Chapter Text
He had promised, hadn't he? Never to take out his anger on his beloved in such a public manner, ever again. It was a promise he had made in India, the one that had paved Craterus's way back to Macedon even before the idea could find form in his head.
A different place. A different general. Same results. You hurt the one you love most, he thought. He found little comfort in that thought. Unfortunately, this time, he could not send Eumenes to Macedon.
It'd been days, nigh on a fortnight if he were honest, since they began intentionally avoiding each other again. Unintentionally? Months, if he were honest. Long before all this mess. Eumenes was just the straw breaking the camel's back.
So, it's that kind of night, is it? He wondered to himself. A night for honesty?
He doubted he had the courage to be thusly honest. He was never the brave one of the pair.
The other half of the pair, his most beloved, slept on. Oblivious to his inner turmoil. In the middle of the bed, on his back, as though he had fallen asleep examining the ceiling. Persian architects of the long forgotten past had wrought a wondrous ceiling for this room. And his beloved had chosen the room almost only because of it.
That it lay right across his own room was merely his good fortune.
Like his good fortune that his lover had chosen to stay with him still, to follow him to the ends of the world and back again. Still, even now.
One beloved palm peeked out from the folds of warm fur blanket, facing up, like an invitation.
He touched the center of the palm gently, watched fingers flexing lightly, calloused skin warm and clammy at the same time, before settling again.
I'm a pervert, he thought mirthlessly, as he studied the face he loved so much and knew so well, in this strange light of neither night nor dawn.
In his sleep, his beloved could not offer consolation to his fears. Sleeping so still, he could not argue with him, talk to him. He wished to hear that voice, see those eyes. He missed that disapproving downturn of those lips and the waggle of those eyebrows.
In this moment of beholding, he felt so terribly alone.
Whose fault is that, he asked himself.
It was he who placed leagues between them, lovers between them, duty between them. Took away everything that bound them together, leaving only the scantest bit of thread to sustain his beloved only barely.
He pressed more insistently on the center of his beloved's palm, against the line that spoke of life. He fancied he could feel life's blood coursing through under skin.
He felt rather than saw the waking of a man who, for so long, had been the better half of his soul. Knew how those eyes would blink rapidly to chase sleep and dreams away.
Tonight might feel like a dream, moreso for the interrupted sleeper in front of him.
"Wh... Alexander?" Nary a whisper and scratchy besides.
He wanted to speak, to give a glib remark at least. But his voice had deserted him, along with his courage.
The sound of crisply shifting bed clothes was like an invitation, and he sat down on the edge of the bed before he could stop himself.
"Alexander, what's wrong? Are you..."
Did something have to go wrong, for him to visit?
Something did go wrong, though. And he didn't know how to right it.
"Alexander, if you don't tell me, I can't help you. Or would you have me guess?"
"Nothing," he said. Because he had come to ask forgiveness; but in this, he would be a coward. "Just because," he said, only because he felt he had to say something Words were useless anyway. He shifted so he could place himself fully on the bed.
"Because what?"
He shouldn't have said anything. "Just because," he said again. Please don't ask.
His answer was greeted with a long-suffering sigh.
He ignored it, in favor of plumping a pillow. Then he laid his head on it, letting the scent of his lover welcome him. It was like coming home, he thought. It felt so undeserved somehow.
He closed his eyes, and indulged himself in the scent and the warmth of something he had forgotten. He had strayed too far from home, he supposed. Like a belligerent child, so sure of himself. Even when he had lost his way.
It saddened him, this sense of wasted time, it came to him with the kind of physical pain that clutched at his heart.
The air between them was still. Time passed quietly by. He was almost asleep, content to know that those eyes would be upon him, scrutinizing him like he's some dream-woven boon. Would it be in him the courage to reassure his lover that he was not a sleep-rivened dream.
Yet, this night, even with the reprieve of darkness, he found none of that courage.
