Alexander/Hephaistion Alphabet Challenge - "Scarred by guilt"
Title: Scarred by guilt, part 2
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m slash, angst,
Beta: the wonderful piximyr
Word Count: 3.000 for this part
A/N: Written for the Alexander Alphabet Challenge. As usual, my writing falls to the emotional side rather than the historical, since I claim to know nothing about actual history.
-beautiful banner by namida_no_ame -
Alexander was saddened and distraught as he viewed the horrific carnage that surrounded him, his mind struggling to focus on the destruction, but involuntarily moving to Hephaistion and his well-being. He’d lost sight of his lover half-way through the battle when his section had split off from Alexander’s, then during the course of the confrontation, he hadn’t had time to dwell on his premonition of Hephaistion’s fate. That perhaps was a good thing in itself, at least until the battle was over when his brain suddenly crashed with overwhelming worry and fear.
Hephaistion was a strong and capable warrior. He’d always been a strong man, even before they’d become soldiers. He’d always stood up for himself, handled himself with decorum and strength when needed. Being the best friend of the Prince, then the King - not to mention the disrespect shown to him when some of their friends had realized that they were more than friends - had always made Hephaistion an easy target for disdain and bullying, but he’d always handled himself well.
Unfortunately, the heated seriousness of battle was a different thing altogether than handling the jealousy and envy of men, since almighty war had no limitations or preferences. Throughout the day, Alexander had repeated that Hephaistion would be fine over and over in his head. He would come back to him with nary a scratch, thus abolishing tormenting visions Alexander had been having. The dreams had been nothing more than an unaccustomed smattering of nerves that had accumulated in Alexander’s head, manifesting themselves in the worst way possible.
As he bent to lay a hand over the blood-soaked chest of one of his men, Alexander lifted his head to the sky, mind wrought and aching as the realization of the destruction around him sunk in. Where, by the gods, was Hephaistion?
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
A hand on his shoulder brought Alexander’s mind back to the situation at hand. “Hephai ...”, he began, looking up into the familiar face, not the face he’d been hoping for, but Ptolemy’s.
“Are you alright, Alexander?” the tall man asked. “You’ve been squatted over this youngster for some time now. Are you injured?”
“No,” Alexander replied quickly, rising to his feet, his thighs aching from the position, not to mention the extreme circumstances of the day. “I’m well. And you, my friend?”
“Just tired and parched for some wine to end this day.”
“And the rest of our ... friends?” Alexander’s voice was low and strained, whether due to the actual battle or his reluctance to ask Ptolemy what he really wanted to know, was unclear even to him.
“Hephaistion is well. He was injured, but the doctor has already seen to him.”
“Injured?” Alexander felt his heart and stomach jump up into his throat, gagging silently on the bile that had suddenly appeared on his tongue. “What injury has he sustained?”
Ptolemy placed a strong arm around Alexander’s shoulders, fingers securing his hold. He lead Alexander away from the fallen body of the man. “Come, Alexander. You must be parched, as well. Let’s get you some water, then find our beloved friend.”
Alexander let himself be lead, his mind spinning with Ptolemy’s words. Injured, but well. What exactly did that mean and why was Ptolemy being so secretive? “Where is he?”
“You know Hephaistion better than all of us, Alexander. We forced him to see the doctor, and after being trussed up, he slipped away to see to his men.”
“Stubborn ...”
“Just like someone else I know,” Ptolemy smirked.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander insisted they check Hephaistion’s tent first. He hoped his beloved had the intelligence to return there after seeing the physician, and had not run about checking on his men when he, himself, was injured. Alas, Hephaistion wasn’t there when they arrived. Alexander cursed softly under his breath; in his heart he’d known his lover always thought more of others than he did himself, but at that moment, he secretly wished that was not the case at all.
“Alexander?” Ptolemy’s voice cleared yet another cloud of worry and inattention from Alexander’s mind. “You look much too pale, my friend. Why don’t we go back to your tent before we find Hephaistion? You don’t want to worry him by looking unwell when he first sees you.”
