Okay, this is quite a bit different from anything else I have written. With the exception of one sad one and one mushy one, all my stories have humor in them. Even the angry sex scenes have humor. This story begged me to write it. And there is no humor in it anywhere. It shows the dark sides of all parties involved, even my beautiful Hephaestion. So….if you are looking for fluff or humor, you may as well stop here.

I do not own any of the characters, the movie, yada, yada, yada.

Rating: M for just a couple scattered F words.

As for the title, the phrase "Revenge is a dish best served cold", it is an old saying from the Mafiosi in Sicily - suggesting that emotional detachment and planning ("cold blooded") are best for taking revenge.


Cassander paced back and forth in his quarters, too agitated to sit at the moment. He wasn't sure what he felt the most; anger, frustration, hurt, embarrassment, or contempt. Perhaps a mixture of all of them. He hadn't wanted to come here to begin with, and it seems his trepidation was well-founded.

The more he thought about it all, the worse he felt. Things had gone steadily down hill since his arrival some weeks before. He should never have been put in this position in the first place, and yet he was paying the price for something he had no control over. Well, most of it at least. He had made a few blunders of his own, that much he would acknowledge.

He was not well-liked among the generals, not that it bothered him much. He seemed to be at odds with most of them at one time or another. They thought his attitude to be bitter, resentful and arrogant. Perhaps that is how he really felt. Did any of them bother to wonder why? No, they did not care enough to even ask. It wasn't like he wanted to be best friends with any of them, but their respect would have been nice. He did not have that any more than he did their affection.

He was sick and tired of being the target of snide remarks, and being the first one suspected when any conflict arose among the men. He did not ask for any of this, and he resented it on all sides.

At the heart of the matter was his father, Antipater. He was a harsh and demanding man. Nothing Cassander had ever done had pleased him. He had learned to live with that, even though it stung his pride. He knew his father doubted his abilities, and had heard rumors that he was going to name someone else as his successor. Polyperchon seemed to be a favorite of his father. But they were only rumors…surely. Nothing could have prepared him, though, for his father literally throwing him to the wolves here in Babylon.

Damned Olympias! Whatever had happened between his father and that snake-worshipping mother of Alexander's, it had been growing progressively worse. He was aware that Olympias had been writing letters to Alexander accusing his father of conspiracies, and of creating unrest and disloyalty in Macedon. Yes, he knew of the letters. There were few secrets to be had, as there was always a courier or page willing to spread a good bit of gossip. It seemed that Alexander had finally bought into his mother's lies and had summoned his father here to answer to the charges made against him.

His father had refused to come! He had been completely shocked by this. His father had cited fear of an uprising if he had left, but to Alexander that was not acceptable. No one ever defied an order from Alexander, at least not if they wished to live. Disloyalty was something that Alexander absolutely did not tolerate from anyone.

So, here he was, sent as an ambassador from his father and forced into the uncomfortable role of having to defend the man to a furious Alexander. To Alexander, Antipater's refusal to come himself only served to give credence to Olympias' accusations. So it was he, Cassander, who bore the brunt of Alexander's anger, even though he himself had done nothing wrong. He knew that, justified or not, Alexander resented him.

He sighed and sat down on the side of his bed, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes. His mind was still racing.

Ah, then there was the debacle in Alexander's court. This one, he had to admit, was his own fault.

Walking into Alexander's court had been like walking into another world. Alexander was dressed as one of those Persian barbarians, in his silk robe and pants. They all sat around the fancy palace on their fancy silk couches and drinking from their fancy golden goblets. What struck him the most was that the men bowed to him as they entered! Not just a slight bow from the waist, but full prostration on the ground before him! He couldn't help himself. Before he even realized what he was doing, he laughed out loud at how ridiculous it looked.

Bad move on his part. Alexander had been enraged by his outburst. The king had grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, practically snarling in his face. Only a softly spoken word from Hephaestion had stopped Alexander from beating him to a pulp.

He was completely humiliated, and more than a little angry.

This was not the Alexander he once knew. This man was self-centered, arrogant, vain, and thought himself a god. He got the impression that even the close companions of the king were unhappy about the changes, but of course none would dare say too much about it. It was a shame, really.

No, he had no desire to grovel among Alexander's court of sycophants.

Which brought him back to Hephaestion. He found it interesting that Hephaestion could calm Alexander by simply whispering his name as a gentle warning. That was all it took. What power did the man have that a mere word would rein in the furious king? Was it true that Alexander really was ruled by those famous thighs? He wondered. He knew that Hephaestion would follow anything that Alexander wanted, but he had also always been able to speak his mind to the king, though mostly in private. He wondered how much the Athenian actually kept Alexander in check, and how much worse things might be if it weren't for his influence.

Everyone thought that he hated Hephaestion. Not true. When they were younger, he envied the tall brunette greatly. He envied his relationship to then-prince Alexander, but also the grace and ease with which he handled himself. Cassander always considered himself to be clumsy and a bit crude. Hephaestion, on the other hand, exuded dignity and power at the same time. Truth be known, he also thought Hephaestion to be quite striking to look at. He might have pursued him himself had he not known that Alexander would sooner strike him dead as let anyone else have HIS Hephaestion.

He had had enough. He really needed to drink some wine and forget his troubles for a while. He decided to wander over to the great hall for some food, drink and entertainment. Perhaps if he got drunk enough he would no longer care about any of this.

Throwing his red cloak over his shoulder, he took a deep breath left his quarters.