The Missing Chapter 1: Sickness, an alexander fanfic

Title: "Missing"

Author: Baliansword

Rating: T for Teen

Chapter: 1 of ?, "Sickness"

Pairings: Alexander/Hephaestion, and possibly others as we continue

Summary: In the midst of a grand campaign Hephaestion becomes ill, and is then taken prisoner by a band of Indian rebels just after recovering. The experience will change him, Alexander, and many others.

Warnings: Violence, sexual content, strong language, the usual.

A/N: To begin, in my opinion Cassander was indeed part of the campaigns in the East. Also, this is not historically accurate, for there is no account of Hephaestion being taken prisoner. However, it is purely for entertainment value, and I own nothing apart from my own words.

Dedication: For my readers, Travis, Maverick, Casey, and the teachers that I'm not listening to when writing this.

The sun had slipped over the horizon early it seemed, leaving a blood-red hue on the ground. It was so different, this earth, than that of the soil in Pella. India seemed constantly wet, as if secretly it rained. Some even had begun to believe that they had circled the world, and that when it rained the water was falling from this earth onto that of Pella. It was a foolish thought, but one which held merit with some. With the damp ground came other differences. Vines and lush ferns sprouted from the ground, and the trees had thin trunks, but still were as strong as the greatest oaks. Damp earth brought on the cold, infection, and disease. Snakes kept themselves hidden here, disguised as just another root, and maliciously attack soldiers left and right. However, for all of the faults of the earth good things did come from it. Fertile soil would better Macedonian crops, and rains provided water. Wild vegetables and other delicacies grew on the ground as well, or came from it. For each negative there seemed to be a positive. Poisonous vines, which burned the skin when touched, were countered by small roots from a fern that lessened (and at times seemed to cure) fever. Where there were snakes that could kill a grown man with one bite, there were also snakes that were large enough to fry over a fire, and snakes that swallowed eggs whole so that when they were caught and killed the eggs could be extracted. Some bugs smelled terrible, but others tasted good enough to eat if one felt as if they were starving. Yes, India was very different, but the earth did remain slightly the same. If you died, you would return to earth, so in such aspects it was all the same to many.

When they had arrived they had hated this place. It was cold at first, and it rained constantly, yet after the rain the humidity would set in. This place was horrid to begin with, and still was, but they had grown accustom to it. When they had first set up the camps it had been a complete disaster. To begin the winds before the rain had torn them, and when it did rain these tears let in the cold rain. If a tent was left unmarred the rain would still find a way in, and if not from above, it would come from below in floods. It seemed as if there was no higher ground when it rained here. Flooding brought not only cold, but also snakes and other atrocities that many had never before seen. After one was soaked with the cold rain it seemed impossible to warm again until the sun returned, which at times was not for days. Fires were put out and wood would no longer light, and even oil lamps were knocked over, and even the oil when submerged long enough became ineffective. The tents were not the only problem area either. Setting up the granary was also a problem, partially for the same reasons. However there were also animals from the trees that would leap down, and they were wise like humans, for soon enough these beasts were opening the doors and stealing the grain. Weevils also found their way into the grain; they would not kill a man but did not add any flavor to the already bland grains and rice. The horses were not ready for the weather either and many now had foundered, their feet in horrid conditions that even the finest blacksmiths could not attend to. The humidity would have seemed better when discussed in the rain, but even this was not so. Humidity hurt the men, draining them of the water they had in their bodies. The horses could not go far without walking either, which was a terrible cycle as well. When a horse foundered weight was to be relieved from their back, but when they had to carry water for themselves it was instead added, and there were but few horses that did not have this problem. The heat also helped rot the grains, which often were wet and rot faster. All in all India was not where they desired to be, but yet again they no longer noticed. It was now a part of the everyday life of those that followed Alexander on his campaign east.