Alexander ignored his friend’s suggestion, pushing past Ptolemy, his eyes immediately searching the outside perimeter of the tent. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, his palms and brow becoming increasingly damp, his face hot and tight. Ptolemy had said Hephaistion’s injury was not life-threatening, that he had already been examined by the physician, but that didn’t ease Alexander’s mind. His dreams were still too vividly encased in his head; the blood, destruction and death now completely synonymous with his beloved, at least until he saw him with his own eyes.
Truth be told, he was still terrified that Ptolemy and the doctor had underestimated the extent of Hephaistion’s injuries, and he feared he would find his love dead on the ground from the inattention to his wounds. He needed to see Hephaistion himself, needed to inspect him from head to toe, needed to know his dreams were simply that, dreams.
“Where is he?” Alexander growled as Ptolemy stepped up beside him. “Why is he not in his tent? Why did you not escort him to his tent, Ptolemy? You should have made him remain there! His injury could be worse than ...”
“Alexander!” Ptolemy interrupted the King. “You know Hephaistion as well as the rest of us ... better than the rest of us, if I may be so bold. Why would you believe he would stay in his tent when there are things to be done, and men he feels a responsibility to?”
“Things and men? You said he suffered a serious injury, so why, by the gods, would he be out running around?”
“Because he is Hephaistion,” Ptolemy said softer this time. “But rather than stand here and debate his character, should we not simply go find him so he can belay your fears himself.”
“I am not afraid,” Alexander snapped. “I just ...”
“Come, my friend, let us find the one you seek.”
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
After passing several of the larger tents, as well as the dining hall, Alexander finally spotted his beloved among a cluster of men. Seeing Hephaistion standing straight and tall allowed Alexander’s heart to escape his throat, and sink back into its rightful position, his tongue feeling instantly less swollen and coarse.
Hephaistion stood in the center of a large group of his men, his back to Alexander, hair partially braided, but more so tangled and streaming down his back. A stark, white bandage encircled his head, but from the distance Alexander could not make out exactly what it covered.
He quickened his pace, watching as Hephaistion laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the men, his other hand trailing up to touch his head. He seemed to wobble to the side, righting himself quickly, then shaking his head slightly while another of the men grasped his arm.
“Hephaistion!” Alexander called out, the acceleration of his feet becoming more of a trot as he closed the gap between the men and himself. “Hephaistion!”
In any other circumstance, Alexander would not have allowed such emotion to pepper his voice or his demeanor. He would have focused on not having concern and fear edge their way into his words. He’d practiced that very skill; the skill of not bringing unwanted attention to Hephaistion which was something he’d been lectured about many times by his lover. But this was not a normal situation, and Alexander knew it was only his overwhelming respect for Hephaistion that kept him from sprinting the rest of the distance, and crushing the man in his arms.
When he was no more than a few feet away, Hephaistion finally turned to face him, a surprised smile captured on his lips. He looked as relieved as Alexander felt, at least until he saw the bandage that covered the entire left side of his lover’s face.
Alexander was suddenly woozy, his eyes wavering as his knees threatened to crumble. It was all he could do to remain upright, to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, as he stared at Hephaistion.
“Alexander?” his beloved said softly, gently, as he shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and took a step towards the king. “Are you well, my King?”
“You were injured ... your face ... it’s ...” was all Alexander could manage, his own face masking none of the shock and discomfort that rocked his insides as he continued to stare.
Hephaistion’s mouth turned down in a dismayed frown, his one visible eye narrowed and dark. “I’ve seen the physician, and he assured me that I would be fine.”
Ptolemy had finally reached the two men, sliding to Alexander’s side and placing a hand on the small of his back. “You look as if you’re a tad dizzy, Hephaistion.”
“I was for a moment,” Hephaistion offered, gaze not leaving Alexander’s face. “But I’m fine now. Alexander, are you alright? You seem pale. Were you injured?”
Alexander shook his head silently. The stark whiteness of the bandage was almost blinding to his eyes as it reflected over and over in his mind. He had no words, no words at all. Why had Ptolemy not warned him of the extent of Hephaistion’s injuries? His face. What had happened to his beautiful face?
