The General Chapter 1: 1 The Evening, an alexander fanfic

Title: "The General"

Author: Baliansword

Rating: T for Teen

Chapter: 1, "The Evening"

Pairings: Alexander/Hephaestion

Summary: Try as he might, Hephaestion cannot let the unfinished plague him. (More of a tag line, but it will work for now.)

Warnings: None in this chapter, yet there tends to be sexual content, language, and violence in my fictions. I'll make sure to warn each chapter in advance.

A/N: To begin, I pulled "Alexander IV", but I plan to finish it when my muse for that work returns to me. Secondly, this story cannot be taken as accurate. In no way have I fact-checked any detailed information.

Dedication: Thank you to all of my readers, especially those that have stuck by me even after my long absence.

It was early evenly, no different than any other, but for some reason today he could feel the elements of nature clearer than he ever had before. He stood with his arms crossed over his muscled chest, staring out into the vast nothingness of the region. A soft wind blew low to the ground, causing small flecks of sand to pelt lightly against his uncovered legs. The same wind seemed a foreshadowing element as well, something would be lifted, something swept away. As his cerulean eyes scanned the tan and bronzed landscape he heard footfalls behind him, footfalls that were neither soft nor hard, yet they were distinct. Hephaestion glanced to his side, his eyes averted from the horizon for but a moment, and the corners of his lips turned up in a quick, secretive smile.

"What are you staring at," the other, younger of the two, asked. He was not like the first, at least not at the moment. While one continued to think until it gave him a headache the second stared out at the horizon and saw nothing, felt nothing. There was a pause in verse between the two as Hephaestion kept listening, feeling the world around him. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the vibrations almost unworthy of being felt, and to one of the two it was unfelt.

"They'll be coming over the horizon," Hephaestion answered after a lapse of silence. Alexander wrapped his arms over his own chest in a deliberate attempt to mock his closest friend and companion. He then nodded, his head moving ever so slightly, until Hephaestion pulled his attention away from dirt and mirage and placed it with the young king. After a moment Hephaestion turned, to leave, but a hand rested against his upper arm stilled him.

"To anticipate will only cause a restless night." Alexander spoke these words and then stared deeply into the eyes of his confidant. Hephaestion turned to face him, his body pivoted toward his seeping concern, and still said nothing. Instead he noted how bright the sun had been today, yet how dark a red-orange the orb was, burning at such intensity it today contrasted against Alexander's fair, golden hair. He then recalled how dark his eyes were, matching a carved wooden horse that sat even in this moment upon his own mantle, lonesome in a now near vacant palace in Pella. He wondered what would happen to the figurine, carved at least two summers ago by Alexander himself, if he should not return to it. What would happen should he return, but in such a case Alexander fall behind? He pushed the thought from his mind, knowing that even thinking such was not only foolish, but unwise as well.

Alexander, sensing his unease, reached up and placed his palm against Hephaestion's cheek, brushing back fallen strands of hair that had made their temporary home there. Assuredly, as if he knew what the Fates had planned, his lips then parted. "The gods plan our lives for us, Hephaestion. If tomorrow I fall in battle, it is my fate. Look at me, you are my second, should anything happen. Others know it, as does Aristotle, whose tongue will never go against you."

