A Vision to None

by Bluehaven4220

With many years of campaigning and a complicated history between them, Hephaestion slowly begins to realize that there are things more important than Alexander.

1. Broken Children

Title: A Vision to None

Author: Bluehaven4220

Pairing: Hephaestion/OC, Hephaestion/Alexander

Summary: With many years of campaigning and a complicated history between them, Hephaestion slowly begins to realize that there are things more important than Alexander.

A/N: Hello everyone! It has been a very long time since I have written an Alexander story, as I needed to go away and try my hand at other fandoms for a while to allow my writing style to grow and mature. But now I am back. This story is a sort of take- off from my story 'Map of the World', which you do not have to read to understand. Enjoy, and feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.

A/N 2: Hephaestion's wife's name is pronounced Heh-shay-lay, but for the sake of simplicity he will more often than not call her Shaye.

ooOoo

She's got her name on Gotham's tongue, but Mama Fame she eats her young. And half a buck ain't half the price you pay. When you got broken children, shot in black and white, chasing wasted lives, and they can't wait to go there.

Broken Children- Peter Cincotti

ooOoo

It did not take very long for me to accept that home was no longer the place I had once thought it would be. If you cannot truly go home because home is always changing, then I am inclined to believe that it is true. I can still remember the day we left Macedon, as much as it pains me to do so. My bride Heshaylae, stomach swelled beyond the point of being able to hide her condition, kissed me thoroughly, knowing this may well have been the last time she would ever see me.

Once she let me go, telling me that she loved me more than she had ever thought possible, she moved to her father, who very nearly wept. He knew he would very likely never see his grandchild, or grandchildren, whichever the case may be. For only a belly of four months, she was large. There could be almost no doubt that she carried at least two in her womb. In truth, I do not believe her father has forgiven me for taking her as my wife, I know very well that I am not his first choice for her. He would much rather she had married a merchant, someone who would give her a stable income on which to live comfortably. However, he grudgingly accepted our marriage. She loved me, and had offered herself to me as my bride very early on. I had hesitated, not understanding that perhaps I could love her as I did Alexander, because at this point I did not. I loved her as the mother of my children, but that was all.

As her father let her go, kissing her as a man will kiss her beloved daughter goodbye, he mounted his stead and rode on with Alexander and myself. There was such hatred for me in his eyes, but I understood why. I had lain with his daughter, a pure blooded Macedonian virgin, and had gotten her with child. Such an event is usually a joyous occasion for any father, until he discovers that the man who foisted his daughter with bastard children spent so much time in Alexander's company, and no doubt, his bed.

Wait a minute, bastards? I hear you ask. But you say you were married. Yes we were married, but that does not mean her father did not think me enough of a cad to take his daughter before we had married, which I had. Until we married, the children had been considered bastards. But again, I am digressing.

I could only look back once, to see her swallow a sob and go back into the house, a handkerchief clutched in her hands. She had wished me good luck and health, same as her father.

As we rode, I began to wonder if I had done the right thing in joining Alexander on this campaign. Despite the fact that he and I were the best of friends, and had been since boyhood, I had never once doubted him. But something had changed. I do not know if it was my sense of duty, or the fact that I now had a wife and children on their way.

Heshaylae's father glared at me as we rode. Perhaps I should stop dancing about the issue of his name and say it outright. Heshaylae was the daughter of none other than Cleitus the Black, one of Philip's most trusted advisors. Of course, the fact that he now served Alexander had no bearing on the fact that he was my father-in-law, and that I was a monstrous sod for taking up a position alongside Alexander when Shaye (very rarely did I call her Heshaylae) needed me at home. She already had one family member within the army, what did she need both her husband and her father serving the same man for?

Again, I must say that I do it because I love Alexander, as he has loved me from the time we were children. Do not misunderstand me. We are not lovers, I speak merely of a friendship that runs much deeper than you could possibly imagine. Let me explain why.

I first met Alexander at the age of seven. My father, Amyntor, had been a general in Philip's army, and frequently traveled to the palace at Pella to discuss the many campaigns the two were involved in. He had done this as far back as I can remember, but that day was the first time I can remember him taking me with him. I believe this only happened because my mother had died, and she had been the one preventing him from taking me along on these excursions. From what I remember she did not want me involved with any sort of military campaign, or anything that had to do with what my father called 'the art of war'. She was constantly encouraging me to pick up paintbrushes and quills to paint and write instead of fighting.

However, once she died everything changed. I was now exclusively under my father's control, and he wanted me with him. Besides, I needed to know such things if I was ever going to grow into a man, he reasoned. I realize now, at an age much older than seven years, that it is nothing more than foolish propaganda, because I see now that there are many other men who have never stepped foot on a battlefield who are successful and can certainly call themselves men.

