, he will not.’ Harsh, true and final.
It seems to Hephaistion that Patroklus is now a mist that has wrapped itself around what used to be his mortal body. He is slowly being drawn towards the Styx that flows unlike any river in the mortal world, with the heaviness of molten rock, weighed down by the souls of those it carries.
‘Please,’ Hephaistion begs in vain ‘let me stay.’ His eyes cling to the doorway which is now a mottle of light in the surrounding shadow even though in his heart he knows that even if Alexander would rush in now, it would be too late.
He falls, long a steep, and he would scream if he had voice left. And yet he never sinks into the river but the question is lost to his terrified mind. Chaos grapples at his sanity and he knows that he will spend eternity swirling in Hades with the souls of the damned.
‘Do not despair. It will only be a few moments longer,’ Patroklus says soothingly and Hephaistion is startled. He removes his gaze from the doorway to his world and looks around, discerning the silhouette of the Greek hero ahead of him. He gapes: Patroklus is now a human form, grey against the darkness that is not as penetrating as before. It is then that Hephaistion realizes that he has hard ground under his feet, and that brings about the awareness that his own body, absurd as it may seem, has been returned to him. He feels himself, his arms and legs and the rest of him and it seems that everything is in the right place.
‘What’s happening to me?’ he queries of the walking shade ahead of him. It suddenly seems wrong to think of Patroklus as a shade, because through the waning blackness he can distinguish that the man has the same substance as he does. He is tall and strong, and moves with the fluidity of a big cat.
Patroklus turns and smiles. His eyes are kind and fierce at the same time.
‘You are going home.’
He stops and Hephaistion joins him only to realize that they are sitting at the edge of a rock. Below them lies a steep valley, lit with grey tinges by the strong glow of large stars. Awestruck, Hephaistion cannot believe there is a sky above him and tears spring from his eyes: in his mind, he realizes, he knows exactly how this blessed place looks in the daylight. He can smell the freshest of blossoms and the sea laps up the shore quietly somewhere in the distance: it is the Macedon of his childhood, the place he still cherishes above all the beautiful places he has seen.
‘The Elysian Fields in the night can be an overwhelming sight. I cried the first time too,’ Patroklus assures.
‘I was allowed entry into the Elysian Fields?’ when he finds his voice, Hephaistion is incredulous. ‘How? Why?’
‘Your beloved’s wish was granted and you have been named a divine hero by the Oracle at Siwah.’
‘But how can that be? I only just died.’ It was strange to say those words acknowledging his own death without as much as a tremor.
‘Time as you knew it in the mortal world has no meaning in this place,’ Patroklus explained. ‘It is the same with the land that you see before your eyes. What you behold here is the image of the place closest to your heart, and it might be entirely different from the picture I see in my mind and where Achilles and I live.’
‘Does that mean….’ Hephaistion’s tremulous voice breaks and he cannot finish the sentence. He dares not hope against hope.
But Patroklus nods in understanding. ‘Your Alexander will be here soon. You do not have long to wait.’
~ END ~
© Copyright 2005 Trust_n0_1. All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Trust_n0_1.