Story Title: A Life to be Forgotten
Summary: After the execution of Philotas, Cassander thinks about his own life. One-shot (for now).
A/N: Okay, I didn't put any extra research into this, so I doubt if there's much merit to this story. It's just a little something that popped into my head while watching the first half of Oliver Stone's Alexander the other day and thinking back on some perspectives I've heard people express about Cassander's character. This perception probably won't coincide with anything else I write about him and certainly isn't part of the fan-verse I've created in Lovers of the Divine Lion.
Warnings: Aside from being rather melancholy and perhaps making you want to smack Cassander in the side of the head, I can't think of anything else that could be problematic in this story.
Disclaimer: I don't own any rights associated with Oliver Stone's movie. I just wanted to borrow Cassander and his strange, intriguing eyes for awhile. (Has anyone else noticed what an odd shade of brown they are? They're almost red the way I see it.)
The camp was quiet and solemn, leaving a strained feeling in the afternoon air. The perimeter remained sealed, not to be reopened until Cleitus and his companion returned from carrying out their orders. The loss of Philotas would not change things in Alexander's great army all that much, but having to execute Parmenion as well to prevent further danger from arising was sure to deal a hard blow to everyone's mindset and morale.
Cassander wandered down to the banks of the narrow river that provided water for the camp. The Companions' Council had broken up shortly before Cleitus had left and would most likely not meet again until he returned. With the army at a standstill, there was little for Cassander to do until that time, his typical duties on hold along with the march.
In the light of the declining sun, Cassander settled himself between the gnarled roots of a ragged willow tree growing next to a shallow portion of the river. He pulled off his soft leather boots and stretched out his legs. The polished river stones of the bank had soaked up the day's warmth, and now they radiated that pleasant heat into Cassander's bare feet and calves. For awhile he did nothing more than watch the shallow waters dance and swirl around a spread of half-buried boulders, allowing the trickling song to sooth him further.
As the river lulled away the nerves and tension from his body, Cassander's eyes slipped shut and his mind began to meander through memories he'd rather forget. About his father. About his childhood and his time at Mieza. About Philotas. Plagued by things he'd rather not think about, Cassander reached for the wineskin at his side and drained half of its strong, undiluted contents without hesitation. The alcohol did nothing to silence his thoughts as he'd hoped, however, only serving to make his now sluggish mind dwell on them longer.
His father had always been disappointed with him for not being able to develop a closer relationship with Alexander. Antipater was constantly looking to increase his political influences in the Macedonian court, and when his son proved practically useless in assisting him with his goals, the relationship between them became more than strained. Long passed the time when other nobles began punishing their sons using financial restraints or cutting other freedoms, Antipater had still been beating Cassander for his perceived disobediences like a child.
Mieza had become a sort of haven for Cassander then, except that his experiences with his father had left the adolescent cynical and jaded at too young an age. The other boys had detested his negative attitude and rarely included him on their hunting forays or in their games. Hanging about the main house alone between Aristotle's lessons, Cassander had found Philotas to be in a similar situation as himself. Parmenion had found his own son to be as much of a disappointment as Antipater had his, although the reasons for each father's disdain of his son were different. The difficulty for Parmenion stemmed from the fact that Philotas's arrogant and grating personality was an inborn trait, not something the boy had learned as Cassander had his own negative characteristics. He found that he no more liked Parmenion's son than any of the other boys, but Philotas was the only company Cassander had had in those days.
Suffering from the stresses of his home life and being inundated with teenage hormones, Cassander had eventually sought out Philotas for reasons he had not understood at the time. Together, in the haunting emptiness of the house at Mieza, the two boys had fumbled their way through their first sexual explorations. Cassander's memories of that time were both sour and sweet. The release he had found with Philotas had been like a healing balm for his physical body, but his detestation of his partner had left Cassander feeling as just lonely as before.
Over the years since all of them had left Aristotle's tutelage, Cassander and Philotas had continued their sexual trysts, but never had they established an actual relationship with each other. No one had ever discovered them, which left Cassander oddly grateful at the moment, although he couldn't understand why. While he had never been the least bit suicidal, his continuing rejection by his peers left Cassander wondering just what made his life worth living. All he knew was that if he had been accused of treason against Alexander as well, his heart would have been utterly broken and his soul would have found no peace in the afterlife. Not only would no one miss him once he was gone, any memories his peers held of him would be tinged with a misplaced hate.
As the sunlight faded from the western horizon, Cassander drained the last of his wine. Unsteadily he climbed to his feet, gathered his boots, and stumbled barefoot back to his tent. His servants had just finished setting out his dinner, but Cassander wasn't hungry. Giving a weary sigh, he sat down hard on the edge of his camp bed, startling the only remaining servant in his tent. He gave the young man a long look before beckoning him over. The servant approached with wariness, unsure of his master's exact mood and smelling the alcohol on his breath. Cassander was like a wolf, beautiful to admire from afar but dangerous up close. More than once he had forced slaves to submit to him in his drunkenness after a rowdy night of feasting and celebrating with the other Companions.