"How many," the king asked on a humid day. He sat in his tent, hiding from the blistering sun, but the temperature was not much better. Golden hair stuck to the back of his neck, irritating his skin all the more, for he'd not had a chance to bathe in a good week. Exhaustion showed upon his features as well. Beneath his eyes there were dark lines where taunt skin once was. His face had once been shaven, which made him look younger, but today dark hairs covered his cheeks and chin. It was not that it made him look worse, but rather different, and a bit older. He almost resembled his father, briefly, but no one was willing to say it. His eyes seemed almost vacant as well, as if they were drying up with everything else. Yet still he was king, and still he was in charge, and still he was working. The rest of the men were doing what they felt best, some hunting, and others sitting –they had the day to do as they pleased. He, however, still needed numbers.

"Less thirty," his companion, who sat across from him, answered. He was not in a better condition either. His hair was much worse, long and beginning to knot, and it too clung to his neck. He wore a noticeable beard, for he'd given up trying to maintain any sense of youth. At one time he'd looked like a gift from Eros, and still did, but Ares had touched him now. A scar covered his forehead, another his cheek, and many more wound about his body. Yet no matter how somnolent he appeared there was one feature that never seemed to change about him. His cerulean eyes were still bright, like guiding stars or water from the Mediterranean, and in such eyes his soul was bound. Reaching up he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping pooling sweat away, and then replaced a finger to his temple. Again he looked down at the papyrus before him and shook his head before pushing it away, angered at what he saw, for he knew there was nothing he could do to change such. Yes, thirty men had died in the last week. It was a displeasing number.

"Ranks," Alexander then asked. He did not need to know, for truly it did not matter. Any man loss was an important man, and he had learned such over the years. Never in training did an instructor say that men were equal. It was to be thought, but never taught. Many rulers believed that a foot soldier was worth less than a skilled horseman. Alexander, on the other hand, believed that all men were needed. Without one man nothing was balanced amongst the rest. As he glanced to Hephaestion he blinked lazily, yearning for some sort of sleep, but he knew that it would not come. Before Hephaestion had a chance to reply Bagoas stepped through the flaps of the tent, entering, carrying a tray with him. As ordered it was nothing special, stale bread and molding, almost rotten cheese, but it would do for a lunch. Two cups of water sat on the tray as well, still bubbling from the boiling process it had gone through. Cross Hephaestion looked away and began to chew his last nail, which somehow had clung to a dirty finger, and waited for Bagoas to depart. He did not want him there, not in India, and certainly not near Alexander. Yet, like India, it was something that he was getting used to day by day, and he knew that soon Bagoas would not bother him in the slightest. He would just be another pawn in this elaborate game of war.

"Footmen," Hephaestion finally answered as Bagoas left. He picked up a cup of water, glanced at it for a moment, and then began to drink. The water almost burned his throat, but he did not care. He was greedy when it came to water now, or when it came to anything really. It was something that he hated, to know that he would likely kill a man for water now if he had to, even though he knew that in all likelihood there would be more water to follow this cup. Eventually it would rain again, or they'd find another stream of sorts. Never before had he envisioned himself dying of thirst, not even when they crossed into the deserts of Persia did he foresee such a fate. Despite the alluring green ferns that were visible just outside the tent there was not much water. India cheated the eyes of men that tried to cross her. She protected those that Alexander sought out, and Hephaestion had a feeling that wherever these tribes of men were they had plenty of water. Like all species they had adapted.

"We will find more food soon," Alexander finally muttered. It would have helped if he would have believed himself, but even he was no longer sure of anything. He turned his attention to Hephaestion, who was staring out at something outside of the tent, and merely took in the sight of him. Never before had he seen Hephaestion so weak in appearance, even if his morale was still better than even his own. Slowly he was losing weight, and the longer they marched without a settled area to move in to, the worse his color got. Surely he tanned in Persia, but now he was becoming pale, paler than any other Alexander had seen. Slowly he had begun to worry about him. Perhaps he was becoming ill, and if he was Alexander knew that he would never admit it to Alexander. He would keep it from him, if only in hopes to keep Alexander focused on others, and on his mission. Oh dear Hephaestion, the protector of all separate from himself. Alexander licked his lower lip, which by now was flaking, and continued to wonder about his lover's condition.

