Title: The fate of the forlorn

Author: Phaelas

Rating: PG-13

Summary: 'The king has finally lost his mind, was the word that had spread throughout the army.' And it's those who were once closest to him who take the worst of it.

Author's notes: A new, strange universe that hurried into my mind in search of more angst. I wrote the 11 parts of this story in 7 months, and now that it is finally finished, I figured it was time to post this here.The story has been up on my Livejournal for a longer time, so this might be familiar to you.

More author's notes: Even though this fic starts out with a little Hephaistion/Bagoas, that is not the main point of this story… somehow it feels important to mention that. It's not even that much about the slash.

Warnings: Angst! And not something for a quick read, as it expects the reader to play close attention, especially in the later chapters.

Feedback: Please. :)

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"Dance for me, Bagoas."

The words were spoken softly. Bagoas' eyes were deep and unreadable in the darkness, the light of the flames that seemed to be all around licking across his slender form, making him blend in… Moving with the agility of a cat, the young Persian did not hesitate the obey Hephaistion's command. Long, sparkling dark hair swirled as the eunuch spun and spun, arched, dropped, rose and let his body move in his dance with ever more abandon.

The Macedonian sat glued to the chair, blue eyes following the object of his attention closely. How those lean muscles moved beneath the perfect skin. How those dark eyes seemed to be forever focused on his own, so mysterious in the boy's silence… "Ah, Bagoas… the most exquisite being I ever laid eyes on…" A hard breath left his lips. "Kiss me." It was command or a question but it mattered little.

It was as if the other had needed no time at all to move closer. Bagoas' dark hair surrounded them both, shielded them from light and any alien gazes. His lips were cool and soft. A sweet essence filled Hephaistion's mouth, soothing his parched mouth and throat as he gulped down the clear water that spilled forward…

With a small mewl, Hephaistion stirred beneath his blanket and a moment later his eyes opened. His left eye stared into a mass of black hair, his right eye peered over it and its gaze rested on the inside of the simple tent. A new day.

Eyes closed again quickly, and his eyebrows knitted together as he absentmindedly stroked the dry skin of the young Persian's arm. Fresh water…

He swallowed with visible trouble and a sigh left his lips. Finally, he rose himself on one elbow and stared down on the frail face of the eunuch. The beautifully curved lips were cracked. Hephaistion ran one finger over a still slightly bruised cheekbone, and another sigh followed the first.

When he left the tent, the camp was just awakening. Another long day of travelling was ahead, because they had to move on, were they ever to reach the other side of this desert. The dark-haired man stared out over the sandy plains, turned away from where the larger tents stood huddled together, his eyes squeezed against the already bright sun. There was not a trace of humidity in the air, it seemed, and his tongue fruitlessly flicked over his painful lips, a new frown settling over his forehead.

Every day proved a new challenge. In more ways than one.

Hephaistion stiffened as the raw voice called out somewhere behind him. Alexander was yelling again, to anyone, to no one, to everyone and especially those who meant well. And who didn't? Other voices could try to calm him down, try to argue, but their attempt would be in vain.

The king has finally lost his mind, was the word that had spread throughout the army.

Hephaistion tried to shut out all sounds, but didn't miss the rush of the tent flap behind him. He spun around and was just in time to catch the eunuch from leaving, his hand closing around the thin wrist. "Bagoas, where are you going?"

The young man's face was dirty, his hair dull, his body beyond lean. The brown eyes filled with distress. Some, the desert had struck worse than others.

"I must go to him!"

"No," Hephaistion told him, his voice friendly but urgent, and a his head gave a firm shake. "Stay here, Bagoas."

Exhausted as he was, the Persian still managed to put up quite a struggle, but Hephaistion's arms relentlessly closed around him. "Save your strength, Bagoas, please!" he urged softly.

The Persian boy stilled for a moment, and both their gazes were attracted to where a shaking man crawled in front of their king. But Alexander hardly seemed to notice him, just walked around and continued his tirade… with every hard word, Bagoas flinched.

"I must go to him!" He twisted in Hephaistion's grasp. "He needs me, I must! Release me!"

Hephaistion kept his voice down. "Listen to me. Listen to me, Bagoas! He doesn't want you there, he needs no one anymore. We must let Alexander fight his own demons."

Had the young man truly forgotten?

"He left you to die." The words were a desperate plea. Finally, Bagoas slumped down in his arms, his knees giving away as dry sobs shook his body. The soft wail coming from the once perfect mouth was not one of any language but that of the heart. There was no one who wouldn't understand it.

The king's two forlorn lovers caught some attention, and heads were shaken in sympathy.

Hephaistion's face scrunched up as if in pain, and his eyes traced across the younger's face, so heartbreaking in its grief. The eunuch's pain wouldn't go away by pretending it wasn't there, even if he was past the point of feeling any pity for himself… He fought back the tears that burned right behind his eyelids. Don't waste the water.

Alexander's ring had left a darker spot on the Persian's face, there where it had created a bruise on the moment the king had struck Bagoas, the one most loyal to him. When he had left him on the open sand, not once looking back, and all other feet passed the king's Persian lover by as well.

But shared fates formed joined souls. Hephaistion had gone back.