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There were times that Hephaestion truly loved his company. Alexander could be so kind and gentle when the mood took him; he could be loving and considerate, and show a side in private that was barely seen. They were the times when they would stroll through the gardens of one palace or another and the open, youthful expression of a man truly at ease would settle on his features, and Hephaestion would glimpse a remnant of the innocent child he had met so long ago. The times spent simply in silence, relaxing in each other’s presence; eating, writing, reading. Then there were the times spent curled together between his sheets, Alexander’s hand stroking through his hair with a touch so light one would never think it was the hand of a warrior. The times Alexander would hold him close, bodies soaked in sweat and breath laboured as they each sought completion, each exposed so intimately to one another.
Hephaestion wondered whether he was the only person who saw this aspect of him.
Secretly, he hoped he was.
The great leader, the military mastermind, the proud king – these were what the men saw. A handsome youth with the stature and presence to befit a god, who conquered everything he set his mind to. An unswervingly loyal man of honour and righteousness, favoured by the divine and adored by mortals. Hephaestion would see this so often and watch from his place at his side, often attempting in vain to hide the fond smile that would creep onto his lips. Alexander had described it once as the face of a lovesick fool before clipping him round the head and ordering him to keep better composure in public.
For every moment there was that he adored his company, there was a time that Hephaestion wished nothing more than for Alexander to shut up leave him be.
“Look around, Hephaestion. Do you see a physician?”
“Perhaps he did not receive your summons-“
“Are you calling my men incompetent?”
“No, but-“
“If I had wanted a physician, I would have sent for one. If I had sent for one he would be here. Do you see anyone, anywhere in this tent other than me?”
“No, but-“
“Exactly. I don’t need a physician, it’s just a bit of chafing from the march.”
Hephaestion levelled a stern gaze at him.
“Just a bit of chafing.” He repeated. “Alexander, last time you had ‘just a bit of chafing’ you ended up not being able to ride for a week. I told you we should have made camp sooner, the men barely had time to set up before nightfall as it was-“
“Did I ask for a lecture?” Alexander snapped.
“You haven’t asked for anything so far, other than for me to be here.”
“That wasn’t a request, that was an order.”
“Fine.” Hephaestion stiffened his posture, making the effort to enunciate his words more clearly. “Your majesty.”
“Don’t be like that.” Alexander scoffed and waved a dismissive had at him. “I just need you to treat the chafing.”
“I can’t, you need a physician for that.” Hephaestion replied.
“Damnit Hephaestion. I know you have at least some knowledge in that head of yours, it’s certainly not just there to look pretty.”
“Delightful.”
“The ointment’s on the table, all you need to do is apply it.”
Hephaestion glanced at the small ceramic bowl. The salve it contained certainly looked like the correct one – chafing from armour and saddles was a common occurrence, and despite appearing dull and sickly, the ointment tended to be beneficial.
“You made it yourself?” He asked. As much as he loved and trusted Alexander, he would not have picked herbalism and medicine as two of his strong points.
“Of course I didn’t, I had it made up before you came.”
“…so you did see a physician.”
“Well, yes. I’m not an idiot. Who else would make the ointment? I just didn’t want him touching me. Your hands are the only ones I trust.”
Hephaestion felt his annoyance slip slightly at the admittance.
“Fine.” He said, a sigh following his words when he caught sight of Alexander’s smug grin. Sometimes it was better not to fight him. Truthfully, it was usually better not to; but they had always quarrelled. Not in front of the men, but privately, when he knew his arguments may be heard and considered rather than viewed as insubordination and a treasonous attempt to undermine his authority.
Alexander stripped off his chiton and stretched out on the low camp bed, pillowing his head on his arms. Hephaestion’s gaze followed him and traced down his back, appreciating his toned form and sun darkened skin. His body was so familiar, yet he would never tire of seeing it. The redness that spread around the top of his legs made him wince, the sore skin on his inner thighs causing him to lie with his legs apart.
Hephaestion fetched the ointment before settling on the bed next to Alexander, placing a comforting hand on the small of his back.
“Relax, try not to move, and I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
Whatever Alexander’s response was muffled by his arms, so Hephaestion liked to imagine it was a word of thanks… even though it was most likely a noise of impatience.
The ointment spread onto his fingers in a thick salve, thick enough not to run yet thin enough to apply with ease. Alexander hissed at the first touch of it to his skin, and Hephaestion knew it would be stinging – the relief would come after. When applied it left much to be desired, but it would serve its before long purpose.
He had done this before with various ointments and salves on a whole range of maladies – being the best friend of a king with his mind set on domination of the known and unknown world leant itself to tending to injuries both great and small. It warmed his heart to know he was so trusted, and when he himself were injured that Alexander would return the favour.
He could see Alexander begin to relax the more skin was covered with the salve. He worked in silence, fingers careful and precise, neither minding the quietness in the tent compared to the noise of the camp that filtered through its walls.
He wiped his hand on a piece of cloth before moving the empty bowl away, the last remnants of the ointment left in it. Had they been in a better mood, he could have suggested several uses for the remainder; but instead he did not wish to disrupt the serene atmosphere that had settled upon them.
“Stay tonight.” Alexander muttered, stopping him from standing.
“You’re in no state to-“
“Then sleep.” Alexander looked back at him and Hephaestion knew he could not refuse.
With a sigh he removed his sandals then settled back beside him. Alexander’s arm flopped heavily over him, fingers closing over his shoulder in a possessive grip, keeping him close and secure.
“Remain on your front or the salve will rub off.” Hephaestion stated.
Alexander gave a half-hearted shrug that shook them both.
“Wake me if I roll over then.”
Hephaestion pressed a kiss to Alexander’s hair and closed his eyes. The bed was uncomfortable and he did not feel tired, but he was content to simply lie there. Times like this, where they were simply Alexander and Hephaestion and not the King and his general, were his favourite.