"Are you well," Alexander asked. Hephaestion did not reply. Instead he continued to stare, as if looking at something, but Alexander knew better. Hephaestion was once again remembering their youth in Pella and Mieza. He could not blame him either, such times were far better than these. Yet each time Hephaestion brought these memories to him his eyes clouded over, rippling like waves, as he recollected. Alexander smiled, pleased just to watch him, and then he spoke again. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," his companion then responded, turning his attention back to him. He frowned for a moment, glancing at his hands as if he were going to speak, then shook his head once. Again he uttered that he was thinking of nothing, but again Alexander knew better. Yes, Hephaestion was once again wondering what would have happened if they had not left Pella. Every now and then Hephaestion would wonder, whether he admitted to it or not, but in the end he would be pleased with the outcome of their Fates. In truth Alexander knew why he came, for him, and they both honored such a pact more than anything else. To the ends of the world Hephaestion would follow him, never once asking anything of him, and never once questioning him, as long as he had his companionship. There were too few men like Hephaestion.

"Do you think me a fool, as the rest of our Companions now do?" Part of him did not want Hephaestion to answer. If he answered truthfully, as he always did, then he may indeed admit to thinking that he was in fact a fool. If a thousand men said such it would not be true. However, if Hephaestion said it just once, then the words would become a knife, on which would twist into Alexander's heart, becoming the end of him. Hephaestion did not answer immediately, but instead sat thinking, this time about Alexander. After a few moments, in which Alexander did not dare breathe, he responded, giving his answer.

"You are not a fool Alexander," Hephaestion told him. As he spoke he wrung his hands together in the hopes of peeling the flaking skin away. He was not nervous, but rather he was fearful of what was going to become of them, the whole of Alexander's empire. "You may be a bit imprudent at times, but you are no fool. It is not so bad, India. We just think it Hades because we are losing to elements that you yourself cannot combat. If it were but a bit different, were we already further into the hearts of these jungles, then you and I both know thirty men would be the price."

Nothing was said after these words. Alexander knew that silence was needed and Hephaestion was obliged to let him have it. In silence he sat, and then he finally found a point in the tent to stare at. He wondered how long it had been since he had lain with Hephaestion. He could not recall such an event in recent memory and was deeply sorry for it. Yes, Roxanne had been in his bed, but there was a reason for this. Still, despite his efforts, she was not with child. Rumors were beginning to surface, spoken here and there, but Alexander knew that he heard few of them. There were many reasons for this, but he knew the majority of the ill-spoken words were put down by Hephaestion, who more or less controlled what was said before Alexander at all times. Bagoas had been to his bed as well, to satisfy a very simple need, but for nothing more. Hephaestion had been forced to understand this, not because Alexander had asked him to, yet instead because he would not approach Alexander. Never would he deny his king, friend, or lover of anything that he wanted, and in this case it happened to be a Persian eunuch who represented a youth that Alexander and Hephaestion now felt they could only remember. Still, Alexander knew that the next chance he had needed to be spent with Hephaestion and no other. He missed his touch, his affections, and most of all he missed having someone in his bed that he could trust. No, not only could he trust him, but he knew also that Hephaestion would be there in the morning when he awoke.

"You need rest," Alexander warned. Hephaestion turned his eyes back to him, and once again Alexander saw how pallid his complexion was. His eyes almost appeared to be sinking back as well, and not only were his lips merely parched, but they looked as if they were cracking due to another ailment. Without faltering he leaned forward and placed the back of his hand against Hephaestion's forehead. He should have been sweating and warm, due to the humidity, but instead he was sweating and cold. Hephaestion tilted his head back and wiped a bead of remaining sweat from his forehead. Alexander frowned, for he had known all along that Hephaestion would hide a sickness from him, but secretly he had hoped he would not.

"I will send for a physician," he declared. Hephaestion shook his head though and placed a hand over Alexander's wrist, drawing him back. It was odd that the most powerful man in the world could be stopped so suddenly. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Hephaestion's eyes, and he then sat back in his chair.