I apologize, I must stop digressing. Once I met Alexander, however, I could not help but think that he was so scrawny and small that there was no way he was Philip's son and therefore the next king of Macedonia. My father had told me Alexander was dark, and brooding, and acted far too much like his barbarian harpy mother Olympias. Now, I did not know what a harpy was, but I did know the word barbarian. I had always pictured a barbarian as a hulk-like figure dressed in dirty rags dragging a club along the ground. Surely Alexander's mother could not look like that, otherwise Philip would have never touched her with a ten- foot pike, never mind his hands. However absurd this image may seem, I resisted the urge to laugh until I met him.

When we stepped out of the carriage that had carried us to Pella, almost immediately I came face to face with the prince. He was blond, short, and smiling. As far as I could see he was not brooding at all, if someone brooded why would they smile? We were introduced, but both admittedly unsure of each other, at least until he reached out and gripped my shoulder, whispering "Bet you cannot catch me."

I, never being one to step away from a challenge, accepted it with almost no hesitation. Smiling, I ran after him, my father yelling after us.

Of course, we did not stop, simply because we did not hear him. I remember my nurse briefly reminding us not to go too far, just so she could still see us. I always did as she told me, because she'd always been so kind. I had never wanted to disappoint her, so we ran just far enough. We could still be heard and seen, but were far enough away that we could play without interruption.

Soon, my father was rushing toward us, nearly knocking my nurse (it is such a pity that I simply cannot remember her name) to the ground in such a rage as I have never seen before. Immediately stopping our game, Alexander and I fled into the trees on the grounds, trying to get away as quickly as possible. To this day I have no idea what would have upset my father so, but at that point I had no wish to find out.

We ran into the palace through the various corridors and hallways, trying to find a suitable place to hide. We bumped into all sorts of clay pots, busts, and carvings, destroying them as they fall to the floor. I do not remember where we ended up, but I know that in the end, my father found us. Dragging us both by the ear back to where Philip and his other generals sat, he ordered us to sit quietly and listen. I'm not sure what they were planning, but Alexander and I were clearly uncomfortable, as were the other members of the party. The only person I can remember actually being slightly sympathetic to our plight was Cleitus, though you would not think to look at him now that he was ever a sympathetic individual. He was not that much older than the two of us, and by that I mean no more than twenty years older, so it seemed a fair assumption that he was not interested in having boys sit in on something meant for men.

Once the members of the meeting had finally been plied with food and drink, Alexander and I managed to slip away, unsure of what to do with ourselves now that we had been privy to something that seemed so foreign and far away from us.

So, we did what most children do in times of great stress and misunderstanding. We curled up on a patch of grass and slept.

We awoke to my father shaking me, telling me that we must return home. As such, I must get up off my useless behind and get into the carriage, where my nurse was waiting. He was going to have pay Philip dearly for the damage we'd done to the hallways, did I understanding how expensive it was? How could I be so careless?

As I rolled over onto my stomach, I forced myself to sit up and, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I begged my father to let me stay with Alexander. I promised on pain of a beating so severe I would wish I were dead that I would behave myself, because I wanted so badly to stay. If I stayed I would learn so much more. I could explore, I could meet many important people, I could study the classic authors and philosophy and botany and all the things he kept insisting were important to know if I ever wanted to learn about the art of war. I must admit it was quite impressive for a seven year old boy to think of all that while being dragged back to the carriage.

I am not sure what convinced him, whether it was the fact that I had said 'art of war', therefore cementing my career choice then and there, or the fact that I was seven years old and hard to handle or the fact that my father just did not want to bother with me any more than he had to, but he agreed to let me stay.

He visited often when he was not on campaign with Alexander's father, but by the time I was fourteen I realized that I no longer really needed him. I did, but not in a traditional sense. He was still my father, but we had barely spoken beyond anything concerning diplomatic matters. Usually, when one realizes they no longer have anything in common with someone else, they drift out of their life because their purpose has been fulfilled. By mutual agreement, my father and I decided that we would only speak on matters of diplomatic importance. However, he was my torch- bearer at my wedding, so I cannot say that our relationship suffered for our distance.

My relationship with Alexander had its share of ups and downs, as all relationships do, but once he had been crowned king after his father had been murdered before his eyes, he leaned on me more than ever to help him establish his right to rule. Of course, this meant keeping the majority of his father's men, which he thought useful, as did I.

Of course, everything changed when I met Cleitus' daughter, Heshaylae. But I will tell you more about that in due course.

Even now, on the eve of our departure, I cannot help but think that, even though I love Alexander, I am making a mistake. I understand that Cleitus' utter hatred for me will not disappear if I suddenly decide I am going to stay in Macedonia. But, if I stay, I am deemed a coward.

Either way, it seems I am damned.