After battle Alexander would always come to him no matter if he was well or injured. If he had been wounded and lay resting in his tent, he had always felt weak. But Alexander hadn't see it as weakness but rather as honourably gained battle trophies. And after a while Hephaestion didn't mind to be seen like this by his king.

Yet when he had on of those fevers and was unable to leave the bed, Hephaestion never sent word and ordered the healer and pages to remain silent. This was a weakness Alexander needed not to see since it wasn't a honourably earned weakness. Hephaestion also knew that he became emotional and needy when he wasn't well. Hephaestion didn't care about being emotional in front of his king but only if he was strong, on his own two legs and with a clear mind. The fever granted neither.

He didn't know why Alexander found out this time because when he appeared he clearly knew that Hephaestion wasn't well. Hephaestion didn't know if he might have asked for his Alexander or if the healer had called for him. Maybe it wasn't even the first time Alexander was here and he was too muddled to remember. This time the fever felt different, he felt so weak and didn't have mere shivers but cramps that left him nearly unconscious. He didn't know if he was glad that Alexander had come and held his hand and ordered him to get better, as if an illness was commanded as easily as an army. But he had seen pain in Alexander's eyes before his king had turned away. It made his chest constrict even more and breathing became as hard as it had sometimes been in India with all the heat and moisture; or high up in the mountains because of the wind and the cold. And as always, when Alexander turned from him he talked about his dreams and visions, his ideals he wanted to see realized. Hephaestion bit his lips when cramps hit him again. He never disturbed his Alexander when he was in his muse-kissed dreams.

* * *

When Alexander didn't hear a weak chuckle, an exasperated sigh or just his softly spoken name in answer to his ramblings, he turned around. The stare of cold eyes robbed him of his breath. He never wanted to see his Hephaestion, his Patroklos to go before him. Seconds later a wail of desperation and wrath tore his throat.