Note: This work is only loosely inspired by the movie; the rest of the inspiration comes from historical record (freely played with to suit artistic license) and Renault's novels. Companion pieces may be forthcoming. Enjoy.
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Ptolemy stood to the side, waiting. The guard on the door took no notice him, but he was young and foolish, one of Hephaestion's pages that he had managed not to drive to reassignment. Ptolemy gave him some credit for that, remembering the frightened looks of those that had been reassigned to him. He chuckled to himself, knowing well what Hephaestion's rage was.
Within, he heard Alexander's voice rise, and then quickly fall again. He imagined Hephaestion's frantic motion to stay quiet. A few moments later, Alexander left the room, promising the other man that he would return after the dinner. From within, Ptolemy heard Hephaestion's light reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere. Ptolemy smiled, even as he saw Alexander's frown. He ducked into the shadows, away from Alexander's sight.
After Alexander's footsteps had faded away down the corridor, Ptolemy went to the door, nodding to the page. He paused in the doorframe, watching Hephaestion. He was sitting at the window, a thin blanket around his shoulders as he looked out at the city and the dusk. He'd never been a large man, but now his thinness seemed unnatural. Ptolemy could hear his soft exhales and found himself unsure of what to say, or even why he had come. He took a deep breath. "I thought you were getting better!" He kept a laugh on the edge of his tongue. "You must be half-dead if you didn't hear me coming!"
Hephaestion turned slowly and smiled at him. "Ptolemy," he said, "I am happy to see you." The smile made his gaunt face grotesque.
"Truly, friend?" Ptolemy asked, returning the smile as a grin. "That was nothing like the enthusiastic greeting I'm used to. Surely I haven't insulted you somehow?" He was working to keep his voice light, and could only pray that Hephaestion would not notice. His friend was too pale, too drawn, too gray. The scars on his face were dark against his skin.
"No, no, Ptolemy." Hephaestion smirked at him. "No insult, unless you're letting slip something I didn't know about? They don't let me out much." He winked and made a small movement, indicating another chair. "Come, sit down. You're making me nervous standing over there."
Ptolemy steeled himself. "If you hear anything, I swear it wasn't me." He grinned as he came forward, pulling the chair to sit opposite Hephaestion.
Hephaestion laughed, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "I'm sure, Ptolemy. It is never you."
"Of course not!" He exclaimed as he leaned back in the chair, noting Hephaestion's remaining half smirk. A few silent minutes passed before Hephaestion's smile faded as he turned his eyes once more to the city and some other thought drifted through his mind. His hands lay listless in his lap, long and white and dry. Ptolemy reached across and took one, drawing Hephaestion's attention back. "How are you?" he asked earnestly, squeezing the cold hand.
"I am better today," Hephaestion answered, nodding his reassurance.
Ptolemy shook his head and looked at the floor. There was no reason that he could see to believe him. "That is what you said to Alexander—"
"Don't." Hephaestion stopped him, his fingers curling around Ptolemy's.
"Don't what?" Ptolemy glanced up and caught his eyes. "I know what you told Alexander, and I know you complained to him about trivial things, and I know," he paused, sighing, "That you did not mean any of it." He smiled. "I'm not as stupid as I look."
Hephaestion sighed and looked out at the setting sun. "You should be at dinner," he said, taking his hand from Ptolemy's. "Alexander will wonder where you are."
"If he's got any sense in him, he'll guess I'm here." Ptolemy rested his hand on Hephaestion's knee; he could feel the bones pushing against the skin. He waited a few moments, watching Hephaestion. He could see the minute shivering of his body as his fever grew. He had been told that this sickness had come suddenly, stealing along in the night like an assassin with a knife, yet now the cool hands of doubt took hold of him. He was too thin, the shiver too small, the look in his eyes too distant. Quickly, he ran over every memory he had of Hephaestion in the past months, and each instance brought to mind some oddness, some quirk of behavior, that now seemed clear. He remembered a feast in which Hephaestion took no part except to sit and smile and converse. He remembered the drain of color from his face and the dazed look in his eyes if he stood from a chair too quickly. He watched the other man's face. He asked gently, "Hephaestion, how long have you been ill?"
Hephaestion closed his eyes as if guessing Ptolemy's thoughts. He sucked in a quick, angry breath. "Why must you ask me these questions? Isn't it enough that I am here now, weak as a child, dependent and pathetic?" He opened his eyes, halting Ptolemy's response, and scanned the horizon. After a moment, he murmured, defeated and nearly inaudible, "I haven't felt like myself in months."
Ptolemy nodded. He felt that he had known in his heart, had guessed months ago, but had never dared to entertain the thought for long. It was not his place to do so. Perhaps it was Alexander's place. And yet, he thought, Alexander never would have known if Hephaestion had been able to drag himself from bed in the two days before. "You'll throw it off," he said, gripping Hephaestion's knee, "You've always recovered well from sickness. Give it a week or two of resting. You work too hard."
Hephaestion laughed harshly as he turned his eyes back to Ptolemy. "Don't say that!" He said bitterly, his voice almost hissing, "You might give me hope!"