“Alexander?” Hephaistion was speaking to him, again, but Alexander just could not focus, could not see anything except the overwhelming brightness of the red-tinged bindings that covered half of Hephaistion’s face.
“Ptolemy,” the King suddenly blurted out. “Things seem to be in order here, we should carry on with our rounds. Please get some rest, men.”
Alexander could feel Hephaistion’s uncovered eye following him as he turned and walked away, Ptolemy close at his heels. “Alexander!” the man hissed. “Whatever are you thinking? You did not even wish Hephaistion good tidings.”
“He knows. I do not have to say it. We have much to do. Do you wish to complain the whole time or accompany me on my rounds?” Alexander’s voice was cold and harsh, sending a wave of confusion and frustration throughout Ptolemy’s body.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Hephaistion stood rooted to the spot, one hand involuntarily moving to touch the bandage that wrapped around his head. His mind twisted with confusion. Alexander had called out to him, had come within a few feet of him, then recoiled in disgust at the mere sight of his face. It wasn’t something Hephaistion expected from the man of his heart. It wasn’t something he understood, either.
Alexander had seemed positively rattled when he’d appeared, the stress and concern in his voice almost palpable, as he called Hephaistion’s name, but then what had happened? He’d taken one look at the man he sought, and rather than looking relieved, he’d look mortified and revolted. Then to make matters worse, he’d dismissed Hephaistion without a word.
Hephaistion was acutely aware of the men around him staring. He neither wanted or needed to be the target of any further humiliation so after letting Alexander’s figure drift into the distance, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and turned back to the group. “I believe I am still a little light-headed from my injury. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll return to my tent. Please have someone come get me should my presence be required.”
He smiled gently, the grin fading immediately as he turned and walked in the direction of his tent, aware of the eyes following him and the whispering voices that immediately filled the air. He was used to that, used to the snickers and jabs he was constantly subjected to whenever he and Alexander were seen together. What he wasn’t used to was the overwhelming sadness that suddenly struck him, making him feel ultimately and completely alone.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander just wanted to be alone, alone with the thoughts that pitched back and forth in his head, like a ship lost in a storm. His heart had skipped a beat when he finally saw Hephaistion, then skipped another when the sight of his injury was finally realized. He was upset that Ptolemy hadn’t warned him of the wound to Hephaistion’s face before they came upon him, and then to make matters even worse, Ptolemy had badgered him relentlessly after they carried on with their rounds.
He understood Ptolemy’s concerns and his questions, but he did not want to talk about anything just then. He needed to keep up appearances, needed to see his men, then sneak away for some time to himself; to regroup, get himself together, process what had just happened.
He knew the shock of the situation had registered clearly on his face, and though it had not been his intention to remove himself from Hephaistion so suddenly, he knew that’s exactly what he had done. And he knew Hephaistion had been both confused and hurt by the impulsive dismissal.
Yes, he had been thrown aback at first, but then it had not been so much about what he’d actually seen, but rather what could have happened to result in such an injury to Hephaistion’s face. As he wound his way around camp, mourning the losses and supporting the injured, he did not feel he was himself. He felt like his body was floating somewhere above in a haze of anxiety and helplessness. It was as if everything he was seeing and hearing was not as clear as it should have been. He heard himself speak, but did not feel the words leave his lips.
He attributed it to shock and surprise, not to mention the exhaustion that riddled his mind and body from days of being unable to sleep, but that didn’t help him to dismiss the feelings of utter and complete chaos that wavered about in his mind. It was almost as if he had imbibed in some very powerful unwatered wine, and didn’t even realize he’d taken a drink.
When he was finally able to return to his tent, his uncoordinated feet stumbling more than once along the way, he sent everyone away. He made it clear that he did want to be not be disturbed, something that was very rare for him following any battle. He generally liked to be with his men during these times; listening, supporting, taking in all the left-over energy that often accompanied the end of hard-fought day.
But tonight he wanted to be alone. He needed to be alone. He needed to assimilate all the notions that battered against one another, turning his mind to a useless ball of indistinguishable mush. He needed to rationalize his thoughts, clearly, coherently, logically. Seeing Hephaistion should have brought everything full circle, brought all Alexander’s fears to an end, at least for the time being, but instead, his mind reeled with inconsequential what ifs and incessant ramblings of failing to protect the one most important in his life.
