Title: Forgotten Lakes

Chapter: 2?

Fandom: Alexander (Historical. Not bloody movie.)

Rating: PG-13 for slash (implied in this chapter)

Pairing: Alexander/ Hephaestion

Summary: Alexander newly baffled by the onset of a new emotion, attempts to tame it.

Thanks to Sushoo, CoralDawn, Songnatsha, Arlad, angstman, Becky Greenleaf, purple lolly, Lysis, Fredericka, your reviews were very highly appreicated. Especial thanks to Moon71 for putting up with such an undoubted newbie

Alexander stared silently at his friend's bowed head. Hephaestion was huddled in a blanket, reading something Alexander could not see. If he knew that Alexander was there, he was doing a good job of hiding it, but Alexander doubted that he did know, for Hephaestion when engrossed in something had always ignored everything around him, to the extent that it had earned him beatings for inattention. The night was cold enough to warrant the blanket, and perhaps in other times Alexander would have crawled in with Hephaestion, winding his arms around him so they shared body heat and comfort, and they would have conned the lesson together. He reminded himself sternly that those times were gone. They belonged to childhood, to those things which he had left behind. He stole away as silently as he had come, and scurried back to his room, passing the sentries posted by the end of the hall without their noticing, fleet as a small animal.

He closed the door silently behind him, hoping he had awoken no-one, and made his way to the bed, falling onto it with a small sigh. Though the night was almost gone, he was not tired, indeed he seemed full of a nervous energy which neither dissipiated, nor had a visible cause. It had been a week now since he had quarrelled with Hephaestion. A week since they had flung bitter words. He had hoped, almost beyond reason that Hephaestion would have silently made it up with him for some unknown idea of kindness. But he knew it was a false hope, a vain one that would do no good in the long run. For Hephaestion while always appearing to be the softer, more pliable one, had a core of hard iron, a coldness that prevented him from being intimate with anyone apart from Alexander. Alexander had known this- but not understood it. He got along with most people- not Cassander perhaps, but then who did? So Hephaestion's alien brand of self sufficency was foreign to him, something he had always supposed came from his Greek blood. The blood which made him look somehow different from every other boy in the palace. He bore a passing resemblance to Alexander some said, more in expression than features. He took after neither his father nor his mother, but had somehow managed to merge their best features, without looking like either. His father's gravity and stern demeanour, reflected in strong features- a firm jaw, high cheekbones, was tempered by a softer curve of cheek, lips more inclined to smile than to pout, from his mother, and he had her hair, thick lustrous black locks, that tangled like a horse's mane. His eyes were what set him apart. Wide set and cold grey, they were usually calmly blank, with little of the power which Alexander's eyes could invoke, and yet if he looked at you full on with those eyes, you found your tongue stumble over a lie or a false flattery, and even an honest man's words could trail to nothing. They seemed almost to strip your soul, and find it unworthy. Then as though bored, he would look away, and the man thus freed, would wonder why he had been so afraid to meet them. He face was pale, but his arms and legs tanned from constant exposure to the outside.

So he knew that Hephaestion would not even think of coming to Alexander to renew their friendship. It would not even occur to him, and for some reason that Alexander could not pinpoint, that drove him to the brink of madness that he, the future King meant so little, to the only person who had never begged to be his friend. While Hephaestion had been there, everything had seemed brighter somehow for Alexander knew that Hephaestion did not think of possible rewards from being so close to someone so powerful. Hephaestion was beside him, because of Alexander, and he had never missed that more, beside the flattery of Philotas, and the good humoured friendship of the other boys. He could not recall what temporary madness it had been that had made him say such things to his best friend. Alexander had his own pride though, and he would not crawl to Hephaestion and apologise. He resigned himself to loneliness.

His thoughts were disturbed by a gentle knock at the door, then his mother swept in. As always he thought admiringly to himself that she was every inch a queen. Her hair spilled down her back untamed aside from a comb thrust through to secure it, and when she smiled the warmth of the sun seemed to stem from it. He hesitated to ask why she was in his rooms so late, and she volunteered no answer merely sitting on his bed. She had not sought him out thus in years, indeed she rarely saw him at all, only when he judged it expedient to go to her rooms and ask her advice. She was his mother, adn she was his goddess, the link between him and divinity. They talked of things for some time, and then by chance she asked of Hephaestion's reaction to his gift. With pent up emotion, Alexander told his story, hoping she knew a remedy to his problem. She obviously did not, but her eyes became thoughtful and speculative, and she excused herself soon.