Ptolemy chewed his lip and gripped Hephaestion's leg again, as if he could pass strength to the other man. "As I meant to, then."
Hephaestion laughed again, and Ptolemy shivered. "I am content," Hephaestion said, shaking his head. "Do not ruin my contentment by pretending that there is some chance that I will be fine and leading the cavalry in a week or two." He held up a hand to stop Ptolemy's answer. "No-- Only Alexander thinks that. And let him go on thinking it." Hephaestion sighed. "It eases his mind and lets him think on other things. He need not know until the moment comes."
"Hephaestion," Ptolemy leaned closer to him, suddenly desperate to turn his thoughts from this new pessimism. "Of course you will be better! You look better already!" He winced as the words left his mouth, knowing as he released them that they would only provoke the other man. Quickly he added, in an attempt to get ahead of Hephaestion's temper, "Have you spoken to the doctors? Surely they are not saying—"
"I speak to doctors all damn day, Ptolemy!" Hephaestion cut him off, the words spitting out like fire. "And all they tell me is to rest, rest, rest. Drink more water and rest!" He clenched his fists, and then released them, smoothing his fingers over his thighs. "They think I cannot see them, or that I cannot understand them if they speak in Persian among themselves, or in better Greek than I use."
Ptolemy's brows furrowed as he tried to find the right way to answer Hephaestion. There was no need. Turning away from him, Hephaestion began to speak again. "They think I do not know what they say, Ptolemy." His was absent, dreamlike. "But I hear them, when I can. They say they have seen this before and that I was nothing when I came here, and that my appetite will not return, and I will not walk again without some other's help." He sighed audibly, the sound seeming to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs. "They are just waiting, Ptolemy, as I am."
Ptolemy chewed his lip to bleeding and took both Hephaestion's hands in his. "What can I do?" he asked softly.
Hephaestion smiled, his face was open and kind and sad. Ptolemy sensed that he had said all he had wanted to, perhaps more than he had intended. "Alexander must not know," Hephaestion breathed, sounding as exhausted as if he had just climbed a mountain.
Ptolemy nodded. "He will not. Not until the moment comes." Hephaestion was shaking more visibly now, and his eyes were growing bright. It is always worse at night, Ptolemy thought, and reached up to push some of the hair away from Hephaestion's face.
"When," Hephaestion began, and then stopped, swallowing, "After...stay with him, Ptolemy. Stay with Alexander. He will need you."
"He needs you, my friend," Ptolemy answered, meeting Hephaestion's eyes and taking both his hands. "But I will stay with him and loyal to him, if that is what you ask."
Hephaestion nodded, but said nothing. Ptolemy could see the exhaustion in his face and felt the tremors that passed through him now. As the sun fell into the horizon, Hephaestion seemed to deteriorate faster. He would need to move to the bed soon, though to Ptolemy's eyes he did not even seem able to stand. Gently, remembering the guard outside the door, Ptolemy asked whether he should send for one of the pages to help him. Hephaestion shook his head. "I can get there myself," he said, looking resolutely at his feet. He smiled, then stood, steadying himself with Ptolemy's hands. Then slowly, deliberately, he began to make his way across the room. Ptolemy smiled, allowing himself the comfort of thinking that perhaps Hephaestion was not as sick as he seemed to think.
Then suddenly, Hephaestion dipped, retching onto the floor. Ptolemy moved to his side quickly, hastily calling for a page. He slipped an arm around Hephaestion's waist and pulled his hair back. Hephaestion straightened, leaning on Ptolemy, and smiled sadly. Ptolemy guided him to the bed, taking the blanket from Hephaestion's shoulders as he slid under the covers. Turning, he quickly directed the page, who looked frightened and far too young, to clean up the mess on the floor.
"I'm sorry," Hephaestion whispered, closing his eyes.
Ptolemy put a hand to his forehead and smiled. "It is nothing, Hephaestion." He ruffled the other man's hair. "Don't think about it," he said, forcing some levity into his voice, "I wouldn't want to harm that pride of yours."
Hephaestion smiled and looked up at him. "Don't make Alexander worry," he said.
"Oh yes, great Chiliarch," Ptolemy answered, smirking in return, "I shall obey your orders."
"You are a lowly general, Ptolemy," Hephaestion murmured back, his words slow with fatigue. "If you don't, I'll cut your head off."
Ptolemy smiled at the image, and then sparing a quick look for the page now scurrying out of the room with a bowl of dirty water and a soiled towel, sat back in one of the chairs by the window.
"What are you doing?" Hephaestion asked, looking at him from under half-lidded eyes.
"Making sure you don't try to go anywhere again." Ptolemy answered as he leaned back in the chair, making himself comfortable. Hephaestion gave a small smile, then shut his eyes. Ptolemy watched the rise and fall of his chest, and counted the breaths and the hitches. He would not worry Alexander, not yet. Let him know when the world would know. Ptolemy sighed. Let him enjoy tonight, and think nothing of Ker as he came towards Hephaestion.