"There are others that need them more than I." Hephaestion always had such a response when Alexander wanted him to see a doctor. At the battle of Gaugamela he had been cut deeply in the back, and instead of seeing a doctor he waited. Alexander had ordered him tended too, but his word was not worth much to Hephaestion when he believed he was doing the right thing. For five hours he went untreated, and he now bore a scar upon his back as a reminder. Had he been treated sooner Philip, the royal physician, believed he could have helped it heal without such an incident. His other sicknesses and injuries were treated the same, once again proving that he cared more for others than he did for himself, which pained Alexander. There were so many that wished to see Hephaestion fall, yet here he was, protecting them when they did not even know.

"You must see Philip. I will not lose you," Alexander vowed. He reached out again and wiped hair away from Hephaestion's temple. Hephaestion did not seem to respond, but instead sat silently, as if he did not care either way what Alexander did to him. Just as Alexander was beginning to think this he turned his head though and faintly smiled. It seemed to drain the last of his energy, this faint gesture, and he then reached up and placed his hand over Alexander's. He squeezed Alexander's hand softly, then pushed himself out of his chair. Alexander remained and watched Hephaestion pick up his cup, which still held plenty of water.

"Where are you going?"

"I said I would rummage for wild staples with Cassander and some of his men. Ptolemy might show himself as well, but you can not be sure with him." As Alexander frowned at him Hephaestion let out a soft breath of air. He knew well enough that it was not the best idea, especially if he were growing weak with sickness. Hephaestion saw Alexander's concern, but was ready to reassure him that he would in fact be fine. "We will only be gone for an hour, and likely no longer. Cassander tires easily when searching for something as trivial as food, especially if he does not have to fight over the food."

"There are others that could go," Alexander countered. Something told him, deep within his chest, that Hephaestion was not in the condition to leave. He looked tired, so very tired, as if at any moment he would fall asleep. Alexander stood and went to his side, wrapping his arms around him. For the first time he truly felt how thin Hephaestion was growing; he was hardened muscles over bones it seemed. His beard brushed against the crook of Alexander's neck, and for the first time he actually knew what the thicker hair felt like against his skin. As he drew back Hephaestion placed a quick kiss against his forehead, as a friend alone might do, and it caused Alexander to worry more, although it was meant to calm him. It was a farewell kiss, not one that reassured him that Hephaestion would be coming back soon.

Hephaestion left nonetheless, edging silently out of the tent. Alexander stepped out behind him but did not have the heart to follow him. There was a barrier between the two of them, one which Alexander was responsible for putting up, yet Hephaestion took blame for it as well. As Hephaestion walked away Alexander glanced toward Cassander, who was readying his horse. Cassander and Hephaestion had never been friends, but this was what kept them the closest. They did not trust one another to complete a task alone, without the opposite's opinion, and hence they watched over one another like hawks. Work only was done better when the two fought amongst each other, so it did in fact make sense that the two would go together. Cassander then mounted his horse and made his way across the camp to where Hephaestion was mounting. Cassander had changed as well, but in subtle ways. All along Alexander had known him to be cunning, but now he was too cunning for his own good. When an argument broke out he would side with those closest, yet farthest away, from Alexander. This meant, in short, that he would rather align himself with Roxanne than Hephaestion. The idea was that Roxanne would then turn Alexander against himself, since she was so close to Alexander, if only Cassander instructed her to do so. Hephaestion had caught on long ago, and had already forewarned Alexander. Yet, in growing wiser, he was losing himself to the anger that boiled beneath his skin. He, perhaps like Alexander, was born of hate. While Alexander had learned to love Cassander had not; Cassander hated better than the Furies.