When the servant was within reach, Cassander snared him about the waist and pulled him to sit down in his lap. The young man bit back a startled yelp and shivered with fear in his master's hold. But Cassander's grip loosened to a gentle embrace once the servant was safely settled and in no danger of falling. He shushed the teenager with a sigh and hid his face against the servant's shoulder. The young man sat perfectly still in Cassander's lap, nervous about upsetting him, and after a moment of silence, the servant was surprised to feel tears dampening the top of his shirt. He had never known Cassander to cry before.
After awhile Cassander shifted, and the servant found himself lying in the camp bed beside his master. Cassander's hold had tightened again, causing fear to grip at the teenager's belly, but his master made no move to undress him. Cassander only continued to weep against his shoulder, and with the wine in his system increasing his weariness, the Companion eventually cried himself to sleep.
As unconsciousness wrapped around his mind, Cassander's grip on his servant loosened again. For a moment, the young man entertained the idea of escaping to the servants' tent, but then he felt his master begin to shiver in his sleep. The alcohol had thinned Cassander's blood, and now the evening chill was attacking his body. Careful not to wake his master, the servant turned over to face him. The young man reached across the Companion's body and gently drew his blanket over the drunken, upset man. Cassander's shivering slowly faded as the cover warmed him again.
Hoping he would not come to regret it in the morning, the servant decided with a resigned sigh to stay by Cassander's side for the night. The man might be harsh and frightening at times, but over all Cassander proved himself to be a good master, making sure those who served him were always well provided for themselves. Cassander had never abandoned them to hunger or the elements or to sickness and injury, even when he himself was the cause, and so the young man would not abandon his master now.
Dawn roused Cassander from his sleep with a slight hangover. The heavy wine he had consumed the previous evening had been of a poorer quality, but he hadn't drunk enough to make himself badly sick. As he shifted in his bed, he was a little surprised to find his servant still sleeping beside him, causing him some worry. Cassander couldn't remember doing anything to hurt the teenager, but that didn't mean that alcohol had not buried the memory. As far as he could tell without removing the blankets, they were both still fully clothed, giving his mind some ease. But he would still ask the young man about it when he awoke.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Cassander's thoughts turned once again to melancholy as he awaited his servant. Unlike many of the other Companions, he had neither a wife nor a concubine, leaving him with no family beyond his father's household. And considering how Antipater viewed his first born son as a failure, Cassander avoided contact with him unless it was absolutely necessary. So now, having no one else to spend his growing war spoils on, he used them for the benefit of his servants. None of them knew of it, but Cassander had left explicit instructions that should he die on campaign, they were to receive their freedom from servitude and given equal shares of all his belongings and money so that they could go and start new lives. For now however, they were the only thing close to a family he had, but his pride would not permit him to admit how much he regarded them to anyone but himself.
Finally the young man stirred, and Cassander stared down into his grey eyes. He waited for a moment to make sure the teenager was fully awake before addressing him.
"You're not hurt, are you? I didn't, uh… you know, did I?" Cassander knew he didn't have to explain beyond that. He hated the idea of forcing anyone into his bed, but in drunkenness, the loneliness that constantly haunted Cassander's heart often shredded any personal vows against such things into an unrecognized mess. And he always hated himself in the morning for it.
"No, my lord, you did nothing to me," the servant put his master's fears to rest. Cassander let out a relieved sigh and lay back down beside the teenager. He tousled the young man's mud-colored hair with affection before giving him permission to leave. To his surprise, however, the servant did not move for a long moment, instead staring deeply into his master's handsome eyes and making Cassander wonder just what exactly did he do the previous night.
The young man seemed to be thinking hard on something, leaving the Companion curious. Finally the teenager moved, and to Cassander's surprise, gave him a tight embrace. When the servant pulled away again, he glanced at his master sheepishly.
"My apologies for my boldness, my lord, but I just want to know that you are alright. You seemed rather distressed last night."
"It's alright," Cassander offered the young man a small smile. "I can accept boldness when it is born out of concern for another's welfare. Thank you."
The servant nodded, and satisfied with his master's current state, he slipped from the bed and left the tent. Cassander rolled onto his back and pondered the young man's words and actions. While the teenager certainly couldn't stand as an equal with Cassander's peers, his consideration left the Companion thinking that perhaps he wasn't as unwanted as he had thought. Unlike Philotas, perhaps there would be some part of him missed by someone when he died.
End A/N: Well, that's that. I hope you found some enjoyment from reading this story. Please review, particularly if you have any desire to see this particular version of Cassander in any of my future stories.
Thanks for reading! – Stony Knight