Blankets were pulled around him and his silence.
"Fine," his lover told. Kind insistent hands pushed a stray lock out of his face. "We'll talk tomorrow." Come hell or high water.
The bed, while big, was scarcely large enough for both of them. Never had a gulf been so vast, across a space so small. Not since that time, at least.
Over the scant remains of the night, they lay side by side, only the outer tips of their toes ever touched in the space between. And they remained thusly, until he woke up again in the morning.
The minuscule touch that had kept him anchored across the short span between sleep and wakefulness had vanished completely with the sun.
Early morning sun greeted him like a grudging friend, warm light falling across his face. Too early, he grumbled to himself. The bed, he realized, was angled to catch the sun as early as possible.
It was quiet, for all the world he was the only occupant.
It's easy to listen to the palace waking up. The measured steps of servants, the respectful whispered codes of guards handing over duties. Wildlife outside the window.
Hurried footsteps coming nearer to the room.
Doors being flung open with such a force that it sent a gust of cold air from the corridor into the room.
He shifted his position a little, so he could catch more sun. Burrowed fully into the blankets to preserve warmth. Maybe if he pretended to sleep, he wouldn't have to have that talk that had been so ominously promised.
The person was standing by the bed now. Alexander entertained wicked thoughts.
A hand jostled his blanket-covered shoulder. "Hepha... oh.. Alexander?"
Oh bother! Not the person he had expected. "Yes, Ptolemy?"
He threw back the covers and sat up awkwardly against some pillows. They exchanged stilted pleasantries, eyeing each other as though they've never seen each other in such a way before.
A scant minute later, though it felt like an Age, salvation came. His beloved general emerged from the side door that led to his small private study.
Hephaistion was dressed the same as Ptolemy, he noted, for a morning ride. Only that his beloved looked so much better in his getup. That beloved face was angled downward, gaze fixed on a thin sheaf of parchment in one hand. The other held a half eaten apple, white flesh already turning a bit brown, glistening with apple juice and saliva.
He was so busy appraising his lover that he almost missed Ptolemy's hurried "come along, everyone's waiting", and Hephaistion's soft startled greetings to both of them.
He felt Hephaistion trying to engage him, searching for his gaze, hoping he would say something. He averted his eyes and looked to the ground instead. Unsure why he did it, he watched parchment fluttering lazily down.
Eyes fixed on the slowly lolling of apple, he caught snatches of conversation echoing off thick palace walls.
"He was with you all night?" a suspicious Ptolemy could be heard.
"Not all night, no."
"He's oddly dressed for bed."
He could not hear Hephaistion's riposte, despite his efforts. His two generals must've turned a corner.
Looking down, he realized he was still wearing his formal robes, suddenly realizing just how heavy and restrictive it was. There had been satraps to entertain last night, like always. festivities had stretched to the small hours, like always; Hephaistion had begged off early.
He tugged at a loose thread on the front of his robes. A flower petal unraveled.
He took his breakfast in his formal study, would've taken a bath there too, if he could. There's just not enough time in the world to slog through all the issues of a burgeoning empire.
And he was thinking of expanding even more? The mountain of documents would fall on him and kill him, if bureaucracy didn't get to him first.
Every few days or so he would think of this exact thing. But every time too, his wanderlust won his mind over.
For today, however, and for the next hour or so, he chewed food, signed edicts, wrote out orders, read incomprehensible letters. He almost didn't speak the entire time. Other than to call his pages to his side and tell them, "Put this on Hephaistion's desk."
The sun still had some ways to go before full noon, yet the King's pages had nigh worn down a path between the King's office and his Chiliarch's, ferrying scrolls, notes, and sundry objects.
He knew that breakfast service must be over when a stream of people looking for favors began lining up outside his door.
It was one of those days with no formal audience scheduled. Pity that, because he liked formal audiences, if only for the dressing up and sitting on a pretty throne, receiving the adoration of his beloved people.
