Archive of Our Own

Illustrations by @aarual_mdl

PART I

I. Bucephalus, 344 BC

Alexander had seen something. Hephaestion's stomach leapt and sank, already sensing the eddies of motion that anyone else had yet to recognize. Although several rows of the crowd separated them, one glance over Hephaestion's shoulder had caught that familiar shift. In an instant, Alexander's wore readiness. His weight shifted evenly between his feet and his head tilted gently with a deliberation that belied his intent. But it was the flicker of a glance meant only for him that left Hephaestion bracing for what came next. Already, the dark eyes had moved on, their reckless glint honed to the scream of a whinny. The sudden noise tore through the echoes of Hephaestion's reverie, pulling him back to the reason they were here. 

The monster's muscles rippled beneath his skin like midnight waters, straining in defiance of the ropes that held him. Hephaestion sucked in his breath as the creature jerked one of the men from his feet. The man scrambled in the dust beneath the thundering hooves, his companions straining in every direction to hold back death. Nostrils flared with every shout and tug, the eyes rolled so far that the whites created two small tears in the darkness. As the man limped to safety, spewing warding curses, Hephaestion glanced again to the canopy behind him. Even now, the thracian persisted in trying to sell this monster to Philip. The renowned horseman himself leaned back easily, one hand lifted to indicate his continued indulgence, but wisely more amused by the merchant's struggle to hold the beast than harboring any interest in trying himself. Then Hephaestion caught movement at Philip's side. 

By the gods, Alexander! Hephaestion swore under his breath, although no such words would stop him even heard. He strained to overhear the exchange, but he didn't need to. Already, Philip's hand was waving and Alexander was leaving the shade of their canopy. Chuckles accompanied the turning heads, glancing from Alexander to Philip. Philip leaned back further, a critical eye following his son, but without any trace of the concern that twisted Hephaestion's gut with every step Alexander took. An aside leaned towards Philip, spreading a knowing amusement across his face but, even unheard, darkened Hephaestion's. Philip knew horses with a mastery rivaling Poseidon, but if he thought Alexander would reconsider this course, Hephaestion feared he did not know his son. He fought the urge to reach out and grab Alexander's arm as he passed, but, as the dark brown eyes snapped to him, he froze obediently at their fiery certainty. They needed no words to persuade him that Alexander could not be stopped.

Damn you and your stupid destiny, Hephaestion muttered, his jaw clenching in frustrated helplessness. Yet beneath every unbearable fear of Alexander broken and trampled surged a deeper, reckless thrill—a longing to see what Alexander would do. Fear and fascination twisted together into breathless silence.

The black beast snorted like a dragon. The ropes slackened as Alexander approached and for a moment, the creature quieted. Its head swayed, low and wary, flecks of foam glinted on the glossy coat. Alexander's hand waved back the men further still, ignoring their hesitation. Philip nodded, leaning forward with interest as the hasty scatter scraped the plain. The dull buzz of midday rose in the stillness with an irritation that begged to be snapped. 

Nothing moved except Alexander, in calm, unbroken strides towards the creature. Hephaestion's fingernails curled deep into his palms with only the faintest awareness of the pressure. Even holding his breath, the throbbing in his ears felt deafening. Then silence shattered. Sunlight splintered under the beast as its legs lept into a splay. The massive creature twisted and Hephaestion lost sight of Alexander as blackness swept between them. The pounding Hephaestion's chest froze, refusing to beat if Alexander's did not. It had already forgotten how when the man beside him jostled his shoulder hard and Alexander reemerged in a fluid twist, his hand firmly entwined in the horse's bridle.

The fire was not gone, but it was no longer its own, outshone by and joining with a fiercer blaze. But Hephaestion saw only Alexander ascending, until he sat astride the massive seething shadow with sunlight turning the fringe of his hair to gold.

. . .

"It was his shadow," Alexander's grin flashed triumphantly at his secret. His fingers curled unbidden into Hephaestion's and pulled him forward with a tug. The corridors of the palace were deliciously cool as the evening silhouettes lengthened, and the gentle scuff of sandals. "I turned him away from it, and he was mine. He only needed someone to show him his strength."

Hephaestion rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed his pride and delight. "And everyone there, including your father—the horseman himself—just missed that?"

"They did." The playful, but unwavering certainty that Alexander's glance threw over his shoulder hit Hephaestion with a wave of warmth that lingered even while Alexander continued to drag them through the stretching shadows.

"Everyone but you," Hephaestion murmured, half to himself, but Alexander heard. He nodded wordlessly with such plainness that Hephaestion laughed unexpectedly at its audacity.

Shaking his head, he pulled Alexander into his side. "Ah, well," he admitted, "I'd rather you were insufferable and unharmed." As he freed his hand to wrap around the other boy, the weight of his arm betrayed his past fear. He tilted a cheek to brush the burnished curls. What had been golden-crested in the midday sun now richened in the evening shadows. "But—If it had gone wrong—What am I supposed to do when you are like that?"

Alexander's reckless grin flashed defiantly, "Just love me."

Hephaestion's heart jumped as Alexander leaned into him with thoughtless ease. "I do," Hephaestion whispered, but the softness was lost in the breeze. Its cool tendrils slipped by their bare shoulders, slowly fading the heat of day with each passing breath.

Alexander's fingers laced more firmly into Hephaestion's. He felt first the warmth of them, then the pressure of the tug that pulled him in tow once again. Hephaestion was still lost in the previous heartbeats even as his feet moved thoughtlessly at the urge to follow. "I'm going to train him for war, I won't ride any other horse from now on," Alexander was saying. 

There was a quiet joy to watching the gentle swing of their hands, pulled comfortably taut between them by Alexander's decisiveness. A smile softened Hephaestion's face, and something more ponderous: how different Hephaestion felt compared to that wild horse, and yet Alexander had just as easily turned him to his will. 

As they settled in an alcove of the gardens on a cool stone bench, Hephaestion lifted Alexander's legs across his own. The other boy leaned back comfortably, elaborating his plans with a combination of practicality and whimsy.

"Well, what are you going to call him?" Hephaestion asked, trailing his fingers absentmindedly along Alexander's shin. 

"Bucephalus," Alexander replied with a deliberate grin. It curved his lips slowly, his head tilting as he searched for Hephaestion's reaction.

"Oxhead!?" Hephaestion snorted at the plainness of the choice, "You can't!"

"Can't I?" The defiant reply reminded Hephaestion knew a challenge was as good as making sure Alexander would. "Besides," Alexander softened, "It made you laugh."

Hephaestion grinned, "Fine! But Is it just for the mark, or are you reminding people that even the most stubborn thing bends to your will?"

The glimmer in Alexander's eyes told Hephaestion that his astuteness was appreciated. "We'll leave them to wonder, won't we," he leaned forward conspiratorially, drawing himself up to his bent knees. His fingers felt cool as they brushed Hephaestion's arm. A small sigh escaped Hephaestion's lips as his far hand slid down to Alexander's sandal, one finger idly toying with the leather. 

"I know why you wanted him," Hephaestion mused softly, staring at his own fingers. "Because they thought you couldn't." Alexander didn't answer right away, and Hephaestion lifted his gaze to find Alexander staring thoughtfully up through the leaf broken sky. 

Alexander dropped his eyes to meet his with a slight shrug before letting them wander up again. It was an acknowledgement and a dismissal in one. 

Hephaestion sighed and looped a finger more tightly into the sandal, the strap just beginning to bite the crook of his skin as he pulled against it. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"It was because they thought nobody could have him, but I wanted to prove they were wrong." The tone was more subdued than Hephaestion had expected, wistful even, but the words unexpectedly brushed the sting of future pain.

"Is that how I'm going to lose you someday?" He hadn't meant it to sound quite so annoyed. It pulled Alexander's gaze and kept it on him. 

"You aren't going to lose me," Alexander's declaration almost made him believe it. 

II. Pausanais, 341 BC

The scuff of sole and the clack of rough carved wood danced in and out of lengthening shadows. Hephaestion's chest echoed with a steady rhythm, anchoring the breaths that broke his lips. He turned with Alexander, circled by him, the bronze hair glinting and falling dark as it passed through the fingers of the fading sun.

Hephaestion tested a jab, the swiftness of Alexander's xiphos knocking it aside with a delighted grin. Hephaestion met his invitation with a closing sweep, his reach bringing him easily into Alexander's guard. Once again the wood met only itself, but Hephaestion could feel Alexander's will holding in place of his weight. He pressed the advantage, following with another strike overhead. 

Alexander twisted and ducked beneath it, spinning around as he extended his sword dramatically at arms length. "If I were Hephaestion," he taunted, affecting an older command, "I would know when I was beaten!"

Hephaestion's eyes danced as he adopted his own mimic, "But I am Alexander," he said, his expression breaking in amusement even before the next words, "And I am not nearly that intelligent!"

Alexander's expression flickered from approval to indignation. "How dare you!" 

His grin was wide as he rejoined with a flurry of blows that surged forward, cramping Hephaestion's reach until his sloppy returns had left an opening. A blunt sting bit his arm, then Alexander's weight spun into him, his elbow jabbing into Hephaestion's stomach. Something caught his foot, and Hephaestion tumbled to the sand. His fingers tightened around his weapon, ready to spring up, but already Alexander threatened him imperiously. With a breathless grin, Hephaestion relaxed his head and lay still in the sand, feeling its warmth soak into his back. Hephaestion's fingers uncurled from the wooden handle.

With a smirk, Alexander placed a sandal on Hephaestion's chest. "Do you admit defeat?" Alexander radiated with satisfaction.

"To you?" Hephaestion teased. One hand curled lightly around Alexander's calf, his thumb brushing the bare skin thoughtfully.

Alexander cocked an eyebrow, his pose unwavering, but his expression softened. "Well?"

"Never," Hephaestion grinned, seizing his arm and yanking him down into the dust. He rolled over until he was sitting on Alexander. "If I were Alexander," he grinned, lowering his face tauntingly, "I would know when I was beaten."

Alexander wore a defiant triumph even pinned to the ground. "But if you are Alexander, Alexander is still victorious." 

Hephaestion rocked back onto his heels thoughtfully, offering his hand to Alexander and pulling them both upright. There was an ease to the acceptance of it. Alexander's gaze strayed back to the palace as Hephaestion gathered the wooden swords and set them aside.

"Your father is having a banquet," Hephaestion voiced the thought, following his gaze.

Alexander nodded absently. 

"Do you wish he asked you to attend?" Hephaestion tried to gauge the expression thoughtfully.

"I'll be required soon enough," he shrugged.

The steps of their return lengthened in the falling light, until they scurried the shadows and torchlight of the marble labyrinth. A servant bustled by with a sidelong glance, immediately ducking it again as he hurried past. 

"Something's wrong," Hephaestion whispered. He looked to Alexander, but his gaze was not returned. 

Light spilled from the banquet hall in a thin, bleeding crack that the darkness swallowed. The air smelled sharp and coppery, acrid with the smell of low-burnt torches and stale wine. Carefully beyond the light of the door, servants stood in a hushed whisper. 

"I thought he'd fight back," something in the tone made Hephaestion shudder.

"Philip didn't even pause drinking."

The servants fell silent and looked away as the light was broken by a haggard silhouette. A frown etched deeply on Hephaestion's face as he stood in the shadow of a palace column. The dark figure that slunk from the firelit hall and passed them in the dim light was hunched and stumbling, torn garments clutched to him with shaking hands.  His stricken eyes searched the hall, wary but ready to bite with the venom of something that had survived only enough to fester. Even hidden in the darkness, Hephaestion flinched as the ragged glance caught their shapes with jerk and hurriedly staggered on.

"What did they do to him?" Hephaestion's face twisted in discomfort, his stomach souring as Alexander didn't answer.  He frowned, trying to make out what stained the disarray, "Was that wine— or blood?"

Alexander's lips thinned, "Pride."

Hephaestion's stomach hollowed, recoiling from jagged thoughts he tried to hold.  It was no small thing to fall from grace, but there was a sickening horror to this degradation. It wasn't that Philip hadn't noticed, it was that he hadn't cared. And that indifference had given approval, not just to the use, but the spectacle of a discarded favorite.

Alexander's gaze followed the retreating figure levelly. "My father will regret that," he said as if in reply to Hephaestion's unspoken thoughts. 

"How could he —" Hephaestion said numbly, his gaze wandering the floor as he struggled to fix it on either the final shadows of the man. Or Alexander. Echoes of uncomfortable pain lingered with a selfish stab of uncertainty that was far more personal. The whims of rulers were far from steady. 

"Philip thinks people are his to define," an edge of bitterness sharpened each word of the hushed cadence, "He thinks they are nothing if he says so."

Hephaestion nodded, falling silently into his own thoughts until the weight of Alexander's gaze startled him. 

"Are you afraid, Hephaestion?" Alexander's eyes glimmered, keen and without pretense, in the dim flickers of torchlight. Hephaestion tried to compose whatever his face was betraying, but he could see Alexander had already mapped every line. Alexander's voice softened as he hooked a single finger around Hephaestion's with a gentle swing. "You don't need to be. I am not Philip."

Hephaestion let out a breath, suddenly unsure how long he had been holding it. It was true, Alexander had never been like his father, despite following in his shadow. 

Alexander leaned forward, peering up at Hephaestion with an intensity that demanded more than the small nod he had been given. "You and I are forever," he insisted, invoking it with a tone of command. 

A hushed laugh broke the silence involuntarily, as Hephaestion's relief and surprise collided. For a moment, he was lost in the fire burning quietly in those dark eyes, at the halo that the fringe of torchlight cast upon his curls. As the final pangs of doubt slipped from Hephaestion's shoulders, Alexander watched and was satisfied. His own posture relaxed, but another finger joined the first with a tug.

"I don't want to be here anymore," he announced finally.

Hephaestion nodded with immediate understanding. He shifted his hand to envelope Alexander's, twining each finger into their place between his own. The wine-sodden laughs faded behind them as sandals padded the dusty floors into the dark and the smoky glow gave way to the cool warmth of pooling moonlight. 

As Hephaestion pushed the door shut behind them, Alexander's warmth pressed into his side. Instinctively, Hephaestion wrapped around him, pausing for a heartbeat as Alexander softened into his arms with each exhale. A smile sighed on Hephaestion's lips.

"What do you want, my prince?" The words slipped out, sincere and playful, muffled in the rich curls.

A moody grumble replied from somewhere against Hephaestion's tunic, repeated in protest as Hephaestion laughed unceremoniously. With an easy motion, he swung Alexander's legs over one arm and let the sudden momentum carry them several unsteady paces until Hephaestion let Alexander tumble comfortably and promptly sprawled beside him on the bed.