Hephaistion was not critically injured, but damned if Alexander couldn’t stop thinking that he could have been.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
As the sun set on a day filled with violence, loss and chaos, Hephaistion sat alone in his tent, his eyes unfocused and unknowing as the brightness faded and left him in darkness. His head ached and despite the physician’s orders to return if he developed any other symptoms to his injury, he welcomed the discomfort since it was a partial distraction from the overwhelming pain in his heart. The doctor could perhaps lessen the throbbing pain in his head, but he wouldn’t make the latter dissipate in the least, so Hephaistion saw no point in summoning him.
Alexander’s reaction confused and disturbed Hephaistion, the emotional part of him wanting to confront his lover, but the logical one forcing him to maintain his decorum. Alexander’s attitude had made it clear that it was not Hephaistion’s place to run after the king, to demand an explanation. Experience had taught had also taught him that if Alexander had something more to say, he would have said it without encouragement or provocation.
Did he truly look that bad? Was his face mangled to a degree that could make the one person in his life who claimed to love him unconditionally, turn away in fright? And even if he did, how could Alexander’s reaction have been so fierce, knowing the true nature of battle? The king had seen men maimed, destroyed, dying, yet one look at Hephaistion’s bandaged face had sent him running off in total disgust. Hephaistion did not understand what was going through Alexander’s mind, did not understand the look of almost terror that had crossed his face the moment he looked at him.
Their relationship was not one based on the simplicity of physical attraction, never had been, and Hephaistion had sincerely believed it never would be. They’d fallen in love as mere adolescents, but that had never been the basis of their love, or so Hephaistion had thought. They’d both changed over the years, matured, gone from naive innocents to men responsible for changing the history of the world, men who made important decisions and fought to make them happen.
They understood each other, they stood by each other, they hungered for and loved each other, so why was Hephaistion sitting alone, half-drunk on unwatered wine, at the end of a day which had almost been his last?
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m slash, angst,
Beta: the wonderful piximyr
Word Count: 3.000 for this part
A/N: Written for the Alexander Alphabet Challenge. As usual, my writing falls to the emotional side rather than the historical, since I claim to know nothing about actual history.
-beautiful banner by namida_no_ame -
Alexander was saddened and distraught as he viewed the horrific carnage that surrounded him, his mind struggling to focus on the destruction, but involuntarily moving to Hephaistion and his well-being. He’d lost sight of his lover half-way through the battle when his section had split off from Alexander’s, then during the course of the confrontation, he hadn’t had time to dwell on his premonition of Hephaistion’s fate. That perhaps was a good thing in itself, at least until the battle was over when his brain suddenly crashed with overwhelming worry and fear.
Hephaistion was a strong and capable warrior. He’d always been a strong man, even before they’d become soldiers. He’d always stood up for himself, handled himself with decorum and strength when needed. Being the best friend of the Prince, then the King - not to mention the disrespect shown to him when some of their friends had realized that they were more than friends - had always made Hephaistion an easy target for disdain and bullying, but he’d always handled himself well.
Unfortunately, the heated seriousness of battle was a different thing altogether than handling the jealousy and envy of men, since almighty war had no limitations or preferences. Throughout the day, Alexander had repeated that Hephaistion would be fine over and over in his head. He would come back to him with nary a scratch, thus abolishing tormenting visions Alexander had been having. The dreams had been nothing more than an unaccustomed smattering of nerves that had accumulated in Alexander’s head, manifesting themselves in the worst way possible.
As he bent to lay a hand over the blood-soaked chest of one of his men, Alexander lifted his head to the sky, mind wrought and aching as the realization of the destruction around him sunk in. Where, by the gods, was Hephaistion?
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
A hand on his shoulder brought Alexander’s mind back to the situation at hand. “Hephai ...”, he began, looking up into the familiar face, not the face he’d been hoping for, but Ptolemy’s.
