Title: Defiance
Author: Baliansword
Rating: PG-13 / Teen Mature
Chapter: 4 of ?
Summary: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.
Warnings: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE in this chapter. Please be forewarned, and Jessica, no one dies in this chapter. See, I just ruined it for everyone.
A/N: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Jessica, you are just completely amazing. Jami, I have so much respect for you; all that you go through, with a smile on your face, makes me want to be a stronger person.
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Alexander pushed himself from the floor, blood still falling from his mouth, mixing with saliva and leaving bubbly red stains on the ornamental carpet. The crowd looked away as he ran the back of his hand over his lips, smearing blood upon his cheek. He could not imagine what Hephaestion was going through, but it could not be worse than the shame he felt now as eyes glanced him over, then quickly looked away. Storming out of the room, past Cassander, who made an attempt to stop him, he entered the hall. While he went on his way he flung the candles from the wall, which hit the stone with a clatter, extinguishing the flames. Cassander, however, followed his prince, keeping pace with him.
"Alexander," he called out, hands behind him as he approached. Alexander whirled around, shoving Cassander away from him, colliding with his chest hard. Cassander took the thrust, and then shot Alexander a warning glance. If he wanted, he could bring more harm to the prince, but he did not want to. There was something more at risk, something far beyond Hephaestion.
"It is Cleitus you should be angry with," Cassander said, folding his arms over his chest. Alexander, nostrils flaring, bore into him. "Do you think that he does not correspond with Philip? He saw you, together. He spies well, which is why he is still here. Did you think he'd be away from Pella if not on a mission, Alexander?"
"And what would you know of betrayal, Cassander, apart from you would use the same vice against me had you the opportunity?"
"I know that betrayal is like playing with fire. At times, it can merely singe, and at others, it will engulf your entire hand. Cleitus reaches into the flames, testing them, but he does not dare leave his hand above the flame. He is a bigger threat to me than you, or even your beloved blue-eyed beauty."
"What are you suggesting," Alexander then asked.
"Cleitus is only powerful if you give him what he wants, information. However, take this away from him, blind him, and he is nothing. He is like Polyphemus, he is bigger than us all and could easily crush us, but together, we are wiser and stronger. We can take away his eye. Alexander, put your hand in the flame, and leave it there. If you go after Hephaestion now, they will know, and they will send him away. They might even kill him. Let Philip have him tonight."
"Fool! Barbarian," Alexander spat, driven mad by even the idea of leaving Hephaestion with his father, or worse, Cleitus. His father was a pig, yes, but Cleitus was even worse. He could only imagine the horrors, the monstrosities, that could be done to Hephaestion if he were not in his care. Yet worse, Hephaestion would not fight back. He would allow their advances, if but only to protect him, which was undeserved. Hephaestion was always protecting him, and if he could not protect him now, then Hephaestion was truly too perfect.
"Do you think that I'll leave him to their control? You know Cleitus," Alexander insisted, his face coming dangerously close to Cassander's face. "If you are so brave, why do you not order him to leave your rooms at night? Why do you let him touch you?"
"You know nothing of it," Cassander screamed, shoving Alexander away from him. His face reddened and he lunged forward again, pushing Alexander into a large column. "If you want them to tire of Hephaestion then leave him be! He will understand in the morning."
"Easy for you to say, you snake."
"A snake perhaps, but at least you know a snake for what it is. There is no deception, for we are what we are. I'm telling you the right thing to do Alexander. I know how you yearn for Hephaestion. Aphrodite, did you think I did not know! I see the way you look at him, the way you give everything to him, bend to his every whim and desire. A snake, yes, but even snakes are at times loyal to their masters."
"He asks nothing from me," Alexander said, shaking his head. "You are jealous of him, not because of my affections for him, but because somewhere inside your soul you know that you're not worthy of such a love."
"I warn you," Cassander insisted, even as Alexander was walking down the hall. "If you cause more trouble, it is not you who will pay!"
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The sound of Philip's knuckles ramming against the already bruised flesh of Hephaestion's gut. His side ached, and again fire tore through his side as he heaved forward. He felt like retching again but the bile subsided as he pushed himself back onto all fours. The blood on the back of his hands did not phase him, and his lower lip trembling did not cause him to panic either, but the increasing pain in his stomach area did. It was already causing his head to spin, but he tried to trick his mind, telling himself it was not so bad. It could have been worse, he reminded himself, taking a moment to turn his head to the side. Cleitus lay upon the couch, completely void of garments, watching him. Yes, it could have been far worse. Looking back to the floor, he waited for the next punch, and when it came, he was still surprised.
"You are a fool," Philip bellowed, extending his fingers and popping his knuckles again. It gave Hephaestion time to draw a few haggard breaths before he balled his hand into a fist and struck him again. This time he brought his hand down on the youth's back, knocking him to the ground gasping for air.
"It could be less painful," Cleitus advised, still stroking himself, the same sickening smile on his face. "You could just admit that you love the prince, and then come here, and show me how it is you love him."
"No," Hephaestion whispered, blinded by pain. He closed his eyes and tried to think of another place, a better time, but was unable to. Again Philip punched him, forcing him back to the floor. His hand slid in his own blood, and he collapsed again, slamming the right side of his face against the smooth tiles. He felt his jaw tighten, screaming at him, and his lungs were now burning as well. It would have been defeat to remain lying there, so he placed his bloody hands firmly on the tile and began to push himself up once more. This time Philip kicked him hard in the stomach, rolling him over in the process.