They stared at the ceiling in silence, only their breath disturbing the evening echoes as the two rhythms lapped together into one. Hephaestion brushed Alexander's arm with the back of his knuckles, tracing a small absentminded eddy that circled with his thoughts.

"You aren't like your father," Hephaestion tilted his head towards Alexander, his voice hardly daring to rise above their breath.

"We aren't like anyone."

III. Callixena, 339 BC

Hephaestion had been waiting when Alexander finally strode into the corridor. He shook himself restlessly, his gaze finding Hephaestion with a brightening smile. Hephaestion stepped forward, welcoming the brush of his shoulder as he fell into step alongside.

"Mother is not to be disappointed," Alexander laughed dismissively. "She's made it clear that she's gone to a lot of trouble over our guest."

Hephaestion shrugged, leaning into a column as they stepped out onto the terrace. "You never disappoint," he offered encouragingly, though the enthusiasm dropped away quietly. "They say she is very beautiful."

"If that is true," Alexander slid up to him, his chin brushing Hephaestion's shoulder. "Then you must tell me by the end of the night which of us is more so."

Hephaestion laughed despite himself, his gaze drawing gently towards the shameless demand.

"Weigh it carefully," Alexander insisted, his grin wide, "I mean to have an accurate answer!" His eyes drifted past Hephaestion, a groan of resignation settling over his expression. 

"You already know the answer," Hephaestion murmured, preparing for the departure.

Alexander's fingertips lingered as they slipped from Hephaestion's shoulder and a fleeting smile returned as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Then I will count on it."

The hall was filled, but orderly. Under Olympias' watchful gaze, wine flowed, but did not spill. The steady rumble of voices swelled like a comfortable tide to be lost in. Jostled by shoulders on either side of his, Hephaestion shifted forward on the wooden bench, but his attention was fixed on the opposite table. A distant smile rippled across her face as she met his gaze with the ease that it was her purpose to be stared at. Even as she passed on, there was no need to hide his continued study. His attention was only one of many, but not the one she was seeking. Although her eyes roamed just far enough to seem at ease in the unfamiliar palace, her posture never closed to Alexander.

Neither did Alexander's. Hephaestion watched his lips, trying to catch the shapes of words that rolled off them with easy pleasantry. Alexander dipped his head into a mischievous aside and the young woman's face lit with graceful amusement. She turned in towards him and Alexander's gaze flicked past her. Hephaestion's breath hitched, but the dark eyes had already caught his frown. They didn't return it. Resting on Hephaestion, Alexander's smile softened with an unspoken sigh and Hephaestion felt himself leaning back with acceptance.

He continued to watch them, unable to let his gaze stray elsewhere for more than moments, even as his thoughts wandered. When Alexander's next glance stole to him, the unshifting gaze was awaiting it patiently. As the dark eyes glinted at him over a carefree sip of wine, Hephaestion hastily lifted his own cup to hide an unbidden grin. For a moment, they stared over the golden rims, Alexander relishing in his triumph as Hephaestion suffered it, rueful but willing.

At last, the evening began to dissipate. Hephaestion watched Alexander and the young woman exchange words as she retired. He did not rise himself, but tipped another trickle of wine into his cup and lifted it to his lips. Already, Alexander was engaged by someone else. His warmth radiated even from across the room, an infectious energy clear that both pulled in and set at ease. By the time, Hephaestion began to contemplate the final mouthfuls, Alexander had a small crowd dispersing in his wake, each wearing the satisfaction of his attention.

Hephaestion waited several more moments as Alexander strode from the hall, then swung his legs from the bench to follow. Night had fallen though the palace still echoed with pockets of conversation that scattered out from the evening's festivities. Hephaestion traced the familiar path to Alexander's room, unhurried, counting the memorized steps and the blur of times they had been followed.

He paused when he reached the sturdy door, hearing voices already inside.

"Was that not good enough for you?" Alexander's voice was level with tempered frustration. Whatever the response, his footsteps spun abruptly in some other direction, only to pivot back again with a soft scuff. "What more do you want from me?"

"Lie with her," Olympias' voice was curt, but plain, as though the answer should not have been needed.

"To what ends?" The rebuttal to his mother was nearly a laugh, terse as it was.

"To prove you can."

There was silence. No words. No footsteps.

Olympias' voice rejoined after a moment, laced with reason and sensibility. "Alexander, but you are not a boy anymore. They will no longer excuse your fancies."

"You never questioned Philip for his!" There was an audible clench in Alexander's jaw.

"Philip masters his lovers," Olympias' step punctuated the statement with finality. "There is nothing to question there. But I have not endured your father and his lovers to have you dismissed as womanish!"

"You need not fear that," Alexander spat back each word individually, then added, low with resolve, "I will not be dismissed."

"Good," Olympias sounded pleased with the response, "Then you understand. Do what you will about the girl." There was a dismissive sigh to the concession as her sandals padded the floor to approach the door.

Hephaestion stepped back around a corner as the door swung open and the regal woman strode into the hallway. Her face wore the composure of someone who had lost a battle, but won a war. Hephaestion leaned against the wall quietly, letting the cool stone press against his cheek with a slow exhale. Steps faded down the corridor until only the pacing beyond the door could find Hephaestion's straining ears. Then he inhaled and pushed himself forwards.

His knuckles wrapped lightly on the door, and the pacing stopped. Hephaestion pushed the door, leading with a tentative lean as he stepped inside. Alexander had already turned to face the noise, anger etched in his taut composure.

"Close it," the command was sharp.

Without turning away, Hephaestion slid past the door and pushed it with fingertips behind him. Alexander's weight hit his chest, forcing a step back to catch them both. Alexander's head tipped forward enough to hide his face, but nothing in his frame relaxed as Hephaestion's arms encircled him.

"Alexander —" Hephaestion trailed off as Alexander's fingers curled into his tunic, pulling Hephaestion with him as he stepped backwards. "Are we not talking?" Hephaestion resisted gently.

"I waited all day for you," Alexander groaned.

Hephaestion wavered, lifting one hand to smooth Alexander's hair. "I know." He bent his head to the dark curls and inhaled, then pressed his lips firmly into them. He smiled as he felt Alexander's energy renew in his arms. "Are you sure I don't need to be jealous?" Hephaestion teased.

Alexander pushed him back abruptly, the narrowed eyes startling him. "You are never to be jealous, Hephaestion."

Hephaestion grasped for a response and caught himself on nothing. It was no less than a command, but it seemed a difficult one to keep. "But, someday," the thought faltered on his lips, knowing all his love could not give Alexander the legacy a ruler needed.

Alexander's jaw tightened, making Hephaestion regret even that small acknowledgement. "It will mean nothing." Even hushed, Alexander's tone left no room for argument, but as he tugged at Hephaestion's tunic with a coaxing step backwards, Hephaestion could feel the silent plea that needed him to make it true.

"I know," Hephaestion soothed, following readily.

Alexander drew him forward, his touch gentle and beckoning, his gaze unbroken as the bedframe halted his stride with a jolt. "Kiss me," he locked eyes on Hephaestion and waited.

Hephaestion drew a slow breath, fitting each hand gently to his face and, as Hephaestion bent nearer, Alexander's eyes slipped closed.  His weight leaned into Hephaestion, his fingers letting go with a flutter that was content to simply be held.  

Hephaestion's fingers cradled Alexander's head as their lips broke with the taste of honeyed wine.  His fingers threaded through the curls, tracing ear to throat reverently.  As a smile crept to his still parted mouth, Hephaestion leaned forward to hide it.  

"Your question," he mumbled into Alexander's hair.

"Yes," he could feel the inhale of anticipation against his collarbone.

"No one is worth the comparison."

IV. Chaeronea, 338 BC

The camp sprawled restlessly, a thin layer of dust baking in the air from the endless trample that stirred it.  Leather strained softly as horses shuffled their steps against their tethers, exchanging nickers and snorts with the flap of canvas and the clank of iron.  Hephaestion stood in the shadow of the giant beast, his fingers humming a steady rhythm over the leather that spanned the horse's chest and girth.  He cocked a glance up from his work towards the weight of Bucephalus' gaze.  The powerful neck arch towards him, one eye fixed on him, edged in a thin crescent of white.  Hephaestion patted the flank reassuringly, dust stirring from the black fur, as he smoothed the cloth pad across the horse's back.

"Not many get that close to that creature."

Hephaestion felt Bucephalus square immediately to the address, even before he lifted his own head.  "Somebody has to," he shrugged easily, ducking under with a careful guiding hand on Bucephalus' headstall.

"Most wouldn't dare," Cleitus kept a judicious berth, waiting with arms crossed.

As he stepped forward, Hephaestion lingered one hand with respectful familiarity, his finger crooked into the iron bit.  "He and I have to be friends," he let a smile slip, "He knows the difference."

"Clever enough to know Alexander would skin him if he hurt a hair on you, eh?" The steely laugh was rough but genuine.  "It's a good sense to have!  Ah – There he is!"

Hephaestion squinted as Alexander's silhouette rounded the tent, his stride brisk and assured.  The bronze of his armor spilled across his chest with a warmth that Hephaestion could feel in his palms.

"I am told Philip has given you command of the Companions," Cleitus' smile was broad with congratulations as he greeted Alexander with a heavy clap on the back.

"The lines will be ready!  The Athenians will chase a wall of spears and the Thebans will break at our charge."  The ready glimmer in Alexander's eye told Hephaestion he had already seen this moment and there was now no course but that vision.

"It's a good plan!" Cleitus approved with a hefty shake of Alexander's shoulder, "But the Sacred Band are no small task.  They are sworn before Iolus – they will not run." 

Alexander's eyes flashed in return, his poise unphased and unshakeable.  "Do you not think me fit for it?"

His gaze flickered between them as Hephaestion closed the space at Alexander's side.  "I think..." Hephaestion stilled cautiously under Cleitus' critical pause.  "A man does not stand in equal with his affection.  The Thebans will not trade in soft-eyed devotion. They will triumph–or fall–but they will not abandon their beloved.  And their beloved will die beside them."

Alexander nodded, his face sobered with admiration, "And we will honor them for it in our victory."

"It would be right to honor," Cleitus allowed with a shrug.  "But first, you must prove your strength is no boy's."  A smile curved the edges of his rough lips encouragingly.  "Show the Companions what kind of man they are following, and they will fight for you!"

While Hephaestion finally nodded with a quiet earnestness, Alexander's grin was already broad and exuberant, announcing, "I plan for everyone to see."

"Good!" Cleitus nodded, throwing an arm around each of them, his gaze wandering hungrily towards the looming field beyond the surge of the camp.  With a satisfied clap of finality, he brushed away and strode off.

Hephaestion lingered on Alexander, watching the glow of determination blaze brighter than the new shine of armor.  

"I know who I am fighting for," Hephaestion's grin spread slowly with the words.

As Alexander's gaze slipped sidelong to him, it blossomed with a giddy anticipation, Hephaestion began to feel an echo of that thrill welling inside him.  

. . .

As Hephaestion looked to his left, Alexander's gaze was fixed straight ahead. He leaned forward in the saddle, bent low over the black mane as he studied the distant figures.

Shapes of armies shifted on the plane with a slow crawl, muffled by distance. Hephaestion's horse snorted, shaking its head with a slap of the reins against its neck. He reached forward, patting it. Hooves stamped below him in an easy shuffle. Beside him, Alexander was absolutely still. If he hadn't seen the slow swell in his shoulders, Hephaestion might have thought he was a statue. He was too far forward for Hephaestion to read his expression.

Below them, Philip's pikemen engaged the Athenians, and, as instructed, Alexander waited. But they were not the only company idle on the field. The Thebans secured the Athenian right flank. Hephaestion was well aware of their elite reputation, and that Philip entrusted Alexander to command this maneuver against them was no small thing. But Alexander had chosen to lead it.

A black ear flicked, and Alexander righted himself in the saddle. The curve of his back was straight and supple like an unstrung bow, his hands resting on the fringes of the inky mane. There was an eagerness and a vibrancy in the gaze that flashed down the line of horses to either side and, although it lingered on Hephaestion, it did not shift. 

The pikemen were falling back, drawing the Athenian right with them. Alexander had seen the crack he was waiting for, and Hephaestion gathered his reins. He wanted a moment, one he knew he couldn't have, before the hooves pounded and all thoughts were only steel and sweat. He was not afraid, not for himself. But he knew Alexander too well to hope that Alexander could ever survive failure. 

It must be a victory, he breathed to the gods. 

. . .

Though the racket of camp and the crack of fire was sharper, the drum of hooves and split of metal echoed like a fog in Hephaestion's ears. Armor rattled as another passed Hephaestion, clapping him in celebration. The Sacred Band had broken and they had shown no mercy to those who had called themselves invincible. Some praised Philip's cunning, but many other shouts lifted Alexander's name in their excitement. 

Hephaestion's gaze rested on him, grateful to no longer fear the moments he lost sight. Even then, Alexander had never felt so alive. An unknown pang tinged the reflection, but only deepened the awe in Hephaestion's unbroken stare. Now his grin was infectious, rippling out from him in the cheers and shouts that spread among the rest of their company. Hephaestion found himself smiling to himself as he watched Alexander revel in his triumph, but soon enough, Hephaestion's wistful gaze was returned.

"My right arm!" Alexander announced loudly, but he was fixed only on crossing the distance between them. As an arm swung around him, Hephaestion could feel the victory still hot and buzzing in his veins. "What would I have done without you!"

"I think your actual right arm would attest to quite a lot," Hephaestion teased, and Alexander's smile only widened.

They sat comfortably on the edge of the flicker as fires blazed and wine flowed. The unsleeping murmur of the camp stretched with the shadows, the smoke hazing the stars as night fell. Hephaestion shifted as Alexander moved from beside him, standing with a secretive nod. 

"Are you already weary of victory?" Hephaestion raised an eyebrow.

"Never," Alexander's whisper leaned close to Hephaestion's ear, "I only want to celebrate it with you."

A shiver ran down Hephaestion's spine, as he glanced around them with a practiced caution, but there was no one to take notice of them walking together. Hephaestion reminded himself it was a common enough sight, and one that Alexander never shied from. But as the tent fell closed behind them, Hephaestion finally let his smile fall as openly softly as Alexander's was exhilarated.

"Let me," Hephaestion moved closer, sliding a finger into a buckle to loosen the armor. The leather shifted and slid away quietly as Alexander, for a moment, was patient. He smelled of clay and exertion, its remnants saturated his skin and hair and Hephaestion could feel the oily grit of it on his fingertips.