But he enjoyed receiving people in his office too. Here, he could dispense with niceties and benevolence. He could be impolitic and brusque, with "No" as his go-to mantra, and an ugly scowl as his go-to expression.
There were less petitioners on non-formal days, as only those with proper clearance could even get close to this part of the administrative building, let alone into his workspace.
But there were more people to see than usual, especially since everybody caught wind of that thing with Eumenes. Now everyone thought Hephaistion had fallen into disfavor once again. What farce!
His mood blackened within the span of one breath. He threw everyone out of his room and everything off the table. Parchment, inks, weights and trinkets fell with a satisfyingly loud sound onto the floor.
He strode to the door, wrenched it open and slammed it behind him. People running in all directions of the corridor, away from him. The scene reminded him of Gaugamela, of Darius's center parting, then breaking. It was unexpectedly gratifying, he remarked to himself, this conquering feeling.
Now, he turned the corner, strode purposefully to the one place he had yet to conquer and the only one who had managed to conquer him.
*********
There's no line of supplicants littering the corridor in front of the Chiliarch's workroom. Only two soldiers he had signed to be quiet; they looked at him incredulously. But they would keep quiet and never tell another soul that their King was a shameless eavesdropper (if only to save their own necks).
The door was heavy enough to prevent most of the sound from leaking out. If it were solid, it would hide everything, but thankfully the exquisite latticework allowed some nosiness to be exercised. He put a little bit of pressure on the door, felt glad that it yielded to him quietly. The gap was enough for him to listen in, if he pressed the side of his head close enough to it.
"He would say the same thing as I did." His lover's voice held no inflection. Only perhaps a hint of a desire for this conversation to be over.
"Then I shall petition to him and hear it from his own mouth." He did not recognize the second speaker's, who sounded like a Greek. He scowled.
The two of them exchanged a few more words. He found that he's beginning to dislike this other person already, who sounded so condescending that it grated his nerves. He turned his head a little, so he could spy through the gap.
The unknown man was pacing back and forth in front of Hephaistion's desk, muttering and swearing. The overworked general, on the other hand, was scribbling something one time, sifting through a pile of thing another time, for all the world ignoring the man in front of him.
"In that case, you should hasten to the King forthwith and cease to take up my time here," Hephaistion said without looking up from his writing.
"Don't mind if I do!" the odious man stomped toward the door without as much as a by-your-leave.
The door was yanked open.
Apparently luck was on the man's side as he halted his steps quick enough lest he charged straight at his King.
The man, that had seemed like a puffed up peacock before, stood within the door frame looking much like a landed fish.
*********
So there they were, inside the Chiliarch's workroom, enacting almost the same tableau but now with the King ensconced inside of it, rather than spying from the outside.
"Well? Let me hear it, your petition."
He gave the man an encouraging smile, and watched the high-strung man relax. He heard the introductions with half an ear--a new commander of some newly established garrison--, vaguely deciphered his request for more something. He tuned the man out, head angled to watch life go by outside the window. He was good at this, at appearing to be attentive, to be charming and interested.
The view outside the room was nothing to write about. Not when the view inside of it was so wondrous, if he were to say so himself. Turning his head a little, he decided to indulge his eyes on said vision.
His beloved general looked nonplussed and unbothered as he went about his work methodically. But Alexander knew him better than anyone else, could see how the general was fraying at the edges. Thin-lipped, creased brows, and a sense of resignation lurking beneath the surface.
On the other hand, his petitioner seemed to have become more emboldened, but his passionate speech was winding down to an end.
"I hear you, Commander," he said, once the speech ended. He mustered his Kingly voice, and smiled because he had amused himself. "Has General Hephaistion given you a solution?"
"Yes, but..."
"What did he tell you?"
"Well, that..."
"I don't need to hear it," he said with a wave. "I can already imagine what our good general here told you."
