Perdiccas sat wearily in the chair closest to the bed. He rubbed his bleary eyes and sat up, blinking to clear his vision. A hand laid gently on his shoulder startled him, and he turned his head quickly to find that Ptolemy had come up behind him.
"How is he?"
Perdiccas shook his head. "Not good. His fever is worsening, and nothing Philip has given him seems to help."
Ptolemy sighed and dropped down into a chair beside Perdiccas. "I wish I knew what to do."
They sat silently for a while, unsure of what to say. Soft footsteps came up behind them.
"Sometimes he seems like he's just sleeping. Like nothing is wrong" Nearchus said softly.
"I know", Perdiccas said. "I've been sitting here for hours. Sometimes he seems agitated and his breathing becomes labored, but then the next minute…it's like some sort of calm comes over him. I swear, it even looks like he smiled a couple times. He's mumbled something a few times, but I couldn't make out what he said." He shook his head. "Well, there was one word I managed to make out."
Ptolemy turned to him. "Let me guess…"
"Yes, it was hard to hear, but I'm sure he said his name, more than once." Perdiccas sighed softly. "You know, whatever your opinion was of him, there was no question that Alexander loved him deeply."
Perdiccas nodded. "Alexander was never the same, after…." He left the rest unsaid.
"I know" Ptolemy agreed. "He became even more ruthless towards those we fought, like he was offering all of the dead up as a sacrifice in Hephaestion's honor. When we weren't in battle, though…I don't know. It just seemed like a lot of the fire that made him what he was had burned out."
They watched silently for a moment, feeling helpless. Ptolemy rose and walked to the back of the room, pouring himself a much-needed cup of wine. Perdiccas and Nearchus soon followed suit. They turned at once upon hearing someone enter the room.
Wearing a scowl, Cassander walked slowly into the room and approached the bed. He hadn't been in since the previous day, and he was shocked at how much worse Alexander looked. He felt his heart lurch, but swore he would dine in Hades before he would admit how troubled he really was. Part of him was almost glad, in a way. Alexander was not the same man he once was, and a great many of the men had grown to resent him. Cassander nearly jumped out of his skin when Nearchus and Ptolemy moved up beside him.
"He looks bad." Nearchus shook his head. "Very bad."
Ptolemy glanced at Cassander just in time to see a fleeting glimpse of sadness before the mask went up. He tried to be sympathetic. "It's okay, Cassander. It's okay to be sad. We certainly are."
Cassander snorted and glared at them, before turning on his heel and brushing brusquely past the others and out of the room.
Perdiccas caught Nearchus' eye, shrugged, and turned his attention back to the bed. Alexander mumbled something and shifted restlessly, before releasing a slow breath. His body visibly relaxed and his breathing evened out.
Ptolemy shook his head. "It's been like this for days, gradually getting worse."
Once again, they stood silently. A soft sniffling was heard as Bagoas wiped Alexander's feverish brow with a cool cloth. It was obvious that he had been crying a lot.
"It was good of you to take him in, you know" Perdiccas said.
Ptolemy nodded. "He had nowhere else to go. Regardless of how any of us felt about him, Alexander cared for him, and there's no doubt that the kid loves Alexander. I figured I could at least offer him a safe place to stay where he won't be abused. I owe it to Alexander I think."
The men stepped aside when Philip entered. They watched the doctor check Alexander, feeling his forehead and listening to his breathing. Philip looked up at them, shaking his head sadly.
"How long?" Nearchus asked.
"I don't know. Hours, maybe. There's nothing else I can do. He's in the hands of the gods now." Philip quietly left the room, still shaking his head.
The three men returned to their bedside vigil.
"What do we do now?" Perdiccas asked.
Ptolemy sighed. "We wait."