Turning in Hephaestion's arms, Alexander began to work at Hephaestion's straps. With every emphatic tug, his fingers were nimble, prying each free with precision only to let the pieces drop carelessly around them. 

"You were beautiful," Hephaestion murmured, smoothing Alexander's hair, thick as it was with dust and sweat. The memories that it echoed burned into his soul with reverence.

"I'm still beautiful," Alexander taunted, "Am I not?"

"You are," Hephaestion returned the wide grin, unable to resist. Alexander met his kiss like a wave breaking on shore, giving ground with every exchange until they tumbled to the cot mattress. "Especially now," Hephaestion leaned down, the taste of salt and iron still lingering, but Alexander caught his lips again too quickly to let him say more.

V. Aegae, 336 BC

Hephaestion hunched slightly on the hard bench, glancing to his side where he had not felt Alexander stir in many moments. He found the coppery eyes still fixed where they had been last, on the occupants of the head table like a chained lion's. But even stray glances seemed to overlook them. Hephaestion would have welcomed the reprieve, but though their knees nearly touched, Alexander had felt closer the countless times their tables had been opposite. Hephaestion sighed.

This tugged Alexander's glance, enough to tip the relentless stare towards Hephaestion. For a heartbeat, exasperation flickered at the edges of the feral intensity. Hephaestion's sigh softened, and his fingers lightly brushed Alexander's hunched shoulder.

"I know," Hephaestion nodded, resigned.

Alexander didn't reply, but the goblet clasped between his knees twitched.  Hephaestion could hear the suck of breath between Alexander's teeth as drunken laughter erupted from the dais.

Habitually, Hephaestion scanned the crowd, half expecting Olympias to be striding through the hall to set things right, but knowing it was her absence that was amiss. Instead, the new face beside Philip was younger, and entirely eclipsed in silence in his shadow: as unremarkable as she was beautiful. The kind that would have scuttled from the queen's path with a single look.

"Now! Let us ask the gods that there may be born from this marriage a legitimate heir to the kingdom," Attalus'  voice echoed against the murmur of festivities, slurred with his own celebration.

Before Hephaestion could move, Alexander was standing. A stain dribbled across the tiles as the goblet kept rolling. Hephaestion rose, slower, to stand behind Alexander, as the man whirled, a hand pressed to his temple and wine soaking his tunic.

"Do you take me for a bastard then, 'uncle'?" Alexander spat the word as though it mocked them both. His lip curled with indignation, elbows taut, fingers clenched. 

"Alexander..." Hephaestion's caution was lost in the slap of sandals striding towards them. 

Alexander did not wait for Attalus to reach them.  His steps were sharp from bitterness that had had no use for his goblet until now. Hephaestion followed in his wake, ignoring the titters of the other guests that gave way for the confrontation. A table rattled as they impacted, turning more heads as Alexander forcefully returned Attalus' clumsy attempt to shove him down.  Several men lurched from the bench, wine dripping down their knuckles that still grasped their cups.

An indistinct shout turned heads to the dais as Philip rose, his lips too darkly stained to offer anything intelligible. Immediately, Alexander wheeled on the sound of the slur with fury.  But as he turned, Philip's steps failed him, catching him in an awkward stumble as he fumbled with the ornate sword on his hip.

A laugh fell from Alexander's lips, sharp and cold with disdain.  He dropped Attalus with a shove, and extended an arm towards Philip in mock proclamation.   "This is the man preparing to campaign in Persia, who cannot even cross from his couch?" Hephaestion saw the lips twist in a humorless scoff as the moment froze like a spell. For a heartbeat, Alexander lingered, watching in grim satisfaction as Philip's fury rose to meet his own. Then before his father could speak, he turned on heel and strode from the room. 

Hephaestion inhaled sharply as Alexander brushed by him, only a flicker of a glance exchanged.  Hephaestion let his breath slip out as he quietly followed, without another look back. 

. . .

The palace was once again abuzz with preparations of pomp and celebration for the wedding, but Hephaestion had little place among it. It felt strange to be back in these halls, although it had been less than a year of absence. A glance at Alexander signaled that his disposition had not warmed since the last wedding, but he was here to dutifully provide his token presence to the festivities of his step-sister's marriage. It had been Philip's request that Alexander return from Illyria, to show a unified front in anticipation of Philip's latest ambitions, but Hephaestion knew it was Olympias who had persuaded Alexander. 

Hephaestion leaned in closer, nudging Alexander. "Two drachmae says you could hit your new 'uncle' again if you threw another goblet at him," he hoped it would at least crack a smile in Alexander's solemnity.

Alexander snorted. It wasn't quite what Hephaestion had hoped for, but it was something. "It wasn't him I should have aimed for," Alexander's voice was subdued, but his disdain was not, "Though the old fool hardly needs help to more wine."

Hephaestion brushed Alexander's arm quietly, and after a few breaths felt him reluctantly soothe in response. The casual dismissal had wounded him deeply, and it was clear that the past months had done little to lessen the blow. Watching Alexander's veneer of composure return, Hephaestion felt a sympathetic notch of resentment twist his chest. Philip didn't deserve him.

With a silent sigh, Hephaestion's gaze strayed, catching unexpectedly on the distant figure watching them. Olympias was calm and austere, but though Hephaestion searched, he could not find the bitterness of a woman displaced and her son rejected. As Alexander was called away, Olympias moved closer.

"Hephaestion," she said, joining him on the fringe of the bustle. It was strange to feel a certain equality to their positions.

"My queen," Hephaestion kept the old greeting low.

She smiled, approvingly if not warmly. "You have served my son loyally, and for that I am grateful. Tell me, do the Companions still recall Chaeronae?"

Hephaestion's smile filled with warmth, "They cannot forget. Philotas commands them, but they charge with Alexander!" His gaze drifted across the hall to where the young cavalry leader stood with his father, Parmenion.  

Olympias laid a hand unexpectedly on his arm, his eyes snapping back to hers at the cold marble fingers. "I am glad that the army has not forgotten Alexander even if Philip has." For the briefest of moments, the sorrow gave way to a sharper edge, but a blink later, it was gone. 

"They have not, my queen," Hephaestion assured her, "Nor will they soon."

"See that they do not," there was a light press, "Alexander has always been able to see the moment of the charge. When the gods clear the way, make sure he is followed."

"Always," although he looked uncertainly between Olympias's touch and her steady eyes, Hephaestion's voice was unwavering.

She smiled suddenly, her tone lightening as its volume lifted, "And do try to make him have a good time. This is a wedding!" And she was gone.

As the procession formed, Alexander found him once again. Hephaestion felt his hand pressed for a fleeting moment in the jostle of the crowd, and heard the soft sigh that accompanied it. Without a downward glance, he greeted Alexander's gaze with a smile, then fell back to take his place in tow. His stomach sank as he saw Philip take his place further ahead with his new wife, Olympias and Alexander clearly relegated to entourage.

Banners and wreaths fluttered overhead, olive and laurel leaves astray on the breeze. Hephaestion watched Alexander. The sunlight caught his burnished hair brightening the fluttering edges to gold. Another day, this might have been beautiful. Suddenly, Alexander stiffened. Hephaestion wrenched his gaze to find what he had seen. For a moment, Hephaestion couldn't place the man who approached Philip, then he recognized the venom.

Philip staggered back and a woman screamed. The bodyguard fell on top of Philip with frenzied blows. Stains erupted slowly as if Philip's body was as confused as the crowd. Already, Alexander was pushing forward, as the man ran.

"With Alexander!" Hephaestion felt the cry leave his throat on instinct. The soldiers who were with them surged out from the procession in an instant.

"There is no time for mourning!" Alexander shouted, and the soldiers responded to him as they always did. Through the chaos, he saw Antipater place a brief hand on Alexander's shoulder.

"Macedonia needs her king," Hephaestion could read the words on the general's lips.

Alexander hesitated, fighting the desire to join the pursuit, then nodded as the older man took his place.

Hephaestion remained, near and watchful as Alexander ordered the bodyguards who remained. Philip's body was gathered from the dust, the procession shepherded back to the palace to disperse. There would be no celebration today. Though surprise lingered on Alexander's face, there was no hesitation in his commands, nor in anyone to obey them. 

In a stray glance, Hephaestion found Olympias moving with the crowd. Of the shocked and weeping guests, she was not one. For a moment, she returned his gaze with only a single, certain nod.

It was then that Hephaestion realized it was as good as certain: Alexander was now king.

VI. Ilium, 334 BC

The wind carried dust from ages past across the plain to the sea.  The horses tossed their heads against the brisk gusts that ruffled their manes and smelled of iron and salt.  Hephaestion looked back towards the beach, and rolling swathes of ocean that somewhere also touched Macedonian shores.  When he looked ahead again, Alexander was waiting, half turned in the saddle and following Hephaestion's gaze with exhilaration.  

"We shouldn't delay," Hephaestion prompted, "Parmenion already questions the detour."

"We have time," Alexander shrugged confidently, not yet spurring Bucephalus.  "Stories are not written in a day, and neither is ours."

Hephaestion's lips softened with fondness as he watched the burnished curls flutter on the breeze.  "I don't need to spend ten years on these sands to appreciate them either."

Alexander laughed approvingly, "Alright, fine." With a light cluck of his tongue the black beast fell into step, and Hephaestion nudged his mount to follow.

As they neared the burial mounds, Alexander let the reins fall slack into the inky mane and slid to the plain.  Hephaestion slipped from his horse's back and fell in step beside him.  

Alexander frowned as they approached the tombs.  "Lay our bones together, just as when I first held Patroclus’ beloved arms." 

Hephaestion tilted a sidelong glance towards the lilt of the lyrics, a quiet sympathy gathering.

"And yet they made two," Alexander pressed his lips together, brow furrowing.

"They are side by side," Hephaestion said softly. 

"They should be one and the same," Alexander was not quite satisfied.  "That's what they wanted."

Hephaestion placed a hand lightly on Alexander's arm.  "We can still honor them as you wanted."

Alexander nodded, his fingers finding and curling firmly into Hephaestion's.  "Together."

As he watched Alexander stride boldly to the larger tomb, something in Hephaestion's stomach sank with every diverging step.  When he reached the parallel mound, Hephaestion knelt.  Before him, the stone slab was cool in the swath of shadow that the mound cut across the sun beaten plain, the myrtle leaves in his hands were beginning to brittle, but still smelled of life.  He glanced again to his side.  Alexander held out his wreath in silhouette, his eyes fixed on the grand stone before him, his lips moving, but Hephaestion could hear only the hot wind and distant gulls.  

He dropped his gaze back to the tomb before him, but no prayer or litany came to his lips.  With a sigh, Hephaestion placed the circle of leaves gently and simply.  "I'm sorry," he said, wishing he could offer more than the boyish copout.  

Hephaestion was silent as he waited for Alexander to finish his offering, then rose with him in parallel and retreated in respectful silence until they rejoined.

Alexander eyed him thoughtfully, searching the silence in his face.  "I would never allow you to take the field without me."

Hephaestion cocked an eyebrow, slightly amused by the reassurance.  "Was not that Patroclus' greatest gift?"  His face grew thoughtful. "That Patroclus diminish for Achilles to become."

"I need no inspiration but you beside me!" Alexander's eyes glinted defiantly, his lips pressing with resolve even as he glanced back towards the mounds, once again frowning at their separation.  "As I rise, so will you with me, Hephaestion. I will suffer nothing less!"

"The star of Achilles burned alone," he pressed, even as a half-smile crept to his lips at Alexander's reckless sincerity.

"I will not set you aside! Let them complain!"

They will. The admission of their pilgrimage echoed loud with expectations, but Hephaestion's smile filled.  He shook his head as the sun warmed his hair and shoulders.  The breeze licked the edges of his tunic warmly, now that they no longer stood among the shadows.  Beside him, Alexander was beardless and beautiful.

"We were born to a myth," Alexander clasped his elbow, that same spark ablaze with its own certainty. "Achilles was fortunate," he smiled, his grip curling around Hephaestion's arm, "To have a faithful friend while he lived and," his gaze peeled away, not towards the tombs, but beyond them where the sun was starting to sink, "a great poet to sing of his deeds after his death!  And besides," Alexander squared up with Hephaestion, cupping both arms with a slight tug, "You can't stop looking when I am glorious."

Hephaestion snorted, but his smile betrayed him.  "You make it difficult to avoid," but his face creased once more thoughtfully, "But I don't need a legend, Alexander."

For a moment there was only the horses' soft snorting and the rip of grass.

"I don't need you to," Alexander lifted a hand to his jaw with a gentle dauntlessness that made Hephaestion doubt himself.  "But there is one thing more we must do," Alexander continued, his hands playfully falling to the lacing of Hephaestion's tunic with a tug.  "It is only proper to mark their passing with games."

Hephaestion suppressed an astonished smile with as much duty as he could muster.  "What do you intend?" He asked, glancing at the empty plain for the shape of Alexander's vision.

"A footrace," Alexander was already stripping with a smile of his own that saw no contradiction in respect and exhilaration.  "For the honor of the dead, the living will run in the dying sun."

The oblique heat of late day burned across Hephaestion's back.  Lifting an arm, he squinted through its shade to where Alexander pointed.  Beyond the mounds, a worn rock cut a thin line across the plain in shadow.  Hephaestion nodded, the dust beneath his feet shifting as he did.

"For glory that does not die!" Alexander announced, his hand lifted to the sky.

Hephaestion slid his heel a fraction in readiness, and Alexander smiled.  For a moment, they locked eyes, then, without a cry to begin, they did.  Their steps thundered in the silence, the dry grass crumbling beneath their soles.  Alexander surged forward like a charging horse, his dark curls jostling at every stride, bleeding gold at the edges each time they were tossed into the low light.

Hephaestion's lungs swelled with dry, salty air, stinging his nose as his feet pounded beneath him to keep up, riding Alexander's flank.  They had run this race a dozen times, Hephaestion knew his place and formation.

The golden halo tipped back towards him, and Hephaestion saw the grin on Alexander's face plainly.  Delight and dare, both breathless for words as they neared the thin shadow.

Something in the challenge seized Hephaestion.  Though his chest was filled to bursting at every breath, he drove harder in a sudden dash.  For a fleeting second, he wondered if his legs would carry him, or simply tumble away beneath him.  He clawed back the inches between him and Alexander, even as Alexander fought to keep them with wild gasping grins.

Hephaestion stumbled past the worn rock, desperately sucking air as he collapsed into the dirt triumphantly.  Alexander was immediately beside him, choking with wheezing laughter.