He was not sure if he trusted Cassander to be alone with Hephaestion, but knew that Hephaestion was not worried. They had been alone together before, and never before had it bothered them. If there were one man that Cassander could be trusted with it would be Hephaestion. Beneath his hatred for the blue-eyed general there was respect, and even envy would not allow him to harm Hephaestion. Folding his arms over his chest Alexander watched as Hephaestion mounted his own stead and rode through the rest of the camp. Cassander followed closely at his side, and soon they had gone from sight. What worried him most was not that Hephaestion was with Cassander, or even truly that Hephaestion appeared to be ill, but he feared instead that Hephaestion no longer loved him as he once had. It was still there, a silent love that kept Hephaestion at his side protecting him, but the adoration seemed to be fading. His fault, perhaps, but he still did not want such an outcome. Unable to find something else to do Alexander stepped back into his tent. The very moment he stopped worrying about Hephaestion, nearly an hour later, was when he heard a horse galloping into the camp. Instinctively he rushed out of the tent, and he saw Cassander turn his horse around in a quick circle once more, creating dust, but finally stopping. Immediately Alexander approached, fear and adrenaline coursing through him. Grabbing on to the reins of the horse he jerked it still as Cassander dismounted.

"Where is he," Alexander asked. Cassander took charge of the horse, already knowing Alexander's plan. Alexander mounted the gray gelding and then turned him abruptly back to the road they had entered and left from.

"Not far," Cassander assured him, for the first time answering a question and saying nothing more. "The heat exhausted him, nothing more. I rode ahead, but he is being brought in. It would suit you better to call for Philip immediately, and stay."

"Get the physician," Alexander ordered as he jerked the reins away from Cassander. Cassander did not seem to mind the abrupt force that Alexander used. Had they been in other circumstances he would have minded, but for the moment this was acceptable behavior he supposed. "I don't care if you have to stop him from an amputation, have him in Hephaestion's tent and ready. Go!"

Moments later Hephaestion lay on his bed, still arguing that he was fine. In his mind he had just become hot for a moment, and simply lost consciousness due to the humidity. Once more Alexander forced him back on the bed, and Philip began his examination once more. Cassander, who had called the medic, also had made sure to order water for Hephaestion. As Philip checked his pulse and breathing Alexander tipped a cup of cold water against his lips. Hephaestion drank, spilling some in the process, but Alexander forced him to finish the cup without stopping. This left Hephaestion a bit breathless, and a bit irritated, but Alexander figured he would rather have Hephaestion glare at him for a moment than spend a moment without him. It was a fair trade. When Philip was done looking Hephaestion over sighed, with his eyes but luckily not physically, and glanced in Alexander's general direction. The old man stood, and without saying a word to Hephaestion stepped outside of the tent. Alexander, like a puppy would its master, obediently followed. After Alexander was sure that no others could hear, especially Hephaestion, he turned his full attention to his doctor.

"It is a heavy fever that has caused him to wither so," Philip began. "We both know that he is not eating well, and that what he does eat is not substantial, compared to what his body needs. I told you years ago, when you were but a child, that he would not surpass twenty years. He has surprised me, but the illness he fought so many years ago did in fact harm his body. It took a toll on him my king, and still each new illness takes more from him. His lungs are bothered by the water in the air."

"What must be done," Alexander asked, his lower lip quivering. He was well enough aware that Hephaestion was susceptible to illness. Not but a few days after he'd returned from his time in Athens had he and Alexander wandered out of the palace one night. Exploring, as they always had, Hephaestion had fallen into a cold stream. At the time they had laughed, and Hephaestion had for hours after that remained at Alexander's side, feeling nothing but joy. However, the next morning he was too cold and stiff to move, and Philip had pronounced his lungs infected from the cold. The sickness was supposed to kill him, and Olympias had told her son to say his goodbye. Alexander did not, and for it he bargained with the gods, and they were tempted enough to give Hephaestion his life. The illness left, but the marks upon his lungs did not. Each sickness after he grew weaker, then would be fine until the next ailment stuck. Yet with each diagnosis, and each year, Philip feared for the general's life. This case was no different, if not more worrisome, for in India they knew so little about their surroundings. Infections spread faster here, claiming more lives, and without proper rest and care Hephaestion would just become another tally on a list of those that had passed on the Indian campaign.