“Are you alright, Alexander?” the tall man asked. “You’ve been squatted over this youngster for some time now. Are you injured?”
“No,” Alexander replied quickly, rising to his feet, his thighs aching from the position, not to mention the extreme circumstances of the day. “I’m well. And you, my friend?”
“Just tired and parched for some wine to end this day.”
“And the rest of our ... friends?” Alexander’s voice was low and strained, whether due to the actual battle or his reluctance to ask Ptolemy what he really wanted to know, was unclear even to him.
“Hephaistion is well. He was injured, but the doctor has already seen to him.”
“Injured?” Alexander felt his heart and stomach jump up into his throat, gagging silently on the bile that had suddenly appeared on his tongue. “What injury has he sustained?”
Ptolemy placed a strong arm around Alexander’s shoulders, fingers securing his hold. He lead Alexander away from the fallen body of the man. “Come, Alexander. You must be parched, as well. Let’s get you some water, then find our beloved friend.”
Alexander let himself be lead, his mind spinning with Ptolemy’s words. Injured, but well. What exactly did that mean and why was Ptolemy being so secretive? “Where is he?”
“You know Hephaistion better than all of us, Alexander. We forced him to see the doctor, and after being trussed up, he slipped away to see to his men.”
“Stubborn ...”
“Just like someone else I know,” Ptolemy smirked.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander insisted they check Hephaistion’s tent first. He hoped his beloved had the intelligence to return there after seeing the physician, and had not run about checking on his men when he, himself, was injured. Alas, Hephaistion wasn’t there when they arrived. Alexander cursed softly under his breath; in his heart he’d known his lover always thought more of others than he did himself, but at that moment, he secretly wished that was not the case at all.
“Alexander?” Ptolemy’s voice cleared yet another cloud of worry and inattention from Alexander’s mind. “You look much too pale, my friend. Why don’t we go back to your tent before we find Hephaistion? You don’t want to worry him by looking unwell when he first sees you.”
Alexander ignored his friend’s suggestion, pushing past Ptolemy, his eyes immediately searching the outside perimeter of the tent. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, his palms and brow becoming increasingly damp, his face hot and tight. Ptolemy had said Hephaistion’s injury was not life-threatening, that he had already been examined by the physician, but that didn’t ease Alexander’s mind. His dreams were still too vividly encased in his head; the blood, destruction and death now completely synonymous with his beloved, at least until he saw him with his own eyes.
Truth be told, he was still terrified that Ptolemy and the doctor had underestimated the extent of Hephaistion’s injuries, and he feared he would find his love dead on the ground from the inattention to his wounds. He needed to see Hephaistion himself, needed to inspect him from head to toe, needed to know his dreams were simply that, dreams.
“Where is he?” Alexander growled as Ptolemy stepped up beside him. “Why is he not in his tent? Why did you not escort him to his tent, Ptolemy? You should have made him remain there! His injury could be worse than ...”
“Alexander!” Ptolemy interrupted the King. “You know Hephaistion as well as the rest of us ... better than the rest of us, if I may be so bold. Why would you believe he would stay in his tent when there are things to be done, and men he feels a responsibility to?”
“Things and men? You said he suffered a serious injury, so why, by the gods, would he be out running around?”
“Because he is Hephaistion,” Ptolemy said softer this time. “But rather than stand here and debate his character, should we not simply go find him so he can belay your fears himself.”
“I am not afraid,” Alexander snapped. “I just ...”
“Come, my friend, let us find the one you seek.”
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
After passing several of the larger tents, as well as the dining hall, Alexander finally spotted his beloved among a cluster of men. Seeing Hephaistion standing straight and tall allowed Alexander’s heart to escape his throat, and sink back into its rightful position, his tongue feeling instantly less swollen and coarse.
Hephaistion stood in the center of a large group of his men, his back to Alexander, hair partially braided, but more so tangled and streaming down his back. A stark, white bandage encircled his head, but from the distance Alexander could not make out exactly what it covered.
He quickened his pace, watching as Hephaistion laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the men, his other hand trailing up to touch his head. He seemed to wobble to the side, righting himself quickly, then shaking his head slightly while another of the men grasped his arm.