"Was I—not meant—to win?" Hephaestion laughed, sprawled on his back, feeling the heat of the ground meet the slick of his own sweat as he turned his head to the side.

"You are no Patroclus!" Alexander pronounced joyously, "You are another Achilles!" He lay back, staring at the infinite sky, his chest heaving with trickles of sweat.

Hephaestion did not turn his head to join Alexander's gaze, but watched him thoughtfully.  "Sweet words, but untested, I think," he chuckled, reaching to brush Alexander's shoulder with his fingertips.

As he turned to meet Hephaestion's gaze, Alexander's grin was impossibly victorious.  "Not untested, only not yet sung in hymn."

VII. Granicus, 334 BC

"It's too difficult a crossing," Parmenion reasoned, "Wait at least until tomorrow."

"And let them further fortify?" Alexander rounded on the suggestion emphatically, "I'll not have the shame of being stopped by a trickle!" 

"The cavalry will be under fire!" 

Hephaestion sighed, standing to the edge of the tent. The conversation had been over before it started, but for all his years of war, the general still knew nothing of Alexander. But to Hephaestion, the coiled determination was evident in every impatient pivot in his stride. A glance from Alexander told Hephaestion everything he needed to know. They would be in the saddle in hours. Hephaestion's heart jumped with the thrill and terror of that promise. Everything Parmenion declared was true, but in only the last two years, Hellas was Alexander's. From the remnants of Thebes' rebellion to the submission of Athens, only the worthless fingers of Sparta remained because they paled to the allure of Persia. Philip had boasted of this ambition, but Alexander stood on its doorstep. Parmenion was blind if he thought a river would stop him. 

Alexander was striding from the tent. The old general cast a helpless glance at Hephaestion, rubbing his temple as he tried to make peace with the path ahead. Hephaestion shrugged apologetically, but his steps were already following Alexander. Parmenion waved him away as if washing his hands of them both. 

. . .

The line of the Companions stretched along the river, but they would have to funnel where the crossing would be easier.  Ahead, the Persians waited on the crest of the far bank, bow strings ready and spear points bristling above the crossing.

"He is right," Hephaestion said, gathering his reins as the horses jostled in anticipation. "We will be exposed as we cross." His tone held no reluctance, only acknowledgment.

"Glory awaits those who dare," Alexander's eyes never left the far shore, as he placed his helmet. Its fluttering white crest marked him out from the ranks with defiance. Hephaestion could feel the energy ripple through the soldiers around him as the great black horse took the first few stuttered steps forward with impatience. Hephaestion inhaled, and thunder was set loose.

Horses crashed forward, plunging into the river as the hail began. Muscles strained and rippled, leaping in lurches through the grasping flow. The hiss of fletching split the air around them, extinguished in the churning water. Hephaestion could feel the slip and strain beneath the hooves as they struck out into the murky bank, wrestling in defiance of the current's pull. Just ahead, the flash of white told him Alexander had reached the shore, the powerful black monster beneath him tearing free from the river and clawing up the embankment. With shrieks and frenzied snorts, the other horses poured from the water. Hephaestion leaned forward as his mount pitched up the far shore, a sting of wet hair whipping across his vision. 

The satraps surged forward to meet them on the incline. Momentum from the crossing strained the horses' footing, fighting from being driven back into the river. Men shouted and steel met flesh. Blades and hooves alike wrent and crushed in a breathless blur. Men slipped underfoot on the muddy bank, their bodies tangling beneath as the horses thrashed for balance to tread this new river. 

Further ahead, Hephaestion could hear Alexander shouting, and another foreign voice returned, wrenching what attention Hephaestion could spare. In stuttered flashes, Hephaestion saw a satrap bearing down and Alexander urged the black monster to meet him. Horses collided. They tangled and spun, the mud beneath betraying them even while their riders fixed on each other. And then Hephaestion saw the moment he lived in fear of. He wrenched his horse's bridle, already knowing he would be too late. The current of battle flowed against him as the horse's shoulder met resistance and the faint crunch of a man fell beneath its hooves.

Cleitus' shout rasped through the chaos.  When Hephaestion looked again, Alexander was still mounted, streaked in fresh blood.  Before the satrap could clutch the stump of his shoulder, Cleitus shoved him from his horse, and he sank beneath the melee like a drowning man.  A disoriented exhilaration hazed Alexander's expression, the flecks of persian blood unsmudged from his face.  Cleitus' nostrils flared with grim satisfaction as he jerked his horse's reins and wheeled his mount. That was all. One moment, but no time to rest in it.

. . .

The drying mud cracked on Hephaestion's skin as the battlefield bled its final drops. His pulse still pounded as he reached Alexander. Hephaestion stepped to Alexander's side, still just breathing. It felt difficult to remember how to slow it. He reached out a hand for Alexander's shoulder, simply resting and reassuring. "I feared for you," he admitted, low enough that it did not carry.

A hint of the shock still lingered on Alexander but it was quickly fading in the wake of victory. He shook his head, placing both hands on Hephaestion as he turned them inward emphatically. "They fight with steel, Hephaestion, we fight with destiny."

Hephaestion's heart fluttered beneath its own weight, his own dread not yet fully coursed.  "And what of those who fell?" Hephaestion pressed, searching Alexander's face from his own heaviness.

"They have purchased eternal glory," Alexander replied softly. Hephaestion could feel the gentle press even through his armor.

"I'm not ready to trade you yet," Hephaestion stared intently into the rich brown gaze, pouring every drop of adoration into the simple words.

"Well, you are in luck," Alexander grinned. "Neither are the gods."

"Neither is Cleitus, you mean," Hephaestion poked.

"His sister would never forgive him," Alexander returned impishly, "She didn't tend to me for years to see it wasted.  Neither did he." His hands grazed down Hephaestion's arms and his gaze distanced as he turned back out over the field and Hephaestion could feel Alexander slipping back to king and commander.

"I'll come to you later," Hephaestion murmured as he stepped back.

Alexander nodded, his glance to Hephaestion held one last surge of warmth and longing that made Hephaestion content to wait.

. . .

Hephaestion could still smell the damp on him as he entered the tent. Immediately, Hephaestion stepped to meet him, arms closing around him, armor and all. Alexander tilted his head back to look up at him, satisfaction stirring a vibrancy even beneath the wet and weariness. 

"Still in armor?" Hephaestion disapproved, running his thumb over the muddy weave. 

"I was waiting for you," Alexander let his arms fall to his sides, submitting as Hephaestion loosened and plied with practiced rhythm.

"You might have gotten warm sooner," he shook his head. As his gaze lifted from a buckle, he found Alexander watching him.

"I will now," he pushed into Hephaestion's grip, but something else tinged the eagerness. "You really thought I might be hurt?" He mused.

A short laugh of disbelief burst from Hephaestion's lips, but he didn't correct him. He nodded, at first looking down to his fingers, but slowly lifting his gaze to see if this was permitted. 

"Are you disappointed?" Alexander's voice was low.

"Disappointed that you are not invincible?" Hephaestion understood the tone immediately and grabbed both his arms tightly, his brow furrowing. As Alexander stood before him unharmed, it seemed suddenly strange to question it. Once again, victory crowned him, and even theirs who lay for burial were few among the Persian thousands. Hephaestion's fingers relented, his hands slipping to Alexander's face. Beneath his palms, Alexander's pulse echoed fierce and relentless.  "As far as I'm concerned, you are," he breathed.

VIII. Stateira, 333 BC

Alexander threaded through the camp with only the dark mat of curls to crown him.  His strides were brisk, but his eyes were attentive to the wounded.  As Hephaestion followed, his gaze traced the lines of dirt left by the straps of his armor, still outlining the breastplate in its absence.  The soldiers did not need the white plume to mark him.  Like a tidal force that swept behind him on the field, here, they turned towards his approach with grins as wide as they were exhausted.  It was not just the Companions who loved Alexander.  Faces that Hephaestion had not memorized from use now lit with the same spark of glory when they approached, and he could feel the same grin echoing back on his own face when they did.

"Three hundred charaina for Athena!" The Persian word fell effortlessly from Alexander's mouth as he pulled a soldier close, jostling his shoulder like a friend.  The man's wound would likely see him limp for life, but his eyes kindled with pride that did not regret the price.

"One for each at Thermopylae!" Hephaestion stepped back slightly as Craterus approached Alexander with sure strides.  

Alexander turned, his hand still planted on the man's shoulder.  "Let Athens remember who keeps her safe!" he agreed, smiling.

"She'll remember!" Craterus declared emphatically, "And she'll love you for it.  Just as we do!  Long live the king!"  He turned to the soldiers around, rousing them quickly to murmurs of agreement.

The injured soldier was already nodding with his fellows as he shifted back to support himself on his spear.  Alexander drank in the adoration indulgently, marking each voice with acknowledgement, but his final glance sought Hephaestion.  Hephaestion felt the warmth surge to his face, his approving nod as immediate as Alexander's satisfaction with it.

"Perhaps you should send them back with some persian blood still on them," Cleitus broke in with a coarse, hearty laugh.  "Let the priests scrub them clean, that'll make them remember what we did!"

"Maybe I shall, I would hate to undo your sweat, Cleitus!" Alexander's laugh rang bright and approvingly.  Even Hephaestion chuckled.

"I don't need thanks for persian arms," Cleitus' grin curved into a delighted snarl at the indulgence. 

As the soldiers pulled Alexander willingly with their adoration once again, Cleitus turned shoulder to shoulder with Hephaestion.  "Craterus can keep his shiny king.  You and I will have him bloody and breathing, eh, boy?"  His tone made no pretense about expectation of agreement.

Hephaestion smiled, clapping a hand on Cleitus that streaked the hardened leather.  "Indeed," his eyes followed Alexander, watching the warmth of his presence blaze around him.  "And I don't think that'll change."

Cleitus squared his shoulders as Hephaestion's hand fell away.  "Make sure that armor doesn't get too polished," he jerked an arm back towards the spoils.

Hephaestion grinned affably, his gaze unbroken from Alexander. "I'll make sure Athens gets a taste of blood and dirt."

Cleitus grunted, gruffly, but satisfied.

. . .

The constant movement of camp muffled beyond the heavy cloth of the tent. Hephaestion leaned back, letting his head rest and his eyes flutter for a moment. Idle fingertips combed rhythmically through the curls that lay in his lap. They were thick with sweat and oil, fresh from recent battle, but beneath their heavy rings, Alexander's eyes were closed. 

It was moments like these that carried Hephaestion's thoughts back to summer in Pella, when days stretched endlessly, filled with thrilling anticipation that only Alexander could kindle. Looking down at Alexander's momentary repose, Hephaestion had no desire to return to those cherished days. This was the realization of that destiny, twined so tightly around Alexander that neither of them were extricable from it. 

Hephaestion's fingers brushed lightly over the collarbone that rose gently with every breath. There was a longing, perhaps, for a day when they might return to their home together in some distant twilight when dreams were realized. But for now and every day it was more than enough just to be with him. Hephaestion had known that in his heart long ago. 

A smile blossomed in Hephaestion's adoring gaze as Alexander stretched an arm over his head. Whatever things Alexander had become, whatever he would become, here in Hephaestion's lap, he was still the audacious boy from Pella.

Movement outside the tent pulled Hephaestion's attention, his body tensing with readiness for the shift it would demand. Already, Alexander was rousing to awareness, the weight of his head lifting from Hephaestion's lap. The activity sounded hesitant, and Alexander let himself fall back into his recline. The gaze that met Hephaestion's was stubbornly content to make them wait. Hephaestion trailed his fingers once more through the brown curls, then came the call.

Alexander sat up slowly, lazy, but not drowsy despite the brevity of the rest.

"Do you want me to —?" Hephaestion was already standing as Alexander nodded.

He strode to the entrance, parting the curtains as they emerged. The opulence that greeted Hephaestion felt surreally out of place in the encampment. Rich embroidered robes trailed in dust and flattened grasses of the camp and dark rimmed eyes squinted in the harsh afternoon light. Even Alexander's royal pavilion seemed pragmatic next to the strange entourage. Macedonian soldiers escorted the four women, their glances both skeptical and amused.

Hephaestion felt his heart sink. It was a bold gamble to bring one's love to the battlefield and one the Persian king had lost. Although Darius himself had escaped, his family belonged to Alexander.

The matron stepped forward to meet Hephaestion, her hands spread in respect, but her head held proudly. "My Lord," she said thickly, "We are in your hands, but I ask you to hear me as equals in station. My Lord Alexander—"

She glanced aside suddenly as the soldiers tittered at the address. Her eyes returned to Hephaestion momentarily, weighing her error with spreading alarm.

"Forgive me," the woman bowed slightly, as she tried to read Alexander's easy posture, but even in her peril she remained poised. "I only wished to plead for the keeping of me and my daughters, as befits nobility."

Alexander smiled, his hand gripping Hephaestion's shoulder with an affectionate shake. "You have made no mistake," his amusement wore openly, "For he is as much Alexander as I am." Hephaestion watched her look between them, resisting any urge that would betray too much as Alexander continued, "And since you have addressed him as me, I will give you his answer. You have nothing to fear nor will you suffer from me. You may keep the living of your rank, I see, you are royalty." Alexander's gaze swept the soldiers, instantly shifting their bearing, as he added, "I will visit your pavilion to ensure it is so."

The woman inclined her head graciously, withdrawing with her daughters as Alexander waved a dismissal and turned back inside his tent. Hephaestion lingered a moment longer on each of them, and then followed.

"Are you pleased?" Alexander was already lounging among the cushions as Hephaestion ducked inside.

"You would have declared the same had she asked you yourself," Hephaestion chided. 

"Of course!" He agreed dramatically, "For you and I are one and the same, how can it be otherwise?" He propped on one elbow in clear delight.

Hephaestion smiled softly, sitting beside him on the bed frame, his palm smoothing the linen between them. "Yes, but you liked her. I saw it. Did she remind you of your mother?"

Alexander lay back, watching the wrinkles reshape, "She has the bearing of a queen, even in defeat. That is no small thing. Or perhaps, she was merely keen enough to speak to my heart."

Hephaestion pulled Alexander closer, unable to resist him any longer. Alexander sprawled easily, the weight of his head once again occupying Hephaestion's lap. Bronze eyes fluttered lazily closed as Hephaestion smiled down at him and his fingers traced Alexander's forehead.

End Part I.