He watched the commander trying and failing to hide a look of glee; it sparked an ire in him somehow. He noted Hephaistion's unruffled demeanor, but noticed the white-knuckled grip on his stylus.
"General Hephaistion's decision stands," he said, rather impressed at how fast said general whipped his head around to meet his eyes. The act would've been so amusing, if not for the look of confused, wide-eyed disbelief crossing that pale face.
He tried to smile and provide reassurance, also a promise that they would indeed sit down and have a talk. He wondered if his silent message was received as it was intended. They used to be able to communicate with a fleeting touch, or a look, and a simple smile. Ptolemy used to tease them for it, for the way they seemed to have a lifetime's worth of conversation in the space of a single gaze. He wondered if it was still true today.
It saddened him, more than he thought possible. But there's still another matter to conclude.
The garrison commander who stood in front of them was not so young as not to know when defeat was imminent, and must've noticed the souring of his King's temper. And to the man's credit, he didn't have to be told twice. It was amusing to see his grudging bow, aimed more at the far wall than to the other two occupants in the room, before leaving. This time, the door was spared from the man's umbrage; it opened and closed with nary a sound.
*********
He was enjoying this, sitting across of Hephaistion, in the chair reserved for guests, upending the organized chaos of the desk. Picking up one random parchment or another. Reading boring things written there, and discarding them without care where they land.
He tried to hide his smirk every time Hephaistion all but snatched parchment after parchment almost from mid-air, to put them on their proper pile.
He only stopped when his stomach growled to remind him that it was lunchtime. He glared down.
"Despite all the Spartan training of your youth, Alexander," came the gentle teasing from across the table, "I can always depend on your stomach to tell when it's time for a meal."
They exchanged glances across the table, and sniggered like they were just little boys. Every time they stopped for a deep cleansing breath, and looked at each other, another memory from the distant past would conjure itself between them.
They would laugh, long and free-sounding, let memories of the past sooth recent hurts between them, the unseen wounds of wearied warriors. Pure and lofty dreams of their youths had sundered them, and it would be the remembrance of that youth that would bring them back together.
Trusting in the memory of their youth, they escaped the walls of the palace, raided the kitchens, evaded the guards, saddled up, and rode out to seek out a spot they would claim to be theirs alone.
They had found a little hiding place. It was not much, he readily admitted to himself, but enough for their needs. A copse of sorts and nothing to write about. It was neither very beautiful, nor was it very bad. It suited who they were now. They were not as together as they had been when they were children who were unwise to the ways of the world and the heart. But neither were they as sundered as they had once been as well.
Within the shade of the small copse, small but comfortable, unseemly yet a good fit, they had eaten, talked, and observed the skies. Lots of "do you remember" and laughing at youthful follies.
They hadn't done a lot more than touching and kissing, and even then the one thing he enjoyed the most was when they lay side by side, one right hand clasped around another's left hand, watching the sky turn and the world go by.
As with any dream, one had to wake at some point. They're fortunate, he thought, as they bundled everything up and onto their horses, to have the opportunity to remember again how it felt when they first succumbed to the first blooms of love.
The bloom which had taken root in the deepest of his hearts, and which had blossomed in his mind, had been astonishingly beautiful and headily fragrant. Over the years, it had wilted a bit, he readily admitted. And if he were honest, the scent of it had also faded to a mere whisper, even as its roots dug deeper into his soul.
The bloom was now really a twisting yarn of vine that held his heart together. Held it so completely that the vine had taken the shape of his heart. Pulsing and shuddering for him at times. He wondered, sometimes, whether the vine could even be mistaken to be his own heart. If the vines were to let go, he thought, his heart would crumble completely. With nothing to hold his heart up, it would fall away or disappear completely.
The palace was within sight now, more than a mere speck in his mind. He watched his companion ride in front of him, despite his being the swifter horse. His lover had always been the better rider, however. At least he thought so.