“Hephaistion!” Alexander called out, the acceleration of his feet becoming more of a trot as he closed the gap between the men and himself. “Hephaistion!”
In any other circumstance, Alexander would not have allowed such emotion to pepper his voice or his demeanor. He would have focused on not having concern and fear edge their way into his words. He’d practiced that very skill; the skill of not bringing unwanted attention to Hephaistion which was something he’d been lectured about many times by his lover. But this was not a normal situation, and Alexander knew it was only his overwhelming respect for Hephaistion that kept him from sprinting the rest of the distance, and crushing the man in his arms.
When he was no more than a few feet away, Hephaistion finally turned to face him, a surprised smile captured on his lips. He looked as relieved as Alexander felt, at least until he saw the bandage that covered the entire left side of his lover’s face.
Alexander was suddenly woozy, his eyes wavering as his knees threatened to crumble. It was all he could do to remain upright, to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, as he stared at Hephaistion.
“Alexander?” his beloved said softly, gently, as he shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and took a step towards the king. “Are you well, my King?”
“You were injured ... your face ... it’s ...” was all Alexander could manage, his own face masking none of the shock and discomfort that rocked his insides as he continued to stare.
Hephaistion’s mouth turned down in a dismayed frown, his one visible eye narrowed and dark. “I’ve seen the physician, and he assured me that I would be fine.”
Ptolemy had finally reached the two men, sliding to Alexander’s side and placing a hand on the small of his back. “You look as if you’re a tad dizzy, Hephaistion.”
“I was for a moment,” Hephaistion offered, gaze not leaving Alexander’s face. “But I’m fine now. Alexander, are you alright? You seem pale. Were you injured?”
Alexander shook his head silently. The stark whiteness of the bandage was almost blinding to his eyes as it reflected over and over in his mind. He had no words, no words at all. Why had Ptolemy not warned him of the extent of Hephaistion’s injuries? His face. What had happened to his beautiful face?
“Alexander?” Hephaistion was speaking to him, again, but Alexander just could not focus, could not see anything except the overwhelming brightness of the red-tinged bindings that covered half of Hephaistion’s face.
“Ptolemy,” the King suddenly blurted out. “Things seem to be in order here, we should carry on with our rounds. Please get some rest, men.”
Alexander could feel Hephaistion’s uncovered eye following him as he turned and walked away, Ptolemy close at his heels. “Alexander!” the man hissed. “Whatever are you thinking? You did not even wish Hephaistion good tidings.”
“He knows. I do not have to say it. We have much to do. Do you wish to complain the whole time or accompany me on my rounds?” Alexander’s voice was cold and harsh, sending a wave of confusion and frustration throughout Ptolemy’s body.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Hephaistion stood rooted to the spot, one hand involuntarily moving to touch the bandage that wrapped around his head. His mind twisted with confusion. Alexander had called out to him, had come within a few feet of him, then recoiled in disgust at the mere sight of his face. It wasn’t something Hephaistion expected from the man of his heart. It wasn’t something he understood, either.
Alexander had seemed positively rattled when he’d appeared, the stress and concern in his voice almost palpable, as he called Hephaistion’s name, but then what had happened? He’d taken one look at the man he sought, and rather than looking relieved, he’d look mortified and revolted. Then to make matters worse, he’d dismissed Hephaistion without a word.
Hephaistion was acutely aware of the men around him staring. He neither wanted or needed to be the target of any further humiliation so after letting Alexander’s figure drift into the distance, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and turned back to the group. “I believe I am still a little light-headed from my injury. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll return to my tent. Please have someone come get me should my presence be required.”
He smiled gently, the grin fading immediately as he turned and walked in the direction of his tent, aware of the eyes following him and the whispering voices that immediately filled the air. He was used to that, used to the snickers and jabs he was constantly subjected to whenever he and Alexander were seen together. What he wasn’t used to was the overwhelming sadness that suddenly struck him, making him feel ultimately and completely alone.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander just wanted to be alone, alone with the thoughts that pitched back and forth in his head, like a ship lost in a storm. His heart had skipped a beat when he finally saw Hephaistion, then skipped another when the sight of his injury was finally realized. He was upset that Ptolemy hadn’t warned him of the wound to Hephaistion’s face before they came upon him, and then to make matters even worse, Ptolemy had badgered him relentlessly after they carried on with their rounds.