PART II

I. Tyre, 332 BC

The ocean spray ricocheted off the earthen imposition that jutted out into its waves.  Barrages of cold salt sliced the air in protest, drowned by the creaks of machinery and the endless sledging of wood and stone and earth. Alexander stood at the end of the pier, hair plastered to his forehead, his cloak and tunic heavy and dark with the damp.  Beside him, Craterus was hunched slightly against the cold, nodding and etching notes as Alexander's hands snapped in every direction at once.  

Hephaestion ducked beneath the swing of a crane.  It felt strange to have been so long on foot, but this assault would need no cavalry. He eyed a ratcheting wheel that hoisted its load, already forming a shape he had seen plotted on the campaign map only days ago.  Each step felt surreal, a battlefield commanded into existence by sheer will, but one that would never call for Hephaestion to take a place.

"I take it this means you have declined their terms?" Hephaestion jested gently.

"I will not accept what I have already rejected," Alexander retorted,  "They think to unnerve me by invoking Darius." The words were crisp with the tang of  insult.

Craterus weighed Alexander's logic evenly, barely glancing up, "They seek to buy time.  Our progress alarms them."

Hephaestion nodded thoughtfully, glancing out towards the city walls that seemed to rise directly from the sea itself in the distance.  "I'm told the mole is nearing the range of Tyre's archers," he said calmly.

"Yes, yes," Alexander nodded absently, as if this was desirable.  "Within days." He glanced at Craterus sharply, not seeking confirmation, but demanding agreement.

Craterus' eyes snapped up, and Hephaestion watched his methodical calculation of the progress around them. Finally, he nodded.  "If the supply lines remain steady." 

Alexander's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but Hephaestion knew that impatience. "If Heracles needed time, so must I," Alexander brushed his matted hair across his forehead like an unconscious itch, only rearranging its disarray.

Hephaestion's gaze tugged back towards the unvisited shrine behind them on the shore.  It was a paltry alternative, one Hephaestion had known immediately would never be acceptable to Alexander's vision.  But Tyre, Hephaestion feared, had only demanded Alexander prove his likeness to the hero he sought to honor.  

"I'm not sure even Heracles drew land back from the sea," he forced his tone lighter than the months of waiting inclined.  

"But neither would he have suffered the slight of a fisherman's shrine!" Alexander snapped back.  "If they will not open their temple, then I will unhinge their gates! No fortress is so strong that it cannot be taken, even if I must bring the mainland to its walls!"

. . .

Flames crackled, licking up the sides of scaffolding and timbers.  Salt and wet smoke stung Hephaestion's eyes and throat.  Men shouted and beams cracked.  Carts jostled up and down the causeway, as unsteady as their jagged silhouettes in the dark.

"Get back!" a shout echoed, "It's lost!"

"Alexander!" Hephaestion caught his arm in the chaos, forcing him to turn.

Alexander's frustration ripped from his throat as another volley of arrows poured from the darkness beyond the blaze.

Hephaestion shut his eyes for a moment, listening as the shafts buried in wood or worse not far away.  Something nearby hit the choppy waters with a crack.  He couldn't be sure if it was a beam or body. 

Alexander hadn't flinched. 

"Alright," Hephaestion took a breath, letting his empty hand fall.

"They can't burn earth and stone!" Alexander shouted.  "Topple the towers, don't let it spread!" 

Hephaestion could hear Alexander's teeth grit as he shoved his shoulder to a timber alongside him.  The flames swayed above, as others joined, and the siege tower began to roll.  Another whistle of arrows and crack of clay pots exploded across the mole.  Something fell from above, gouging off a chunk of earth into the ocean.  

A horse shrieked and stamped, and a wheel began to ratchet, until finally the blaze crumbled into the waters.  Alexander glared bitterly as the waves glowed with the wreckage, months of work jostled like a broken toy.  As Hephaestion turned, other fires were toppling, their eerie skeletons still burning on both flanks.

Hephaestion squinted beyond them for the torchlight of ships and the nock of arrows, but the damage had already been done.  

The smell of ash and sopping wool fouled the command tent as Alexander paced its length, then gripped the edge of the table and stared at the map, now inaccurate to what lay outside the canvas walls.  Nobody moved.  Hephaestion's arms folded, his shoulders hunched against the weight of his cloak.  Craterus was no better.  Only Parmenion and his son seemed dry.

"Reset it!" Alexander said finally.  

Craterus' head snapped up.  He paused, then stepped forward.  When Alexander said nothing else, he began to clear the map.  "We will know better in the morning, but much of the earth and stone will remain," he echoed, "The siege towers will need to be rebuilt."

"Then they will be," Alexander remained fixed in place.  

Philotas let out a breath in exasperated disbelief.  When Alexander's gaze snapped coldly in his direction, Parmenion interjected.  "Alexander," he placated, "You win battles on horseback, but here you cannot reasonably field that strength.  It is one city.  If I were Alexander, I would pass by Tyre."

Alexander's eyes only hardened, "I will not leave this island standing to mock me!" 

. . . 

Hephaestion waited. Again, he stood slowly until there was nothing to do but pace the tent's length. As he turned, he paused, hopeful of a distant sound, only for it to pass and still he was alone. There was only the length of the tent once more.

Where are you, Alexander? He sighed, both knowing the answer and that, if Hephaestion wanted to be, he could be there too. For many late nights, he had been in the war tent, watching, listening, never to be fielded.  But weeks had turned into half a year.  

Since the mole had burned, something had changed.  As Alexander's causeway rose from the sea a second time, crawling towards Tyre, this time it felt more impending.  Hephaestion felt it in the stillness of the empty tent. He wanted to march into the command pavilion, grab Alexander's arm, and pull him out into the cool midnight. What stopped him was knowing that Alexander did not want it. 

The thought hurt. No, Alexander could not want it, Hephaestion softened the idea to himself. He was no stranger to Alexander's drive. 

Finally, the tent rustled, and Alexander pushed into the lamplight. His gaze found Hephaestion with a slight startle, other thoughts still entwined deeply in his mind, sharpening his face with a distant focus. 

Still, he was here. 

Hephaestion stepped closer, closing the gap that Alexander could not. He breathed a sigh of relief as Alexander relaxed under his touch. He almost wished there was armor to pull away to guide them from conquest to rest, but this battlefield did not require that ritual. Instead, Hephaestion slowly let his fingers trail from Alexander's shoulders and slid his arms around him.

"Is your next move secured?" Hephaestion murmured against his curls, only half interested in the answer.

"You weren't there again," Alexander noted, his posture giving but not surrender. "You should be there," Alexander's voice was disappointed, but not angry. 

"You don't need me," Hephaestion shrugged, lowering his face into Alexander's shoulder. "Not for this."

"I always need you," Alexander sounded tired. As beautiful as he was, his dark eyes ringed with their own shadows and the soft lips seemed firmer in their draw. "I need this."

"You know where I am. This is all I have."

Alexander drew back.  His expression was torn, but his silence admitted the truth. "It's already been months," he insisted, "this needs to end quickly. The new ships from Sidon have finally cut them off. I can't let up now."

Hephaestion breathed. At least there was an end in sight. "And will you name your new city Alexandria?" he asked playfully.

"No," Alexander's flat tone made Hephaestion flinch, "There will be no need for a name."

The utterly passionless decree chilled Hephaestion more than any rage might have. Although Hephaestion had prayed to the gods a hundred times for Tyre's defeat, he had stopped. There were no gods to give a victory that Alexander's will would not enact in time. But now, Hephaestion understood a new dread to the coming triumph. Tyre had defied Alexander and they would not merely be tamed, they would be broken. Hephaestion had seen this in their charred path through Thrace, come and gone in the early heat of Alexander's rise, and quickly forgotten in their wake as they rode to Athens.

Hephaestion would pray for Tyre's defeat once again, this time for the mercy of its swiftness. There was no salvation left for them. Let Tyre be forgotten and let its sacrifice give him back his Alexander. 

II. Siwa, 331 BC

Shade had never felt so cold as the temple after the desert crossing.  The relentless sun still lingered in Hephaestion's skin, like coals deep beneath what his fingers could touch.  He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, the grit of sand still thick in his nose.  The others that shuffled near the threshold looked just as much like trespassers as he felt.  Even Craterus' sunbeaten daze looked more grateful that the oasis existed than reverent.

Only Alexander strode the massive stone slabs with a bold relish, the grit twisting softly beneath his sandals.  He no longer squinted against the glare of endless dunes, but wandered the ancient barrel-shaped columns and painted limestone with a satisfied admiration.  Every breath, faint with lotus, invigorated him.

He turned as an old priest emerged, curls of smoky-sweet resins and the tang of juniper wafting from the far chamber.  Alexander took only a few measured steps towards him, and then waited for the shuffling bare feet to approach.  When the man was in front of him, Alexander bent his head slightly, his palms held open before him.

"May Amun-Ra witness you in purity and truth," the oracle croaked in stilted Greek.

Hephaestion dipped his own head slightly, even at a distance.  

"I have crossed the desert to hear what the god witnesses," Alexander spoke slowly, careful not to outpace the priest's understanding, but his voice loud enough that Hephaestion knew they were meant to hear clearly.

The old man nodded, momentarily lifting his gaze to the others that lingered only just beyond the lintel's sharp box of sunlight.  Then he studied Alexander.  They stood in a strange mirror to each other, straight and stooped, dark curls and smooth skin.  But as the priest's gaze traced the white linen tunic and lines of kohl, it was as though Egypt had been poured into a Macedonian shape.

Alexander waited.

The oracle lifted his hand, brushing Alexander's forehead with an ornate rod.  When he spoke again, his voice was louder.  "Then be welcome, son of Zeus-Amun," his Greek faltered slightly, but there was no hesitation in the proclamation.

Hephaestion saw the instant ripple through Alexander's shoulders that lifted his head by a fraction.  Even from a distance, his eyes blazed with a smile that his lips contained.  At Hephaestion's side, gazes sought each other, murmurs echoing surprise and uncertainty that were denied words.  Finally, turning his gaze from Alexander, Hephaestion found Craterus', the priest's words shaped on his lips as a question.  Hephaestion took a deep breath, and nodded immediately.  They had heard the same.

Beyond the temple, evening poured across the oasis, the temple's shadow gradually lapping up every smaller silhouette into the relief of night.  Hephaestion glanced around to those that had dispersed in silence from the announcement.  Only Alexander remained inside, his sandals left behind where he had followed the priest into deeper chambers.

Craterus had said nothing else, only his face had worn the quiet confusion until he carefully folded this information into his loyalty.  Others had begun to whisper.

"And what of Philip?" The flatness of the words soured the still night air.  

Hephaestion paused in stride to listen to the distant, whispered words, his brows gathering as Parmenion said nothing to correct his son.

"Was it not enough that Egypt welcomed him as a king-by-blood that we had to journey here for a land already at our feet?" Philotas pressed, his voice low.  When there was no response from his father once again, he snorted.  "He places himself in front of the Companions in battle, but where is he when there is not a fight?  He plays at legend, and to what ends?"

"He is our king," Parmenion shrugged finally, a slow, weary sigh slipping into the dark.

"So was Philip," Philotas grumbled.

Hephaestion's frown deepened, as he stared levelly through the night.  The figures seemed to notice him now, both nodding acknowledgement.  Hephaestion returned the wordless greeting, but turned and walked away.

. . .

Hephaestion's sandals chafed from sand. The smoky perfume of incense still clung to his nostrils even as the oracle's words rang in his ears, louder than any other's.

Alexander gleamed golden in the dying sun, his skin more wind-chafed than tanned. His eyes burned bronze, rimmed in the Egyptian fashion. Had Hephaestion not watched the past weeks unfold, he would not be able to deny that Alexander had been born Pharaoh. A smile played at Hephaestion's mouth at the absurdity of the thought. Of course Alexander had been born Pharaoh, it had only taken until now for it to be recognized. 

What of who Alexander had been born to?

The heavy door shut behind them, leaving the rumbles of Egyptian excitement and Greek doubt beyond their weight. Alexander's strides carried a lightness that Hephaestion had not realized until now had been so painfully missing. He watched every graceful trail of Alexander's fingers along the limestone until Alexander spun back to face him with elation.

Hephaestion was helpless not to mirror the joy he beheld.

"It is as we have always known, Hephaestion," Alexander's voice was musical with delight. He leaned back onto the sill invitingly.

With a deep, freeing sigh, Hephaestion stepped closer. "Are you satisfied with your answer then?" But his voice tinged more somber than he intended, a flat note after Alexander's melody.

"There is no one to punish if my father has not been murdered," Alexander laughed, extending a hand. The fingertips curled around Hephaestion's delicately, but pulling him closer with a strength that belied their poise. "Zeus-Amun cannot die," Alexander leaned almost to Hephaestion's chest, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Nor can his son."

Hephaestion closed his eyes, a shiver rippling up his spine. Gods, how he wanted that to be true. Months of damp, of rotting sea, of bloated bodies, of burning rubble melted from his memories as Alexander's hands pulled Hephaestion's around his waist. The airy linen was smooth and somehow cool to his fingers, and yet he could feel the heat of Alexander's skin beneath it.

"You are the son of Zeus," Hephaestion heard himself finally voice the words that had been drumming in his mind without relief.

Alexander's body trembled in his hands. "Now it is so," he breathed hoarsely. His arms crept over Hephaestion's shoulders and around his neck. 

Hephaestion's eyes flickered open. For a moment, he beheld his king, his god, pliable in his grasp and supplicating. Then, Alexander's lips were soft and sweet with wine and his.

"How long has it been?" Alexander breathed, pulling him closer.

Hephaestion only tightened his arms, his lips pressing harder. 

"Too long?" Alexander broke enough to persist, startling Hephaestion with the hint of remorse.

"I would deny you nothing," Hephaestion's voice hitched, "And begrudge you less."

"Even an island?" Alexander's eyes pierced him with a gentle challenge.

"What island?" Hephaestion's face did not falter even as Alexander searched it.

A grin erupted on Alexander's face, equal and more to any victory. "Then what should I demand of you tonight?"

"Anything," it was almost a plea, and Alexander was satisfied. The full weight of him surrendered to Hephaestion's embrace until Hephaestion could not distinguish their heartbeats.

III. Gaugamela, 331 BC

"If I were Alexander, I would have accepted." 

Parmenion’s rueful refrain made Hephaestion sigh inwardly, disguising the impulse with a thoughtful rub of his jaw.

Already, Alexander’s arms spread out as he rounded on the comment with brassy laughter. "As if gold and marriage could entice me. Perhaps, if I were Parmenion, it would." 

The old general huffed, his gaze drifting in tempered exasperation. Gathering himself, he waved as if to dispel Alexander’s levity, "And what of half of Persia?" 