"We both know that there is no second for Macedonia, Alexander. The ground moves beneath us even now, Darius moving his army closer to our own, and tomorrow we shall face them. That horizon, just dirt, wind, and a joining of Mother Earth and Father Sky, tomorrow will be a blanket of Ares' pleasure, and his wrath. I do not fear it Alexander, not as others believe. In fact I feel solemn, almost indifferent to the cause itself, and then I look at you. If tomorrow you are victorious, if men stand in arms and Darius' forces are crumpled as you boast they will be, then today was nothing but a worry in my mind, one that could not last against y our powerful will –stronger than any army in these lands to Olympus. Yet if tomorrow this is a failed endeavor, then Alexander, you will never be the same. The scars gained by men tomorrow are scars upon your heart, your soul, every principle of your well-being my king, my confidant, and dearest friend. Fail tomorrow and my fear is proven right, and your spirit surely will be broken, for a lost battle for you would be the bane and likeness of death itself. Either way you cannot, and will not, succumb to death, and even should you fall you will quickly rise once more, and in such all shall be well. Should Darius himself strike you down, and if truly your heart no longer beats, and breath escapes you and your eyes are closed forever, no replacement shall be found in I. Friend to you, yes, but your second no. Without you Macedonia has no hearth for me, life no meaning or purpose. Should you fall, some cruel punishment against man sent forth by gods, shortly I would follow you, even if I must by my own hand end my life. You cannot choose a second in me, for I would be at your side, dining with Hades and recounting the battle against Darius in which we fell. Never will a second be crowned, not in name or spirit."

"I have never heard you speak like this," Alexander said, slightly saddened that Hephaestion had moved away from him, taking Alexander's last comfort with him. "Your mother was right, you were born an orator, yet save the occasion and words for only my ears."

Hephaestion slowly nodded, but managed to keep his eyes averted toward the horizon as he and the newly crowned king walked toward the camp. As they entered he lost sight of the horizon and instead focused on all that they passed. Young men sat in small circles, discussing their plans, and what they would do if they lived to see the next day. The fires seemed small, and in truth with the winds tossing the flames about they were doing little good at all. As they rounded a corner, coming nearer and nearer to Alexander's tent, Hephaestion felt himself begin to ease. This, after all, was the life of a soldier, general or king, it did not matter, eminent death was always lurking in each battle. Alexander slowed, wanting as much as the other to spend their time together, and did his best to stay clear of the topic of wars and death.

"I received another letter from my mother," the king said, producing it and handing it to Hephaestion. Hephaestion took it, glancing from the king to the parchment. He then unfolded it and scanned the words. Alexander explained as he read, "If I stay in Pella, then I am weak, and if I leave her, I have gone too far."

"She is a mother. It is their nature to worry. Besides, without you what does she have left? Her husband is dead, whether or not she misses him I do not know, and her only son is a world away from her. She grows weary, Alexander. Do not hold it against her. Write her tonight, before you retire, and send it with a courier in the morning."

"And your mother, she still sends no word to you," Alexander asked, frowning slightly. Hephaestion's mother had not spoken to him, not even in pen, for some time. While Alexander was unsure of her reasoning, he knew that it had something to do with his influence in Hephaestion's life. He was a prince, yes, but she had still never liked him. She had raised a lover, a thinker –and Alexander had created a warrior, a general.

"She has a daughter to marry off," Hephaestion said, stopping outside of Alexander's tent. He handed him the parchment back with a slight smile. "If there was nothing left, then perhaps she too would write me."

"Here," Alexander said, taking the parchment in his hand and pressing it into Hephaestion's palm. "Aristotle once warned me that all men need a mother in their life, even one they cannot stand. My mother is yours, Hephaestion. Write to her; she would appreciate hearing from you as much as she would from me. Besides, your words are more meaningful to her."

"You just don't want to write to her," Hephaestion laughed. He then went silent, knowing that now they would part. On the eve of battle they remained away from one another as to concentrate all of their energy only on the upcoming task. Hephaestion held out his free hand, expecting nothing but a slight touch, but Alexander grabbed his hand and pulled him to him, wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace.

"May Hypnos and Aglia send Morpheus to you tonight," Alexander whispered, pressing a soft kiss against Hephaestion's cheek. "Sleep well, my love."

They parted, Alexander watching Hephaestion until he could watch no more. Sending him away had always been one of the only things he could not do. Had Hephaestion asked to say, he would have given in and let him. But what he loved most about Hephaestion was Hephaestion's will do always do what was right, even if it hurt him. Turning, he entered his tent, and prepared for a sleepless night.

In Greek mythology Hypnos was the god of the spirit and sleep. Aglia, his wife, was a Grace, the grace of Brightness. Their son, Morpheus, was the Greek god of dreams.