fic: Gaza (Alexander/Hephaistion; pg)
Gaza
Alexander/Hephaistion; pg; 400 words
Gaza is different.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas and mousapelli for looking this over. For the West Wing title project.
~*~
Gaza
Hephaistion carries a catalogue of destruction in his head, to go with the moments of joy and tenderness, a solemn reminder of all that Alexander is capable of, the good and the bad:
Thebes is anger at the betrayal of fellow Greeks. Hephaistion understands that, understands the anger, the risk and the reward.
Tyre is indomitable will married to strategic necessity, backed by the manpower and charisma to turn that will into reality.
Persepolis is a beacon, a signal fire to the world that things have changed, that Alexander of Macedon is truly the Great King of Persia and a force to be reckoned with.
Gaza is different, and each time after, Hephaistion finds himself thinking of it, comparing.
Gaza is the petulant anger of a thwarted child with the power to make everyone around him miserable and afraid. Gaza reminds him of Philip and Olympias spitting rage at each other, Alexander helpless for one of the few times in his life, caught in between. Hephaistion knows that helpless feeling now, having watched as Alexander let loose the reins of his anger, let it twist and become ugly, the kind of anger only the gods should command, because it always ends in tragedy.
Alexander comes back to the tent long afterward, shamed at his own lack of control. Hephaistion says nothing--there is nothing to say that will comfort him when he is like this, and no need to chide or chastise, because there is nothing Hephaistion can say that Alexander doesn't already know, hasn't already told himself.
He washes the dust and blood from Alexander's sunburnt skin, smoothes back his hair with tender, impersonal hands, waits for the faraway look in his eyes to subside.
They lie next to each other, breathing in time, and finally, after an endless stretch of time Hephaistion will never be able to quantify, Alexander rolls onto his side and curls into Hephaistion's body. Hephaistion presses his face to the nape of Alexander's neck, breathes in sweat and dust, and settles his hand over Alexander's heart, which beats steadily now, no wild madness in it.
He falls asleep at some point, wakes to find Alexander still in the same position. He hasn't slept, but his eyes are clear and his mouth is set in a firm line. He doesn't need to speak. His resolution is clear.
He won't let himself lose control like this again.
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
Alexander/Hephaistion; pg; 400 words
Gaza is different.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas and mousapelli for looking this over. For the West Wing title project.
~*~
Gaza
Hephaistion carries a catalogue of destruction in his head, to go with the moments of joy and tenderness, a solemn reminder of all that Alexander is capable of, the good and the bad:
Thebes is anger at the betrayal of fellow Greeks. Hephaistion understands that, understands the anger, the risk and the reward.
Tyre is indomitable will married to strategic necessity, backed by the manpower and charisma to turn that will into reality.
Persepolis is a beacon, a signal fire to the world that things have changed, that Alexander of Macedon is truly the Great King of Persia and a force to be reckoned with.
Gaza is different, and each time after, Hephaistion finds himself thinking of it, comparing.
Gaza is the petulant anger of a thwarted child with the power to make everyone around him miserable and afraid. Gaza reminds him of Philip and Olympias spitting rage at each other, Alexander helpless for one of the few times in his life, caught in between. Hephaistion knows that helpless feeling now, having watched as Alexander let loose the reins of his anger, let it twist and become ugly, the kind of anger only the gods should command, because it always ends in tragedy.
Alexander comes back to the tent long afterward, shamed at his own lack of control. Hephaistion says nothing--there is nothing to say that will comfort him when he is like this, and no need to chide or chastise, because there is nothing Hephaistion can say that Alexander doesn't already know, hasn't already told himself.
He washes the dust and blood from Alexander's sunburnt skin, smoothes back his hair with tender, impersonal hands, waits for the faraway look in his eyes to subside.
They lie next to each other, breathing in time, and finally, after an endless stretch of time Hephaistion will never be able to quantify, Alexander rolls onto his side and curls into Hephaistion's body. Hephaistion presses his face to the nape of Alexander's neck, breathes in sweat and dust, and settles his hand over Alexander's heart, which beats steadily now, no wild madness in it.
He falls asleep at some point, wakes to find Alexander still in the same position. He hasn't slept, but his eyes are clear and his mouth is set in a firm line. He doesn't need to speak. His resolution is clear.
He won't let himself lose control like this again.
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~