 "Half?" The word rolled from Alexander’s tongue like it was a jest, his grin only flaring in amusement at it. "Parmenion, that is even less to my tastes than his daughter!" 

The elderly man shook his head to himself for a final time, his fingertips pressing to his temple as he dropped heavily into a chair with resignation. Hephaestion chuckled quietly at the familiar conclusion, as he stepped into place beside him. Parmenion lifted his gaze. A grumble lingered in offended pragmatism, but he sought no sympathy, only sighed.

"If we are to fight," Parmenion turned back to Alexander, "The cover of night would shore our numbers."

Alexander’s open palms hit the table with a clap that Hephaestion felt echo through his body. "I will not steal my victory!" 

"My king," Parmenion fumbled at the outburst, "They are a hundred, perhaps two hundred thousand—or more! And we are—"

"Forty-seven thousand," Hephaestion interjected, level and unflinching.

Alexander’s eyes belonged only to Hephaestion, exhilaration etched into his growing smile. Hephaestion could feel the reckless flush crawling up his spine, unable to look away.

"Darius believes he will crush us with sheer size," Alexander spoke low and steadily, each word ablaze with an unbearable deliberation. "He spreads his lines wide, hoping to envelop us." Pause marked each statement, his unbroken gaze watching Hephaestion hungrily.  "He outnumbers us many times over. But a long line is a brittle one. A single, strong enough blow, and it—will—break." Hephaestion was certain his heart beat echoed in the silence after each syllable.

Alexander’s tone changed sharply as his attention snapped at the others. "I am not afraid of a multitude of men, only cowards!" They leaned forward as Alexander’s hand skimmed the map before them. "Parmenion!" Alexander’s tempo sped, "You will anchor the left flank with the Thessalian. Expect heavy cavalry assaults. Let them come, but don’t let them draw you out. The left will not win the battle, but you must hold."

The old general nodded, but Alexander’s fingers already skimmed across the parchment. "I will lead the Companions on the right, forward but angled," his palm pivoted as it slid into place, "They will think they see an opening. When they take it, we turn and strike!" His voice galloped forward, demanding the baited attention of every listener. "Craterus!" the man snapped to attention when called upon, "The phalanx will be our hammer. Stay tight, advance steadily, and when the moment comes, drive forward!" Alexander jabbed the map with two fingers, "Their line will split." A smile curved across Alexander’s lips as his gaze returned to meet only Hephaestion's, "Darius will run, and when a king runs, his army shatters."

Parmenion leaned out of his chair, a frown tracing Alexander’s map. "What if their cavalry overwhelms us?"

"They will try," Alexander replied, straightening from the table but gazing down at it imperiously. "That is why our phalanx must hold and you, Parmenion, must weather this storm. We will outlast them."

"What if Darius does not flee?" Philotas ventured from beside his father's chair.

"Then he will die on the battlefield," Alexander’s decree snapped back, and Hephaestion saw Philotas flinch as if struck. "Tomorrow we end the Persian Empire. They fight for a king who fears us. We fight for glory. We fight for each other." The steely words did not soften as Alexander’s gaze found Hephaestion’s once again and held it. "We fight for everything. And by the gods, we shall win!"

. . .

The lathered smell of horse and man drowned Hephaestion’s nostrils. His lips were chalky with dust that trickled into his throat. They poured forward with shouts and curses, like a tide of flesh carving earth and man before them. 

As they plunged forward, the line rippled from the impact in shrieks of pierced animals, and the silenced horror of their torn riders. Beside him, Alexander’s plume flashed white above the roar of the black beast he rode. 

"The king flees! Victory is ours!" Alexander’s shout rang out over the cacophony.

Hephaestion’s gaze jolted up, searching raggedly. Alexander urged his horse forward, straining into the men before him. With fuming breaths, the creature leapt against them like water, churning those who fell beneath him. Beyond the Persian line, Hephaestion glimpsed Alexander’s quarry. The ornate chariot jerked erratically, trying desperately to maneuver the chaos that hemmed it in.

Hephaestion’s mount staggered as another rider impacted him from the side, drawing up frantically. "The left!" Philotas screamed, "The left!"

Hephaestion wheeled his horse, with a glance back towards their flank. Hephaestion’s stomach turned leaden. As close as they were, the Persian cavalry’s ceaseless numbers were tearing through the Thessalians. 

"My father!" Philotas begged, "He can’t hold!"

Alexander turned over his shoulder, first to the young man, and then beyond him. Frustration turned to fury as Alexander’s gaze spun between his crumbling flank and his victory. His teeth set. "He is within our reach!" he shouted, his knees tightening, ready to urge his mount forward.

"Alexander!" the shout ripped from Hephaestion's throat even to his own surprise.

For a moment, Alexander locked eyes with Hephaestion, his gaze savage with strangling fury. A heartbeat pounded as Hephaestion stared back, unmoved. Alexander’s face twitched with the struggle inside him. With a roar, Alexander tore at his reins, his horse’s forelegs striking out as he was yanked and spun back. "Reinforce the flank!" Alexander cried.

Already, the horses had been cut from the distant chariot and the ornate vehicle left cock-eyed amid the panic. With a final, fuming glance, Alexander spurred his horse to Parmenion’s aid.

. . .

Alexander knelt beside the ornate carcass, discarded along the desert road, lifting the silken shroud that entangled it.  Though the messenger stood by with anticipation of his excitement, Alexander's inspection remained stony, even as he nodded in confirmation.  But Hephaestion could see the displeasure etched where the others would not notice.

"See, my king?" Parmenion offered placatingly, "Darius could not escape his death any more than he could your victory."

Alexander ignored him, still contemplating the bloating features and staring eyes speckled with sand.

"This is not victory," Hephaestion's voice was low, but firm.  "Darius chose his allies poorly."

"His death was mine to give," Alexander stood abruptly, letting the silk fall to cover the body once more.  "Darius will be honored as befits a king, and his murderer will be executed!"

Parmenion's brow furrowed as he averted his eyes from the corpse with a small gag, but Craterus was already nodding as Hephaestion turned to study him.

"Collect the body for preparation," Craterus ordered several men forward as Alexander brushed the dust from his hands.

"Let it be done according to the Persian customs," Alexander waved  an outstretched hand over the remains.

"As the king commands!" Craterus snapped in echo.

"The satrap has doubtless fled," Hephaestion said as they stood aside.

"Doubtless," Alexander repeated, working filth from the corner of his nail.  "But it will not alter his fate.  I will not have my succession tainted by theft and treachery, and nor will I excuse treason in any man."

Philotas stepped alongside Parmenion to support his father, furrowing his brows as the dead Persian was wrapped and bound.  Hephaestion lingered on them for a moment, his face saying nothing.  Then he strode back to the horses, looping his fingers into the bridles of both his mount and the massive black.  The impatient snort was hot on his shoulder and cheek as he watched the soldiers carry the fallen king.  As they passed, Craterus returned the steady gaze with a curt nod.  Leather and sweat slid against Hephaestion's palm and knuckles as Bucephalus tossed his head, and Hephaestion murmured to soothe him.

IV. Phrada, 330 BC

Hephaestion smoothed the parchment in the dimming light of the Persian villa, tracing the familiar script.  The hand was graceful, but not a single stroke faltered.    

Alexander sighed, "I must not answer her every letter, the indulgence only encourages her."  

Hephaestion did not reply at once.   "She has concerns," he murmured, still following the lines that marched in neat formation.  

"My mother always has concerns." He sprawled heavily into a chair opposite Hephaestion, crooking one leg over the arm.  "She should send such things to you."  

Hephaestion lifted his gaze past the letter and lingered thoughtfully, his surprise mild but worn plainly.  "Is that what you want?" he tested.  

"You worry like she does," Alexander's tone was easy, but meaningful, "You see the things people don't say."  

"No, I just listen to what they do," Hephaestion set the letter down, leaning back in his chair, a hand grazing thoughtfully along his jaw.  "Olympias has never loved Parmenion," he mused, "Much less his son."

Alexander pushed himself up dismissively, "Do what you will.  I weary of composing replies." He rounded behind Hephaestion, strong fingers plying his shoulders.  "But you need not do anything tonight."  

Hephaestion tilted his head back to look up at Alexander.  A half-smile eased across his lips.  "I will read it again, and then join you."

Alexander bent with a kiss so light, it brushed like silk across his mouth, faint with wine and perfume, before slipping into the dark.

Hephaestion slumped farther in his seat as he lifted the letter once again.  Olympias' words were steel wrapped in a mother's care, but they inked the shadows around them that he had not yet voiced.  His gaze wandered unfocused to the lamplight, wondering how much of his mind Craterus shared in every met, measured glance.

A soft step collected his attention, curling the parchment tightly before turning over one shoulder.

"Ah, have I intruded?" The boy spoke meekly, his voice a musical hush that glided as gently as his slippers.

"No," Hephaestion shook his head, pressing two fingers to his eyes to rouse himself, then beckoning the eunuch closer.  "What is it?"

"I am Bagoas," he slid closer, still standing but with a posture that diminished himself artfully.  His poise was unbroken and inviting as Hephaestion studied him.  Only when Hephaestion had finished his appraisal did Bagoas continue.  "Forgive my audacity, but I wish to serve our King."

Hephaestion raised an eyebrow patiently.  "I don't see that you do not."

The smallest pout marred the boy's face for a moment, unexpectedly drawing a smile from Hephaestion.  Bagoas tilted his head, startled by the amusement.  "But he has done nothing with me.  I thought I had pleased his eye, for he smiles at my presence, but he has not called for me."

"Ah," the syllable muted Bagoas as fast as it fell from Hephaestion's lips with finality.  "Nor likely will he," he framed the words as gently as possible, but he saw the force of them immediately.  "No," he held up a hand, "You have been lacking in nothing."

There was a pause, a quiet thought, and then a new flicker in the wide eyes.  "Then, what of you?  I could offer you the same.  If I am no use to the king, I need not be wasted."  His stance shifted more openly. 

Hephaestion saw the invitation immediately, and — but that it was not Alexander — it was beautiful.  He sighed, rubbing his temples. 

"I—" the practice of every word was not lost on Hephaestion, "Wish to secure my loyalty to the king, or to those he favors.  But... I see that I have nothing to offer that is lacking."

Hephaestion saw the resignation and suddenly understood.  "Do you think so poorly of Greeks, you think that your only use that might be recognized?" It sounded sharper than he meant, and he saw the edge of it in Bagoas' sudden stiffening.  Hephaestion slowed himself, choosing his words with care.  "Tell me. What would you have done for Darius?  I know enough that your kind does not merely decorate a bedchamber."

Even through his veil of restraint, Bagoas blinked in surprise.  "Indeed, we have many uses," Hephaestion could hear the cautious eagerness.  "It is our place to know the court, from the soul of its walls to the measuring of its currents."

"That is how you may also serve your new king."

A smile brightened the beautiful young face, his shoulders losing a fraction of their docile slope as Bagoas began to bow.  As he melted into the shadows, Hephaestion's thoughts were already returning to the letter curled in his fingers.

"I heard one of the generals speak boldly against our king." 

Hephaestion's gaze had already wandered when the soft voice wafted back through the darkness, snapping it to attention.

"Which one?" His voice was low and calm. He already knew the answer.

. . .

Philotas sagged in the hands of his guards, head bowed and bloodied.  As Craterus lifted his face by a handful of hair, his gaze was sluggish and unfocused.  "Wasn't part of it... Just heard..." His voice was pitched and hasty, grasping at incoherent fragments of things they had already heard.

"He has nothing else," Craterus let the man's face drop, wiping his hand in a smear on his tunic.

"It's enough," Hephaestion watched Philotas a moment longer, then nodded.

As they turned to leave, Philotas' head jerked after them.  "Where's my father?!" he demanded sharply, cracked with panic.

"Ecbatana," Craterus said flatly and shut the door behind them..

Even beyond stone walls and iron hinges, the silence of the dark hallway echoed with the words pulled from Philotas' cowering throat.  While Craterus' hands were still and steady at his sides, Hephaestion's quietly ached.  Blood flecked the sole of his sandals.  Philotas had not broken on one point, he had shattered, condemning himself on a dozen tiny fractures.  There was no satisfaction in it, but there was clarity.  Hephaestion's jaw tightened.

Craterus flexed his knuckles calmly.  

"His execution will be decided by all of us," Hephaestion said aloud, but half to himself.

"You will speak what you heard?" Craterus watched Hephaestion for hesitation, and found none.  "No one will defend him," his voice marched as unbroken as his lines of spears.

Hephaestion exhaled wryly.

"Then we will testify and vote."  

Hephaestion glanced up at the unspoken thought left in Craterus' cadence.  The general eyed him critically, and Hephaestion waited.

"What of Alexander?" The question came finally, its reluctance audible — not to ask, but to seek answer from Hephaestion.

Hephaestion nodded in understanding, but his words held firmly.  "There is no need to bloody his hands with a man who cannot hold his tongue!"

Craterus gave one clipped assent, "Agreed."

. . .

"It is done," Hephaestion dropped into the chair without a look upwards.  When he finally looked up, Alexander was watching him. 

There was a softness in the evening glow, almost casting the searching gaze in amber.  Hephaestion sighed, the tightness around his eyes relenting.

Alexander rose, placing the well-worn scroll on the seat in his stead before he crossed to Hephaestion.  His weight came like a welcome anchor as it settled onto his lap. Hephaestion closed his eyes, as his hands found their place by memory.

"It was agreed to a man," Hephaestion continued.  "Every one of us had drank wine with him."  There was no sorrow in it, only weariness.  He inhaled the scent of Alexander's presence, and the new spices that mingled in it.

"Parmenion," Alexander prompted, threading his fingers soothingly into Hephaestion's hair.

"Will not live to hear of it."

An approving rumble fluttered in Alexander's chest.

"The others will be waiting on your word for who shall take the Companions' command," Hephaestion leaned forward, resting his forehead to Alexander's shoulder.

"You," Alexander's reply left no pause.

Hephaestion startled, his eyes opening to seek confirmation of what he had heard, and finding only Alexander's satisfaction.  "No," Hephaestion protested softly.  "Not that.  There must be another you favor."

"I know no other better on horseback, and none closer to my side," Alexander shrugged.

"They will not accept it," Hephaestion sighed, already tasting defeat.  "Even now."

"They must accept it," Alexander's jaw was firmly set, "But if you will not, then let it be you and Cleitus to lead them and I will be satisfied."

Hephaestion let out a slow breath, replacing the air in his lungs with Alexander, and nodded. 