*********
Half a lifetime ago, Aristotle had pulled him aside after class and told him that he had too much energy to properly concentrate in class. Half the time, his eyes had been on the grassy plains beyond, his mind supplying him with all the running. He had jiggled his legs, though he had folded them underneath him. Then he had missed Aristotle's questions.
"Why don't you go for a run at dawn?" Aristotle had suggested. Burn those excess energy, and become more settled in class.
He had easily heeded Aristotle's suggestions, and found a goodly terrain for him to do so, grass under his feet, open skies above, and he could pretend that the sun rose to greet him at the end of his run. It had been freeing, and then it got dull.
Running made his body tired but his mind remained overactive. The mindless activity of putting one leg in front of the other, again, and again, and again, and again, made his mind conjure up thoughts that became more unsettling with every run. His mother had told him about it, about the mania that lay beneath the surface of his soul. He had fantastic imagination. Some great, some terrifying. He needed a friend, he then decided. To run with him, to keep him company, to keep him anchored, to keep his fears at bay.
Never an early riser, Hephaistion had joined him the next day under much protest. It had been both comical and alarming to see Hephaistion literally falling asleep on his feet, like a narcoleptic goat.
The next day, he woke up to see his friend's bed already empty. He had snorted then. It would be like Hephaistion to go hide somewhere so he didn't have to accompany Alexander on his run again, wouldn't it?
He had quickly learned his lesson, though, to not think unworthy thoughts about his friend. Because just over halfway through his run, he had heard his name called, above the sound of the wind and the gallop of a horse.
The morning after, he woke up, found his friend's bed empty, and headed to the stables. There, he found his friend tacking the most even-tempered horse there, yawning every so often, and nodding off once in a while against the horse's mane.
The next day, the day after, and every day since, he would run, with his friend by his side, on a docile horse. He would sometimes steal a glance, and sometimes he would see his friend falling asleep on the saddle, nodding off due to the even lull of hoof-beats, and jerking up awake just before he could fall off the horse.
*********
Many years had gone by since then. He no longer ran, but took to riding a horse in the morning instead. His friend continued to sleep on a horse, but nowadays he rarely had to worry about falling off it.
When did they last ride together at dawn, he wanted to ask. He nudged his horse to catch up with his friend, who turned to him with an indulgent smile.
He opened his mouth to ask, but was cruelly drowned out by the approaching sound of thundering hoof-beats. He saw his generals riding hard toward him, a goodly number of guards behind them, and the palace looming behind all of them.
They were herded like unruly children, his generals taking turns letting their unhappiness known. Hephaistion, meanwhile, had fallen behind, riding along with the lower ranks, plying his charms to placate upset guards and soldiers.
He did not make promises that such a thing would not happen again; just because no one could predict the future.
He did promise to act more grownup, like a king. He's no longer a child, not even a prince. His generals scolded him and he agreed that there's no use to want things to be like what it had been.
It saddened him, this reality. Not because of he had a carefree and innocent childhood, which would be a lie. He certainly did not miss being pushed and pulled by his parents. He only regretted how much he had lost when it came to Hephaistion.
A chorus of laughter rose up somewhere behind him; Hephaistion did a better job soothing high strung nerves. Another laughter, his friend's voice rising above the rest, and the last thread of tension faded away.
Palace walls rose up. Gates opened up to receive him and to throw reality in his face. Of how not a child he was anymore.
He craned his neck around, and caught a glimpse of his lover framed against the setting sun. Older, wiser, and infinitely more beautiful.
They could never reclaim their childhood, he realized, as much an impossibility as atoning for everything he had squandered in his thirsty quest to prove himself Great King. Yet, they had been given reprieve this day, he thought. It's more than what he deserved.
A little reminder of those halcyon days. And a little hope.
Tomorrow, he suddenly decided, surprising himself with this impulsive resolve, he would ride again at dawn.
His oblivious lover smiled at him and he returned it as widely as he could.
When did we last ride together at dawn?
It's been too long.