Alexander could not know of the argument that Olympias had with his father that night. She had started without preamble. "I am worried about Alexander,"

"By the Gods is it ever anything else that you think of?"

"And you should be too," was her angry reply. "This unhealthy fascination with his friend. I know for a fact that he has not yet bedded a woman, but that he flirts with boys his own age, and some say indeed with older men. You may be willing to let your son grow up without knowing the duties of the marriage bed, duties you never disdained to fill yourself," she added with thick contempt in her voice, "but I am not. He is becoming melancholy over one friend, a boy of little standing in the court I believe, and he needs something to distract him,"

"Amytor is a good man," argued Philip, "and his son bids fair to make a good man also. Besides it hurts no boy to have flirtations, and even perhaps if it would be wiser if he had chosen someone older at least he is not ignorant of the flesh."

Olympias drew breath to protest. "I too like Hephaestion, but I dislike this state of affairs. As a friend he is well and good, but he cannot be what you, I and the kingdom need Alexander's love to be..." she began, but before she could say more she was interrupted.

"Enough woman! Your voice cuts through my head like a knife. You shall have what you ask for. Callixena has travelled from Thessaly, and I'm sure even you will have heard of her fame. Give her instructions. If she can't coax the boy out, then no-one can." Olympias made her courtesy with frigid dignity and left, having sent a messenger to where Callixena was meant to be lodging.

The next morning, Callixena stood before Olympias. She was twenty five, but artful magics of hair and make up, made her look sixteen. Her body was straight and firm inside the gown of wool she currently wore, and she looked like nothing so much as a prosperous farmer's daughter. Olympias strolled round her, inspecting, knowing that tonight she would be a different woman. Finally she pronounced her judgement. "You will do well enough. Once you have fulfilled your duty, return and you shall be paid. You have three days."

Callixena was nothing if not a woman of the world, and this was not the first time her services had been called upon, with shy boys. She took care to adorn herself in white that night, until she looked like nothing so much as a shy virgin herself, and then as instructed by Olympias, she stood within the grove of trees. She knew the pretty picture she made, sitting beneath the branches, armed with a copy of the Iliad. She could not read the writing, but everyone knew the stories, and Olympias had told her of Alexander's fondness for the works of Homer. Sure enough footsteps soon sounded, and Philip's heir peered down at her.

Alexander could not deny he was fascinated by the girl under the tree, though some instinct warned him against her. She was like nothing he had ever seen before. Everything was exotic and new. Midnight hair, over bronze skin, her eyes as dark as a Nubian's, lips shaped like Eros's bow. Her eyes were cast down, and she was reading. Without meaning to his eyes followed the pendant she wore, to where it rested between her breasts, doubtless exposed by accident. She wore a dress of some white material, that had settled around her like a moth's wings, and turning he moved away, un-nerved. She smiled, a secret twitching of her lips, having felt his eyes on her body. What an ill mannered boy. Alexander hurried back, wondering who on earth the girl could be.

Over the next two days, he caught glimpses of her as though by accident,- once he heard her singing in the garden, but on no occasion did she approach him, nor volunteer her name. He could feel hismelf being entranced, and when on the third night she stood outside his room and prettily asked him if he would like to hear a song, he had not refused. This time she was adorned in a red dress that caught the tint of copper in her skin. He had moved towards her, like a rabbit compelled by a snake, at once entranced and repulsed. Then his expression had changed and hardened, just when she thought she had him. "I wish you to leave my room. When I choose a bedmate, I shall choose one, and they will not be paid." He had ignored her until she left to report her failure to Queen Olympias, who merely paid part of her fee and dismissed her, binding her to silence. Callixena had not even needed the binding. In her business you did not discuss customers past or present, their performance or lack of it.