"He must be cool during the day, and warm at sunset. His body will need water throughout the day, at least a bucket full. Force him to drink more if you are able to. Stop drinking the water straight off the fire, still boiling. Make sure his water is either cool, or at the most the temperature of the air, but stick with cool if you are able. No more grain either, just broth and liquid for the time being. Restrict him from all activity, and remember Alexander, I cannot guarantee his health."

"He faired so well in Babylon," Alexander noted. It was the dry air that kept them all well. Babylon was almost like Macedonia, not far off in temperature, so they had been used to it. Here it rained for days, then was dark for the rest, and on a rare occasion one would see the sun. Alexander nodded to Philip, who walked away to tend to others, and then silently stepped back into the tent. As he did Hephaestion turned his head, watching Alexander approach, and slowly began to frown. He did not wish for Alexander to see his pain and tightened his face, his lips forming a thin line insignificant of his feelings, and waited for his lover to sit. Alexander did so, taking Hephaestion's hand, and he then kissed his knuckles.

"It is fate," Hephaestion whispered, "for me to go first."

"No," Alexander disagreed immediately. He reached out and ran his hand over Hephaestion's cheek. "It is nothing more than a fever Hephaestion. There is no harm in having a fever. You must but rest; that is all."

"Then why do you look so sad," Hephaestion asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even though he felt tired, weak, he tried to keep Alexander from knowing how much pain he was in. With each breath it ached, but he needed to ignore it, at least for now. He wound his hand tighter with Alexander's, locking their fingers together, and then rested his head against his pillow. "You know that I hate it when you look sad. It hurts me more to see you in pain than to feel my own."

"Hephaestion, you are too brave," Alexander replied. "For once I would like for you to remember that you are allowed to be ill, that you can tell me if you are. I was a fool to bring us here, to India, but I want it so badly that I cannot turn back."

"You're stubborn," he grinned. Then, more seriously, he said, "No matter where we are Alexander we are in the right place. I know what India means to you. When it is all conquered you have said you'll turn back and conquer her once over again, as you would do with your entire empire. Soon we'll fall off the edge of the map Alexander, but for you your men would do so without question. They love you Alexander, more than you can know, and they need you. They need you to be strong."

"You make me strong."

"Which is why I said nothing," the other admitted, a bit of sorrow showing in his cerulean eyes. "Had you begun to worry about me you would not be able to focus on your other obligations."

"You are my only obligation," Alexander assured him. Not much more was said. Hephaestion grew weaker and weaker by the moment, and after a few moments of resting his eyes he was sleeping soundly. Alexander knew well enough that it was the only sleep he's had in days. Between watching over Alexander, his troops, other troops, and other general affairs of the campaign, he'd forgotten that he needed to sleep. Sure enough it had taken its toll on him. Alexander continued to watch over him, but soon enough he heard approaching footfalls. Glancing over he saw Cassander at the tent's entry, waiting patiently to be told to enter. Alexander silently waved him in with a nod, and Cassander entered. Cassander knew well enough that Hephaestion needed rest and made sure to remain completely silent.

"Will he be alright," asked Cassander. He truly cared as well, which was odd for him. Yet at the same time he had been there when Hephaestion had toppled to the ground, a heap of undeniable beauty, but also of complete self-unawareness. Alexander nodded and as he did so Cassander made himself comfortable in a chair. He continued to glance around the tent, as if he were a thief scoping out his prize. Yet soon his eyes returned to Hephaestion and he let out a breath.

"He works too hard," he added. Again Alexander merely nodded, not one for words when he was so concerned about his love. It was understandable though, even if Cassander would have rather had Alexander speak to him. They'd grown apart in these years, true enough, but at times he still wished they could be friends. In truth he was a general, and Alexander a king; beyond such titles there was less a friendship. Cassander reached up, placing a hand to his temple, and then sat in complete silence. Until Alexander dismissed him he would remain, largely in part to the fact that there was nothing else to do in India.