V. Cleitus, 328 BC

Hephaestion’s gaze lingered on every fold and curve of Alexander's robes with a gentle jealousy, his finger idly polishing the rim of an untouched goblet. A pensive breath filled his throat with the thick sweetness of incense as he shifted back on his couch. Alexander's gaze slipped lazily to his, the dark bronze eyes glittering in the hazy lamp-light. He reclined atop embroidered cushions of a gilded couch, his effortless sprawl arrayed in flowing violet silk. The glint of gold heavy on his wrists and fingers, the soft leather boots all should have made Alexander a stranger, but it only made him beautiful. Hephaestion lifted a sip of wine to his lips in quiet wonder. His gaze wandered across the burnished curls, unchanged except in their adornment. The golden wreath was gone, replaced by a simple white silken band across his forehead, with ends trailing behind. Even as Hephaestion traced it, he was not the only one. While the leaves of the stephanos marked Macedonia's king as first among equals, the diadem spoke of divine monarchy.

Square and hunched forward, Cleitus was a stark contrast to Alexander's opulence. His short tunic and rough cloak had not changed since they had arrived victorious in Persepolis, nor had it altered when Alexander had begun to proclaim himself King of Asia. Now, it stood out like a thorn in the banquet hall’s garden of finery, even as he sat opposite Alexander. Still, the drinking horn in Cleitus' hand had filled and emptied enough times to prove his aversion did not extend to foreign wine. 

"To Alexander, the son of Zeus, or Amun," Cleitus raised his cup with a raucous grin, "Or whoever it is these days!"

"Whichever you prefer," Alexander leaned back into the cushions, a bold smirk marking his graciousness, "But there is no dispute in his favor for me." He took a long sip of his own wine.

Cleitus' laugh was rough at the edges as he finished his draught, disgust pulling at his nose as he glanced at Bagoas idling among the entourage.  "Nor that of the Persians, it seems. Though I wonder," his expression quirked over the horn's rim, "Do they bow for your greatness, or is it simply because you've taken to dressing like them?"

"Perhaps," Alexander squared, almost imperceptibly, his goblet waving aside gracefully, "They bow because they know a king when they see one. Unlike some who still mistake their general for the boy they once knew."

Cleitus chuckled, leaning forward over his knees, his horn resting between them in both hands. "The boy I knew didn’t need silks and incense to be a king. The boy I knew fought alongside his men, instead of demanding they kneel."

Alexander's back straightened like a bowstring, his voice cooling. "And yet that boy has built an empire while others cling to the past like frightened children. Tell me, Cleitus, should I have let Persia rise again? Should Macedonia be ruled only by men too small to see beyond the hills of their homeland?"

Hephaestion flinched at the bitterness in Cleitus' scoff. "Oh, the boy has built an empire, Alexander, but don't pretend it's yours alone! You stand on the shoulders of men who bled for you. Macedonian men. Philip's men! And now you lie before me as if you are not one of them!"

"Cleitus," Hephaestion leaned forward, his voice calm but cautionary, "You speak from your cup. Alexander's victories belong to all of us who have fought for them."

Cleitus wheeled on him with a sneer. "What are his victories to you? When did it last mean anything beyond sweet words and soft company? For one always at his side, when did you last take a satrap's arm in battle?" 

Alexander jerked forward, nostrils flaring with effort as he halted himself, his voice was razor sharp even as it held steady. "Watch your tongue, Cleitus."

Cleitus swallowed a reckless slosh of wine, his grin as giddy as it was raw and wounded. "I am watching, Alexander! I watched you call yourself the son of Zeus as though we had not seen you born of Philip. I watched you take a Persian diadem and make free men bow. And I watch now as a king's fury is only stirred when his favorite is insulted. Tell me, does Macedonia now march at Hephaestion's whim as well as Persia's."

Hephaestion's pulse hammered in his ears as Alexander leapt to his feet. "I said," Alexander's voice was low and seething, "Watch—your—tongue." 

"You forget yourself Cleitus," Hephaestion stepped forward, interposing between them, his tone quiet but firm even as his own heartbeat deafened him. 

"Forget myself?" Cleitus' horn dropped by his side with a clatter and an unsightly spill of stain. "No!" his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned past Hephaestion, ignoring him. "But I fear you have. We were all Macedonians once. Now? We are all things but that."

"Cleitus!" Hephaestion pressed back against the insistent lurch of the man's weight, lifting a signal to several others to help him. Behind him, he could hear Alexander's voice once again.

"You speak as if you are the only man who remembers Philip."

Cleitus reeled, spittle wetting the edges of his beard.  "'Son of Zeus'?! Would that you were so quick to step from the  shadow of every other man," his grimace jerked to Hephaestion for a moment. "I remember when I used to call Philip king. A real king! One measured by the warriors at his side, not the slaves at his feet!"

A hush fell over the assembly, and a croaking laugh of triumph escaped Cleitus as for a moment, Alexander said nothing. Hephaestion turned over his shoulder. Alexander was almost still, his hands clenched and quivering at his side. His throat was strangled with barely contained fury.

"Get him out of here!" Hephaestion shoved Cleitus back roughly, trying to widen the space between him and Alexander. Two others grabbed Cleitus' arms and began to pull the man away. 

"Do you think your father would be proud, Alexander?" Cleitus began to froth with a final volley as they firmly led him down the hall. "Your real father? Watching you dress like a Persian bride? Watching you surround yourself with soft men who worship you instead of fight for you—" The dull thud of an apple smashed off Cleitus' shoulder and fell to the floor. 

"Get him out of my sight!" Alexander roared. "Get him out before I—"

Hephaestion held his breath as Cleitus sagged in the hold of those removing him. "Yes, go on!" he spat, "Strike down a man who once saved your life!"

Alexander's nostrils flared, his voice ragged with rage, "Take him from my sight." He turned his back on the door and strode to his couch. 

Hephaestion followed, extending a tentative hand to the shaking shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief as Cleitus' unsteady scuffs faded. "He was drunk," Hephaestion offered with an uneasy shake of his head, but a sudden slap of sandals made his heart stop.

"The son of Zeus is a foreign king in a foreign land, wearing women's robes and drunk on his own divinity!"

Alexander shoved past Hephaestion, knocking him aside, his face contorted in pure wrath. His hand reached instinctively and Hephaestion barely whirled in time to witness the sharp, wet impact. A hoarse, slick gasp fluttered in Cleitus' throat as his eyes dropped to the spear, and then to the floor. 

Gods! 

The room erupted. 

Men shouted, tables and chairs shoved and scraped across the stone, but Alexander was motionless. The fury of a moment ago had drained to a frozen panic. Hephaestion reached for him numbly, but he darted forward, dropping to his knees in front of Cleitus. Blood smeared across his robes as he tried to pull the spear from the dead man's chest. 

"Alexander," Hephaestion dropped all his weight on one knee beside him, curling a gentle hand helplessly around his shoulder to pull him away. Alexander's face turned to him, wide and pleading. Hephaestion could only speak the truth, "No."

The halls were wracked with silence as they retired until the heavy cedar doors hid them. Alexander poured across Hephaestion's lap, his body shaking in stuttered fragments of regret and remnant rage. Hephaestion soothed a hand through the damp curls, his fingers tangling in the trailing white ribbons. There was nothing to say. And still, Alexander did not lift his head.

VI. Roxana, 327 BC

The ancient stone was as cold and heavy as if the fortress had been spun out of the crag itself. The air was thin and a brittle blue, never shaking off the biting chill that seeped from the bones of the mountain. The view below was giddy, dropping away in sheer faces and crumbling shale. Hephaestion had never known a place to see so much nothing. It was the kind of place one flees only if there is no other choice. 

Hephaestion tugged his cloak more firmly around his shoulders. Even within the dark timbered buildings, the stone beneath his feet seemed to drain the heat from his chest. Hephaestion glanced up, finding himself watched by dark eyes peering atop the beaded linen of a veil. The woman did not look away as he returned the gaze. Hephaestion glanced around, then back to her.

"Lady Roxana." 

At the acknowledgement, she glided forward, her steps muffled by the sweep of wool and the jingle of lapis. Though her face was hidden, the corners of her eyes tightened. She stepped beside him, near enough to reach for his forearm. Her fingers hovered, only offering the lightest of touches. "You are always watching him," her voice murmured.

Instinctively, Hephaestion's gaze touched Alexander across the hall. "So are you," his low reply did not look back for her, but he felt the fingertips press slightly more and then drift away.

"I see a man who grew wings when my father taunted his lack of them," Roxana shifted easily, as if joining him in his regard. "Is it not expected that I take interest?"

"Perhaps," Hephaestion's head inclined slowly, "But not why you come to me about it."

He could hear the smile pull at her hidden lips. "Because I watch you as well. How he listens to you as he does no other," though gentle and beseeching, her voice was calculated. "You shape his thoughts, his affections—" She let the trailing words pause for a moment, before adding with womanly resolve, "I seek the notice of both."

A hushed laugh escaped Hephaestion, "Perhaps you do not watch me as well as you think."

"I think I do," her reply did not stumble. In a quiet ripple, her fingers brushed the back of his arm. "A wife is not a lover," her voice faded to a whisper.

Hephaestion fell silent, only the soft inhale of his breath marking his thoughts while Roxana waited.

"He will need both," she continued. "But I do not need him to love me, I need him to wed me."

Hephaestion studied the dark eyes that stared back without hesitation. Earrings tinkled as she swayed gracefully, but her gaze did not falter. His eyes strayed to Alexander with a welling sigh that he held in his chest. "I will consider it."

She nodded and stepped away.

Hephaestion found Alexander in the stark, mudbrick hall that he had taken for chambers.  The massive brazier occupied the center, stretching flickering warmth unevenly against the drafts.  The thick of fur muffled his steps as he crossed the oil-smoked room.  

Alexander's smile recognized him by steps even before looking up.  He saw the hunch beneath Hephaestion's cloak and waved him closer to the fire.  "Our men scaled this rock in the night!  Can you imagine such a climb!" 

Hephaestion's shoulders relented as the waves of heat embraced him.  "I doubt they ever entertained such a feat back in Macedonia," he chuckled, though his gaze probed the fire thoughtfully.

"They never entertained such a feat until I commanded it," Alexander's voice swelled with pride that overshadowed any true envy.  "And then they did not falter!"

"No, indeed," Hephaestion smiled, then added with a laugh, "Though this cold is a poor reward for their efforts.  But," he turned the words carefully as he spoke, "There are other things here they might admire."  Alexander was nodding absently, already turning back to his maps.  "Do you remember Callixena?"

Alexander met his gaze with a curious surprise.  "Why do you speak to me of women, Hephaestion?"

He sighed, "Because you may have use for one."

Alexander's expression settled thoughtfully, but he said nothing for a long moment.  "Then you will arrange it?"

Hephaestion nodded.

Alexander paused once again, this time longer.  The bronze cauldron crackled and danced with shadow.  "Very well," he glanced up, "Is she beautiful?"

Something twisted in Hephaestion despite himself.  "I wouldn't know anymore," he laughed softly, his eyes fixed adoringly at Alexander's pensive stare in the flickering warmth.  "But she came to me."

Finally, Alexander smiled, "Then she's clever."

. . .

The fortress was stirring in the thinning sun, as men and supplies alike formed ranks and files for travel.  Each breath felt as thin as when they had first scaled these heights, and Hephaestion longed for the feeling of full lungs again.

"Still no love for the beauty of Bactria?" 

Hephaestion shrugged the wrap on his cloak with a sigh as Roxana approached. "It is not to my tastes."

"Nor it seems my husband's," an eyebrow arched above the veil.

"Are you not well kept?" Hephaestion replied, hushed but plainly.  A small smile traced his lips as he added, "They say he is smitten with your beauty."

"And yet he has scarcely seen my face," she countered, her dark eyes glittered playfully from their embroidered frame. "Tell me, what does he truly say of me?"

"That such boldness would make a fine general were you born another shape."

Roxana tilted her head, her eyes softening in satisfaction. "Would that he were more enticed beyond my wit," she sighed.

"He looks east," Hephaestion replied simply, "But kings need heirs.  He has not forgotten this, nor neglected you."

"You have seen to that," Roxana tilted her head, the dark eyes studying Hephaestion, scouring every line of his face with an unspoken question. "I think you have reminded him—and it has been enough," she nodded slowly, her hand tracing a swell somewhere deep beneath her robes.  "But he came to me only because you cannot give him sons."  Her brows narrowed with a quiet certainty, "If he could make it so, he would have only you, and the world would accept it as enough."

Hephaestion said nothing as he traced her movements, each thought caught too deep in his throat to speak. The silence hung between them as Hephaestion let the wind carry away her words unanswered until only the sunlight paled feebly on his back.

A soft breath fluttered beneath the linen as Roxana spoke again.  "Are you glad to be quit of Sogdian at last?" The playful lilt returned with the jingle of bangles. 

"Yes," he managed a smile on the sigh and shook his shoulders against the merciless chill.

"And me, no doubt," Roxana's eyes sparkled teasingly.

"Not as much as I expected," he admitted, his brow softening thoughtfully, his gaze cascading her form.

"Even now?" She cocked an eyebrow, rocking back on one foot.

"Especially now," he frowned gently, his eyes hesitating where the curve of her abdomen now held a piece of Alexander.  There was a reluctance to let it go that he had not expected.

For a moment, she narrowed her gaze critically, testing every edge of his demeanor.  When he did not try to hide his tenderness, she relented with a flicker of her own. Her head tilted, then tossed with a chime of gold and turquoise. "I suppose I am the more fortunate of us. You may remain with him, but Susa shall have comforts I cannot presume for you."

"I would not trade places with you," Hephaestion shook his head, a quiet smile returning. 

"No, indeed.  What would you not suffer tirelessly?  Would you bleed your way across the world at his side?"

A grin slipped to his lips, "My nights have been warmer than yours."

Her veil rippled as the corners of her eyes gathered playfully. "I do not begrudge it," she laughed, "You are less sturdy to the cold, Macedonian."

He watched her go, and whispered a prayer for what she carried.

"You watch her with the concern a husband ought to," Bagaos joined him, his voice seamlessly at Hephaestion's elbow.

He glanced down towards the younger man. "I shall never grow accustomed to the silken footsteps of Persians!" he feigned annoyance.  When Bagoas merely lifted an eyebrow, Hephaestian relented.  "Perhaps you should go with her... and the child."

"Ah," the syllable lilted in perfect understanding.  "A father then."

"It is Alexander's," Hephaestion countered immediately, the curl of his lip disgusted by any other suggestion as he stared after Roxana.