Alexander stared at the ceiling, and rested his head on his hands. He was bone tired to the depths of his being. For one moment seeing that girl beneath the tree, he had thought that he had found something different, something that would distract him from the disaster of the last week. But she had been like all the others, a creature of artifice. Oh artful woman, and for one moment he had believed in the illusion of beauty and purity that the girl in white had symbolized for him. Then when she had been closer, he had seen the sensuous flesh of her body, her practiced movements, the scent that to him symbolized experience of the wiorld, the tiny lines around her eyes, and te expression- which doubtless she had thought hidden, of practiced boredom. No she had neither been innocent, nor tempting. Indeed the ripe richness had turned his stomach. He remembered the ring Olympias had given him, and scrambling down he lifted it from his cache and stared at it again. He had grown since she had given it to him, it now almost fit on his hand. He weighed the heavy gold in his hand, the pure glistening richness that seemed to catch and hold the light. He stared at it, and then bowed his head.

His heart was heavy, and he certainly did not want Philotas's company. He was not overly fond of the other youth at the best of times, and when his soul cried out for the quiet companionship of Hephaestion, who could go for hours without speaking, he did not want to have to listen to the verboseness he knew would characterise Philotas's conversation. But he did not decline the mixed wine, the other boy bore with him, and for a time he took comfort in the endless stream of gossip and chatter that the other boy seemed to have at his command always. His mind was drifting away from Philotas's list of conquests when he heard something that made him first go pale, then red. "Cleitus is trying to bed Hephaestion. Poor boy, he hasn't a chance. Hephaestion is just ignoring him, and Cleitus has his heart set upon him. What do you think Alexander?"

Philotas's pale blue eyes were fixed on him intently as though he knew something that Alexander didn't, and he licked his lips in an instinctive animal movement of nervousness. But Alexander noticed none of this filled as he was by the heat of pure fury, that he neither understood nor wanted to analyze. He did not listen to whatever else Philotas said, engrossed as he was in his thoughts. He excused his feeling as concern for Hephaestion. Hephaestion was too young, and Cleitus was not nearly good enough for him. Any true friend would feel the same way, and he was still Hephaestion's friend whatever the younger boy might think.

His sleep was uneasy that night, and the next morning he woke with a headache that seemed to split his skull into two. He rolled over groaning, as daggers seemed to pierce his skull. He wasn't used to drinking even mixed wine in such quantities as last night. Even the knock at the door seemed to jar and crash, and his eyelids semed gummed to his head. The maid was looking at him cautiously and carrying a steaming handle-less cup in her hands, which she set down beside his head, and then backed away carefully as though he would pounce upon her. He sniffed and almot retched, so bitter was the scent. On the reasoning that something that smelled (and undoubtably tasted) so bad, must be good for you he drained it back, and indeed in minutes his headache lessened, and he felt strangely happy, as though his problems had vanished. He didn't attribute the strange emotions to his drink, but merely got up and dressed fast.

He was filled with undoubted energy, despite the early hour of the morning, and with swift pace he strode to the practice courts, taking one of the swords which hung from the walls, and beginning his practice exercises. A sixth sense made him turn, and he felt his eyebrows raise in utter surprise. Hephaestion was up and practicing as well, before the heat of the day struck. It struck Alexander as unusual, because one of Hephaestion's faults was his overly judicious conservation of energy that came out as a certain laziness in terms of getting out of bed in the morning. Alexander's eyes glittered, and the drink within him, said it would be a good idea to hone his skills agains the other boy. He strolled up, and with one casual swing alerted the other as to his presence. Hephaestion to his credit did not hesitate, though Alexander was easily the best at the sword in their clique, and Hephaestion due to aforementioned laziness hadn't practiced lately. They fought for a few minutes, the only sound being the clash of unsharpened swords. The point came though, when Hephaestion got a lucky blow, and hit Alexander with the sword hard, accidentally aggravating a bruise Alexander already had on his arms. The flame of pain drove Alexander close to madness, and the force and strength behind his blows increased twicefold, the savagery forcing Hephaestion to give ground until Alexander's sword collided with his face with a force so hard that it sent the smaller younger boy sprawling backwards onto the floor, hand clutching his face where a bruise was already forming, livid against the pale skin. Alexander stoof there paralyzed for a moment then dashed forward in remorse. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.." his words trailed off as Hephaestion, sat up and glared at him, his eyes showing nothing moire than the purest hatred.

"Stay away from me Alexander," he hissed.

Alexander's face hardened from the momentary softness. "Then don't presume to play men's pastimes," he said coolly, though inside he seethed. "You might get hurt. Stick with children's games as becomes you. Like I said you're obviously too young and stupid for anything else." He walked off, before Hephaestion could say anything further, determined to keep the moral advantage of the last word on the subject.