"He was not born unto this," Alexander whispered after a long stretch of silence had passed them. At first Cassander was unsure if he had truly heard such words, but he knew that he had. Turning his eyes to Alexander he stared at him, wanting more than just the meager statement. Soon he went on, though the grief remained in his voice. "You were born to kill Cassander, as was I. He was not meant to trek across the world with us. Had he never come back from Athens he would now be a great philosopher, teaching your bastard brothers, and perhaps my own."

"No," Cassander contradicted. "Are you so injudicious to truly believe that? Had Hephaestion remained in Athens yes, he could have been a wonderful philosopher. It was what Aristotle had always wanted from him, true enough, but you forget something Alexander. He loves you, he did before he went to Athens, and he loves you even now. His father would only be able to keep him in Athens for so long, and then one day he would wind up at the palace doorstep, come all the way home by way of foot. The same goes for if you would have told him to remain, yet you have not the heart to do, but that is beside the example. He would have followed, using any means he could. For after all, how can you refuse a foot soldier? He'd have come Alexander, no matter what, and never would you deny him."

"I cannot go on without him."

"He already should be ashes," the other said. Alexander instantly, shocked, stared at him, his mouth a bit agape. Cassander shrugged, not worried in the slightest about insulting Hephaestion, or Alexander, in such a way. "Did Philip not say long ago that he would not see his twentieth year? He went on though, much to your pleasure, and his own. Perhaps once again he will be fine. If not, well, then you must say goodbye and be glad to have had him for the time that you did."

After saying this Cassander stood, leaving the room in the same silence that he had entered. Alexander listened to him as he left but did not avert his eyes from Hephaestion. Sooner or later he would wake, and he needed to be there for him when he did. Slowly midday began to wan into dusk, and just as the sun was setting on the horizon Hephaestion twitched in his sleep, the most movement he'd made in hours. Alexander reached out, taking his hand, and kissed his knuckles, a sign of affection that Hephaestion had always appreciated. Hephaestion's eyelids twitched as Alexander did this, and unhurriedly his eyelids opened, revealing his bloodshot, fevered eyes. He let out a short breath, his shredding lips burning, and tried to form a confident smile for Alexander.

"Drink some water," Alexander said. He released Hephaestion's hand for a moment and reached for the cool water that sat on the table. He lifted it then to Hephaestion's lips, taking Hephaestion's hand back into his free hand. He held him tightly as Hephaestion arched up, bending his stiff neck awkwardly, so that he would better be able to drink. Every move pained him, whether he wanted to show it or not. Alexander waited for him to finish the water, which Hephaestion did without much of a struggle, before he fell back against the pillows. Again he drew in a few short breaths, then released them before glancing around the room. Alexander felt the warmth of his forehead, which was perhaps a bit better than it had been, and then rose. After finding a dry cloth he picked it up, placing it in the cool basin of water that had been left for Hephaestion, and then wrung it out. Sitting back down he wiped the cloth over Hephaestion's face, and as always Hephaestion was all too proud to have Alexander tend to him so. He reached up to still Alexander's hand, but his attempt failed. Alexander ignored him and went on, then lifted the cloth. Once more he returned to the basin, repeating the previous process. He next dripped water onto Hephaestion's lips and with the tip of his forefinger tried to get the valley-like cracks to soak in the moisture. Then, for no real reason at all, he ran his hand over Hephaestion's cheek. He felt the coarse hair beneath his fingers, so different from the hair which fell against Hephaestion's shoulders. There were a few hairs that did not match, about ten to be precise; instead of a deep brown these hairs were not gray, but silver. He'd said nothing to Hephaestion about this change before, and had not truly noticed it in the beginning. Now it was as if he'd never seen him without the neatly trimmed hair.

"You haven't looked at me like this in months," Hephaestion announced serenely. Alexander lifted his gaze, his eyes giving away his regret, and made the attempt to say something. However he said nothing, and Hephaestion then reached up, placing a cold hand against Alexander's cheek. "There is nothing to look so repentant over. I hate this, being cared for by you, when there are so many others that need you attention."

