In case anyone was wondering, yes, I am still alive. I've been reading some Alexander fics lately, mainly focusing on his relationship with Hephaestion, when suddenly a big 'what if' occured to me and then after some hesitation a 'so what' and that's where this came from. I wanted it to be longer and I am not at all satisfied with the last paragraph, but I mind doesn't want to cooperate anymore. Just to be on the safe side, I do like Alaxander/Hephaestion fics. It's just, we all know the saying: keep your friends close,...
Nothing but the idea belongs to me, unless of course it turns out someone had this idea before, which is entirely plausible, then errr...I don't know what then. Enjoy and do not hate me.
Alexander's POV
Life is a play we stage, what goes on behind the curtain is a completely different matter.
For as long as I remembered, he had been there, a faithful shadow that reminded me always not to get too comfortable. For years we'd danced a precarious dance around each other, every step had been a risk. But now, finally it was over. With a flourish the players bowed to the audience, graciously accepted their applause and disappeared behind the skênê.
I knew the rumours as well as anyone, so had he. Neither of us had minded, it had covered up everything nicely. It made sure I'd never be suspected, as I played the role of the grieving friend. Rumour had it that we had been lovers. How perfectly we must have staged our affection, how perfect it was in the end. Too perfect.
There had been too many secrets revealed, too much envy between us. The dance had brought us closer before we'd cut and pushed away. Always there had been the threat of the sword above mys head, wielded by a foe much more dangerous than any of my generals had thought possible. They had never stood a chance, these would-be assassins, these phony friends. I knew the steps he had to take to convince them, he knew the steps I had to take to remove him. A deadlock. Our daggers at each others throats.
The music must have been sweet when I invited him to our private komos, he would never let me lead, never let me win. The grotesque masks covering the scorn. I kept him close, he kept me close, a very intimate dance. While all looked on and laughed and thought we loved.
He had been a given, a constant, my shield against armed spectators. And now he was gone, and none who'd point at me and proclaim me murderer. And we drank to celebrate such a beautiful tragedy. We drank deeply. And all looked on as I drank. Their eyes searching, for my guilt, for my approval? Hands invited me to dance, but I was tired, the blood still to fresh to have dried. Where was my shield? Where my constant? Perhaps in the end I had made a mistake by eliminating my greatest enemy.
you may have noticed, I tried to include some greek terms, this is just so it would appear I knew what I was talking about, which I don't.