He understood Ptolemy’s concerns and his questions, but he did not want to talk about anything just then. He needed to keep up appearances, needed to see his men, then sneak away for some time to himself; to regroup, get himself together, process what had just happened.
He knew the shock of the situation had registered clearly on his face, and though it had not been his intention to remove himself from Hephaistion so suddenly, he knew that’s exactly what he had done. And he knew Hephaistion had been both confused and hurt by the impulsive dismissal.
Yes, he had been thrown aback at first, but then it had not been so much about what he’d actually seen, but rather what could have happened to result in such an injury to Hephaistion’s face. As he wound his way around camp, mourning the losses and supporting the injured, he did not feel he was himself. He felt like his body was floating somewhere above in a haze of anxiety and helplessness. It was as if everything he was seeing and hearing was not as clear as it should have been. He heard himself speak, but did not feel the words leave his lips.
He attributed it to shock and surprise, not to mention the exhaustion that riddled his mind and body from days of being unable to sleep, but that didn’t help him to dismiss the feelings of utter and complete chaos that wavered about in his mind. It was almost as if he had imbibed in some very powerful unwatered wine, and didn’t even realize he’d taken a drink.
When he was finally able to return to his tent, his uncoordinated feet stumbling more than once along the way, he sent everyone away. He made it clear that he did want to be not be disturbed, something that was very rare for him following any battle. He generally liked to be with his men during these times; listening, supporting, taking in all the left-over energy that often accompanied the end of hard-fought day.
But tonight he wanted to be alone. He needed to be alone. He needed to assimilate all the notions that battered against one another, turning his mind to a useless ball of indistinguishable mush. He needed to rationalize his thoughts, clearly, coherently, logically. Seeing Hephaistion should have brought everything full circle, brought all Alexander’s fears to an end, at least for the time being, but instead, his mind reeled with inconsequential what ifs and incessant ramblings of failing to protect the one most important in his life.
Hephaistion was not critically injured, but damned if Alexander couldn’t stop thinking that he could have been.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
As the sun set on a day filled with violence, loss and chaos, Hephaistion sat alone in his tent, his eyes unfocused and unknowing as the brightness faded and left him in darkness. His head ached and despite the physician’s orders to return if he developed any other symptoms to his injury, he welcomed the discomfort since it was a partial distraction from the overwhelming pain in his heart. The doctor could perhaps lessen the throbbing pain in his head, but he wouldn’t make the latter dissipate in the least, so Hephaistion saw no point in summoning him.
Alexander’s reaction confused and disturbed Hephaistion, the emotional part of him wanting to confront his lover, but the logical one forcing him to maintain his decorum. Alexander’s attitude had made it clear that it was not Hephaistion’s place to run after the king, to demand an explanation. Experience had taught had also taught him that if Alexander had something more to say, he would have said it without encouragement or provocation.
Did he truly look that bad? Was his face mangled to a degree that could make the one person in his life who claimed to love him unconditionally, turn away in fright? And even if he did, how could Alexander’s reaction have been so fierce, knowing the true nature of battle? The king had seen men maimed, destroyed, dying, yet one look at Hephaistion’s bandaged face had sent him running off in total disgust. Hephaistion did not understand what was going through Alexander’s mind, did not understand the look of almost terror that had crossed his face the moment he looked at him.
Their relationship was not one based on the simplicity of physical attraction, never had been, and Hephaistion had sincerely believed it never would be. They’d fallen in love as mere adolescents, but that had never been the basis of their love, or so Hephaistion had thought. They’d both changed over the years, matured, gone from naive innocents to men responsible for changing the history of the world, men who made important decisions and fought to make them happen.
They understood each other, they stood by each other, they hungered for and loved each other, so why was Hephaistion sitting alone, half-drunk on unwatered wine, at the end of a day which had almost been his last?