"Only you need my attention," Alexander proclaimed. Hephaestion did not seem satisfied with his answer. It was not in his character to be the one that was waited on hand and foot. He hated it; he wanted others attended to. "Tomorrow I will attend to other matters, if you insist. But for now I will remain here. Would you like more water? Are you hungry? Fresh broth has been made for you; it is yours when you ask for it, the broth. There is vegetable as well as chicken broth, whatever you wish. I am afraid there is no fruit juice though, no tea, and you're not to be drinking wine."

"I am better now." He added, "I am always better when you are near."

"I received a letter from Barsine yesterday," Alexander said, not knowing precisely why the information was important. It seemed to draw Hephaestion's attention though, which was well enough. He wanted to see him eat, and soon. Disgusting grain had ruined him. It was about time he had chicken broth, even if they had to kill every last chicken in the entire supply line. He went on, "She says that the boy grows. She writes that he has my demeanor, yet his eyes are blue like the oceans, like your own. His hair is yours as well."

"Your mother has passed through you," Hephaestion replied doubtfully. "No one child can have two blood fathers. He is your blood Alexander, not mine. Despite what you advised I never found myself in her bed. I do not think that I shall have sons Alexander, I fear the time for that has passed."

"You will," he assured him, squeezing his hand in his own. "You will have sons Hephaestion, soon. We will both have sons, when this is all through with, and they will grow together. While we grow old they will take over the empire, and then we'll give it all to them when we ourselves are old and frail. I'll even bring my mother to Babylon when this is through with. We'll hold our center there, and Barsine and the boy…my son…he will grow up as if he were my own. Yes, he is mine."

"I never said that he was not," Hephaestion agreed. Alexander had wed Barsine, yet many were unsure of the match. It was said throughout the Macedonian ranks that she knew how to love a man, but loved men. When she conceived no one truly believed that it was Alexander's child, apart from Alexander at first, but merely out of pride. As soon as Hephaestion saw the child he saw his father in him, in character.

"She wrote to me as well." Already they both knew of whom Alexander was speaking. He would not refer to her as Olympias, and he would not call her mother unless in her presence, which he'd not been in for years. Hephaestion tucked his head into the furs again, in an attempt to warm himself, and stared up at Alexander. Alexander continued to play with their entwined fingers, secretly feeling guilty that it took Hephaestion being ill before he would do such a simple, yet loving, gesture. "Things are well in Pella, unchanged really. However she is still unhappy. I cannot understand her Hephaestion; what have I not given her? I give her a palace, everything that she ever asks for. I promised to bring her to Babylon, just not now."

"She is your mother, Alexander," Hephaestion reminded him. Alexander would always forget this. He looked at her now, now that he was away from her, as if she were a Harpy of sorts. Yes, she'd raised him in an abstract manner, which may have but was likely not good for Alexander, but she'd raised him. She'd protected him for so many years. Most of all, she had loved him, even if her actions and words did not always seem to suggest such. "All that she could ever want from you is your love, which you are so afraid to give to her. I cannot blame you, for I was there as well, but believe me when I tell you that Olympias loves you. You have no concept of what it is like to love someone only to have them look away from you."

"And you do," Alexander asked, before he could stop himself. Hephaestion bit his lower lip, glancing away, and Alexander then realized the mistake that he had made. Hephaestion did know such a feeling; he knew it each night that he took Bagoas into his bed. Alexander swallowed hard. "Hephaestion, you know that no other could ever mean anything to me, not in the slightest."

"I have no reason to argue such," Hephaestion said after a long pause. He then pushed himself up in his bed and looked around his tent once more. Suddenly they had run out of things to say to one another. Alexander, not knowing precisely what to do, rose and went to get Hephaestion broth. When he returned Hephaestion was asleep once more.

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed! Drop me a comment, I would really like to know what you think of this so far. In the next chapter Hephaestion will recover from his illness, and things will continue to get more interesting. However, I'm not going to ruin it for you just yet!