"I did not think it was not," Bagoas touched his arm softly.  "I only meant such a father as I might be."

Hephaestion turned back as the hand slipped away, and nodded.

VII. Hydaspes, 326 BC

Hephaestion could hardly remember the last time his feet had not clung to the ground. Every step was a slick squelch and the damp lingered like an itch in the skin. Rain was never far off, but the air hung so thick with humidity sometimes even the reprieve seemed to make no difference. 

Even the campaign tents were unable to keep out the damp, growing heavier with each move as they inched along the torrid river in search of crossing. Hephaestion rubbed the exhaustion from his face as he pulled back the clammy flap. Inside, Alexander poured over the latest map the scouts had cobbled together. 

"Moving camp again?" Hephaestion asked. His stomach sank as Alexander nodded absently.

"Upstream, here."

Craterus leaned beside him, following Alexander's jabbing emphasis. He glanced up briefly in acknowledgement as Hephaestion wrung what he could from his cloak.

"There's a storm coming," Hephaestion muttered. The mud prickled where it flecked his legs, even as he tried to scrape it with alternating scuffs.

"A storm's always coming," Craterus shrugged dismissively, his eyes never leaving the map.

"It can get worse," Hephaestion levelled back, joining them at the table. 

"Spoken like an old housewife," Craterus scoffed, but fell silent as Alexander lifted an icy disapproval to the jest. Hephaestion narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. 

As Hephaestion joined them, Alexander shifted around him and began retracing the maneuvers for him. "We'll re-establish here. While Porus is repositioning, I'll lead a small contingent twenty-five miles farther where the scouts have found a hidden crossing." 

Hephaestion watched the sturdy fingers flatten wrinkles in their path as they pressed the parchment.  The back of his eyes pulled with the weight of exhaustion as they watched the mesmerizing dance.

"We'll double back, take him by surprise," Alexander continued efficiently, Craterus nodding to what he had already heard.  "While this happens, you will remain at the encampment. Make as if preparation to cross so that Porus must not take his attention from you. But when I have engaged his flank and his guard turns, then you must cross with reinforcement."

"I will make certain of it!  There will be noise and torches such that he will dare look nowhere else!" Craterus grinned, casting a mock-sympathetic glance at Hephaestion. "You must be pleased for only one more night in the rain, Hephaestion.  Be sure you are awake in the saddle for my call."

"You have paid poor attention, Craterus," Alexander cut in sharply without looking up. "In my absence, Hephaestion is your equal in command."

Craterus glanced from Alexander's preoccupation to Hephaestion, a frown of frustration tightening his brow. "But I —"

"Do not remind me of the value of my generals," Alexander's voice clapped, collapsing any retort before it was a thought.

"My king," Craterus nodded, subdued but resentful. With a narrow glance at Hephaestion, he turned.

As the tent flap slapped behind him, Hephaestion raised an eyebrow at Alexander.  

Alexander pursed his lips. "Let him be," he leveled his gaze at Hephaestion. "I need his tactics, as I need your mastery of men."  A smile cracked his lips as they were alone.

"Of horsemen perhaps," Hephaestion grumbled, "I prefer to wash my hands of Craterus." Alexander let him speak unchecked, and Hephaestion relented.  "I'll save my offense until I have had sleep for it." A long sigh rolled from Hephaestion, loosening his shoulders until they sagged. The last of the air caught in his throat with a cough.

For a moment, Alexander's chuckle faded as a critical study washed across his face, tracing every grime-darkened line.

Hephaestion saw it and quickly shrugged it away, sliding a hand firmly onto Alexander's hip. "I will much prefer when nights are for beds and not the saddle," the smile came easier with Alexander's steady breath at his fingertips.

Alexander turned into the touch, peering up as he placed a hand on Hephaestion's jaw. He searched Hephaestion's eyes and then below them. "Battles are not won by restful nights."

"No," Hephaestion laughed, swallowing against the hitch that caught again in his throat, "But I can hope for at least one when you are victorious."

"When I am victorious?" Alexander's grin spilled out as his hands slipped down Hephaestion's chest, fingertips trailing, "I do not mean to let you sleep that night," he leaned forward boldly with a rough tug on Hephaestion's breastplate.

The rain began to harry firmly on the tent above them. Alexander straightened eagerly as he cocked an ear to the sound. "Good! If it holds, it will hide our movements!"

. . .

The storm was black and blurry and blinding.  Torchlight and bonfires reflected from slick and steel alike. The inky dark lapped on every side, in streams that blinded and choked. Screams of elephants rent the deluge, careening like walls of shadows that turned suddenly blacker out of the torrent before crushing friend and foe alike. Toppled baskets dragged them in deadly scythes until collapse, their tusks ploughing man and mud.  Horses shrieked, the earth slipping beneath them as their panic only frenzied their strange enemies more.

Hephaestion clung to his reins, no more free of the river than the sky battered in its place. Mud sucked at the hooves beneath him, resisting his pull at the bridle.  Squinting against the rain, he fought for sight.  A trumpet roared, fast approaching with the uneven tremors of stumbling thunder.  Somewhere close, the beast fell like a tower, adding more death to its own.  Hephaestion's arm swung on instinct, without regard for if he fought soldier or storm. He gritted his teeth at the impact. In a flash of lightning, he saw the shimmer of a white plume in the distance.

"Control your mounts!" He shouted to his contingent, "They can't! Stay clear!"

A horse wheeled beside him.  Its hooves caught against its weight.  It was not the fall that killed its rider, but the panicked flail to regain its footing as another beast screamed towards them.  Hephaestion could feel the shuddering clack of his mount's nostrils rippling down its neck.  

"Do not encircle them!" Hephaestion screamed, his fist losing all feeling as he denied his horse's panic.  "Harry them! Let the javelins do their work!"  His mouth tasted of mire, and his ears rang as though they would never remember silence.

. . .

As grey trickled into shreds of dawn, night terrors faded into the agony of dying beasts. Hephaestion picked his way through the field of victory, grimacing at the swathes of crushed bodies of both sides. Craterus passed with a wordless frown, his face dark with filth.

Finally, Hephaestion found Alexander. The white crest was cast aside, muddied and spattered where it lay. The massive black horse was laying on its side, one leg pawing for a purchase it couldn't find. The great neck was laid out in the mud, the draconic head still alert even as its nostrils shuddered with a wet rasp.

As Alexander looked up, tightly pressed lips brimming with sheer defiance.  Hephaestion understood. Dropping to the ground, Hephaestion let his knees sink into the sopping, churned earth. He slid his hand to rest on Alexander's back, leaving a streak in the grime.  Head bowed, Hephaestion waited, fingertips pressing gently.  There was no sign that Alexander even felt them, as Hephaestion silently pleaded for Alexander to accept this loss.

Alexander curled over the horse, one arm stretching along the arc of its mane, while his palm stroked the bony ridge above the nose band. His fingers curled under themselves as he drew his hand up between the wide set eyes that rolled gently back at him. The head jerked and lay still again with the same weak flutter.

As Alexander buried his face into the filthy mane, Hephaestion reached his fingers to brush the edge of one crusted ear. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to the beast that, aged as it was, had borne his Alexander without harm this final time. 

VIII. Susa, 324 BC

"You would hamstring the army!" Craterus protested, arms folded across the map table.

"No," Hephaestion replied levelly, "I would ensure all of it is supplied."

"By feeding the Persians like pets before the men who conquered them?" His fists slammed the table, rattling ink and weights.

"They are equals," Hephaestion locked his arms across his chest, his voice just as hard. "As the king has decreed."

"Then let Alexander say this."

"You have just heard his words," Hephaestion was immovable.

Craterus said nothing but his face twisted.

"Do you doubt my authority, Craterus?" Hephaestion pressed, "Or does it merely displease you?"

"You play at man and wife," Craterus snapped.  The words were raw with disgust and accusation, bitten back far too long.  Even now, Hephaestion saw the bitter choke on them and set his jaw.  As Craterus glanced past him, Hephaestion's lips narrowed to a line, anger stirring deeper than if his own honor had been insulted.  But still Craterus looked past him, "Even a boy would know there is no word for this!"

"I believe you call it Chiliarch," Hephaestion's voice was crisp with control, and far colder than the pulse rising behind his ears, "Because you have no other word in Greek!"

Craterus seethed, the shake of his hands climbing his arms. Hephaestion's stare was unbroken, as he stood to level with him. Then both chairs scraped.

Craterus lunged, Alexander's hand gripped the back collar of  leathers with an iron grip.  He yanked the man back with a roar of effort, immediately stepping between them.  

"Cease this now!" His face was taut with fury.  "Neither of you can live without me!" He growled with spent patience.

Hephaestion lowered a fist, the press of nails in his palm stinging to sudden awareness.  Craterus froze and for a long resentful moment, Alexander faced him—not Hephaestion.  The words ached in Hephaestion's chest, bruised by their rage where truth alone laid him bare.  But to Craterus, they stung with threat and warning and the effect on him satisfied Hephaestion bitterly.

"You will not fight over what will not change!" Alexander's voice cracked whip-like in the silence. Then, he turned over his shoulder to Hephaestion with a soft urgency Hephaestion could not place. "I forbid this today!"  He stepped back, allowing the space between them to reopen.

Hephaestion understood the unspoken command and nodded, extending a hand that Craterus crushed joylessly only long enough to please Alexander.  

"Then I must prepare for the ceremony. We will speak again later," Craterus said curtly, already marking his withdrawal with what dignity remained.  "And you may tell me how my men will eat."

"I will ensure they do," Hephaestion nodded, already wearying of anger as his blood calmed.  He turned back to the table even before Craterus had left the room, fighting the cough rising in his chest.

Alexander sighed heavily behind him.  "Let such things wait," the command was wrapped in an appeal.  Alexander leaned over the table beside him, splaying a hand to cover the maps and ledgers. 

"Is it not for several hours yet," Hephaestion sighed, but his gaze traced from the hand to Alexander's face where it found a moment of bittersweet respite.  

Alexander searched him deeply, his eyes flickering at every edge of Hephaestion's expression with a hope that seemed disappointed.  Hephaestion showed no excitement or anticipation, only tired resignation. 

"Why are you making me do this?" Hephaestion whispered.

Alexander smiled softly, taking him by the wrist and turning him from the table.  "My empire must not be left without a copy of us," his fingers pressed Hephaestion's forearm, "I see no other way!"

Hephaestion laughed humorlessly, but pulled Alexander closer, "I knew I would not have a son long ago, even when we were boys.  You are enough."  

He rested his chin atop Alexander's curls.  At his chest, he could feel Alexander's jaw set in disagreement.  

"But I will not deny you this," Hephaestion spoke even before the protest came, and he felt the jaw relax again and press into him.  Hephaestion breathed in the sweet oils, his heart torn with a strange sharpness.  "Go," he said softly, when he felt movement again, "Prepare as you wish."

He could feel the rise and fall of a full breath satisfied before Alexander pulled from his arms.  Hephaestion smiled, knowing the care Alexander would take arraying himself and the pride he would carry with it.  

"You will be beautiful," Hephaestion smiled wistfully, unbidden.  

The next hours passed in a trance of opulence and multitude.  Veils and garlands blurred with bread and salt, as countless hands shared both.  The pomp and ritual seemed to spin around Hephaestion like the heavens wheeling across the sky, and only he and Alexander were fixed at the center of it and still.

The pavilion was quiet, only the soft rustle of the desert winds disturbing the canvas as the hum of voices and music rippled from the continued festivities. The emptiness was a relief from the heat and celebration of the endless day. Alexander stood at the table, his face drawn in a familiar distant pensivity. Hephaestion turned his neck with a stretch, his lips pressing quietly as he settled again to watching Alexander.

"Am I to go to my wife?" Hephaestion asked softly at length.

Alexander glanced up abruptly, a puzzled look crossing his face, before turning coy. He slid behind Hephaestion's chair, wrapping his arms around Hephaestion's shoulders as he leaned down, inhaling deeply.

Hephaestion closed his eyes wryly, drinking in the light touch. "Are you to go to yours?" he persisted dutifully.

"Hephaestion, it is our wedding night," Alexander's voice was insistent.

Hephaestion groaned, the words uncomforting.

Alexander dropped to his knees, his chin resting on Hephaestion's shoulder. One hand cupping the back of the chair while the other draped over Hephaestion's chest. Hephaestion could feel his breath and the brush of his cheek against his hair.

"We are brothers now. All will see that you stand beside me as an equal." The declaration was soft, but steady and sure.  It rang of the same triumph Hephaestion had watched Alexander fix on him during the ceremony.

"Among the dozens of brides wed to Macedonians today, lucky then that Darius had two daughters," Hephaestion chuckled, a cough catching at the edge.  His smile softened as he leaned back into Alexander's arms. "How shall I remember which is mine?"

"Don't you see?" Alexander's grip tightened impatiently. "Our bloodlines will mingle. Our blood will rule this empire."

Hephaestion frowned as he felt Alexander slip away only to round in front of him, seeking his hands and pulling Hephaestion to his feet. 

"It is our wedding night," Alexander repeated. The brown eyes gazed up at Hephaestion, willing him to understand and thus make it so.

It washed over him in slow waves. Quietly, Hephaestion tugged Alexander closer, until their hands were pressed between their chests. He could feel the tripping beat of Alexander's heart, and still Alexander waited. "What am I supposed to do?" Hephaestion whispered.

"Just love me."

"I do."

End Part II.

EPILOGUE

Ecbatana, 324 BC

Alexander lay still, his eyes no longer seeing even as they stared open across the empty tent. His throat burned with sobs that no longer came, his chest aching with the burden of a beating heart. Unconsciously, his fingers trailed the cool palm at Hephaestion's side, silently screaming for him to curl his hand around Alexander's one more time. His soul wracked for those fingertips to thread through Alexander's tangled curls that buried against his chest.

He had not eaten. He had not drunk. It only served to keep him from Hephaestion. He could hear the hushed whispers beyond the flap, the ones that plotted to take him away. Tentatively, the fabric swayed aside. Alexander neither turned his head, nor spoke.

"My king," someone ventured. "It has been days." The words hung hollow in the shrouded void. "The pyre is ready. And you are needed for affairs of —"

None of it mattered. "Do you love me?" Alexander's voice was cracked and ragged.

"Yes, my king," the reply was startled but prompt.

A stifled sob rasped as he curled around the still shape of his companion, "But he loved me as Alexander."

End.

If you enjoyed this saga, it is part of a larger novel-length project. Leaving a like or a comment is hugely encouraging and I hope to bring you much more someday soon!

Thank you for reading!

Onwards,

Alex @chiruochiba