"Stupid bastard! Do you really think your king a fool? I have it on good authority that you are a whore at my son's side. Why not drop to your knees for Cleitus. Is he not good enough?"
"No," he managed to utter, his throat dry, even though his blood still slicked his tongue. Again the king kicked him, this time harder than before it seemed. His foot then struck his groin. The world spun above him, over and over, and again he felt the bile rising, mixed with coppery blood and salt. Philip grabbed him by the throat before he could vomit, dragging him upward as if he were a rag. Limp, Hephaestion was at his mercy, which was next to nothingness. Philip flung him violently against the nearest column, striking his brow and jaw hard in the process. Blood blurred his vision as he desperately tried to cling to the pole before sliding down to the floor once more. It was over, he told himself.
Alexander, his thoughts whispered to him. It made things better, to think of Alexander, his handsome Alexander. He thought of his smile, the sun touching his features as they turned through the pages of Homer's greatest epic. Another hit to the side. He remembered a time when they were together, walking through the crowded streets of Pella, disguised as mere beggars. Another strike. How normal they had been, unnoted by the keepers of stands, who gladly bartered with them. Cleitus stood, coming forward, kneeling before him to check his eyes. Alexander had bought him a carved figurine, a lion with flames for mane. The general stepped away, then nodded to Philip, who struck him then on the thigh with a thick piece of leather. It had rained that night. Welts began to form on his thighs, thick and red, bleeding some. Oh, yes, Alexander was all he thought of. His Achilles.
"Show him what a whore you are," Philip ordered, grabbing Hephaestion's chin and forcing his head upward. The boy was a complete mess, bloody and bruised from head to toe now. Some of the bruises blended together, some of the welts touched each other, making waves on his legs. Philip shoved his head back, and Hephaestion felt the wall hit against his skull.
"Let him be," Cleitus then said, pulling his trousers back on. He scanned the boy once more. "He's learned his lesson, I think."
"I warn you," Philip hissed, grabbing him and dragging him to the door. Hephaestion tried to use his legs, but they only flailed beneath him. "Defy me again, or whore yourself to my son, and I will kill you. I owe your father nothing, not now."
Hephaestion hit the tile and slid on his own blood. He was too weak to stand, but he lifted his head. From what he could still see, blood hampering the vision in his right eye, he was not so far from his room. Reaching out, he slapped his hand against the tile, and began to drag himself forward. It was a long process, pain stopping him every inch. He tried to breathe, but no air seemed to enter his body, and by the time he entered the threshold of his room a trail of red followed him. As he reached upward for the handle, he collapsed, and the world went dark.
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Had he not known better, he would have thought the youth before him dead, and certainly would not have been able to recognize him from any other wraith. His legs were scraped and bruised, but his thighs were far worse. Darkened flesh jutted upwards like mountains, black, blue, green, and yellow flesh looking like it would sluff off at any moment. Some of the welts had torn flesh in the center, creating vile looking cuts. He could still see the some flakes of salt that had been tossed into the wounds, glistening now with blood. As he scanned the rest of his body he placed a wet rag over each thigh, hoping it would soothe the skin. His sides were bruised, ribs just above likely broken, and his chest rose and fell quickly. The center of his sternum was a darkened purple, and a large welt went diagonally across the bruise. Hand prints circled his neck, and his jaw was scraped, and his lip was split in two places. Dark circles had closed his eyes, the bridge of his nose cut as well, and his brown hair was bloodied and matter to the side of his head. Pushing hair away, the prince only revealed another bruise, this one on his temple. He cursed, tears burning his eyes.
"Hephaestion," he cried as slowly his lover's eyes twitched. His lower lip parted, and he drew in a jagged breath, his eyes slowly opening. He blinked several times before trying to move his head, and when he did he winced.
"Did I oversleep," he whispered, his voice sounding like a ghost's. Alexander shook his head, tears now streaming down his cheeks. Hephaestion instinctively reached up and brushed the tears away with a hand. For the first time he seemed to feel the pain of his entire body, and his arm fell back to the bed. He gasped for air, his lungs not opening it seemed. Alexander leaned down and gently placed a hand over Hephaestion's, his fingers cut and bleeding, some possibly broken.
"You should hate me," Alexander desperately murmured, his words almost incomprehensible to Hephaestion. "Oh gods, Hephaestion, I was on my way, I swear it. The guards sent me away, and soon enough I found you, but it was all too late. Oh, my poor, poor Hephaestion. You are too loyal. You are too loyal."
"Why do you cry?"
"Do you not feel it? I've seen battle-ridden men who have returned in better shape than you, men who should have died. Are you so battered it no longer hurts? The physician is on the way. Oh, poor, poor Hephaestion."
"I feel nothing but serenity when with you," Hephaestion whispered. It was an amazing hyperbole, for he felt each tear in his flesh, each bruise that dulled his skin, each rib crushing against his lungs when he tried to take in air. Alexander was choking on tears once more. He leaned forward, placing his lips against Hephaestion's forehead, cooling the fire that burned there.
"How bad is it?"
"I'm not sure," Alexander said through tears. "You always strike me as a sculpture made for Aphrodite. You are no different to me now."
"Be honest with me."
"I am. I have never seen another so perfect, Hephaestion. Oh, why did I pursue you, deity fallen from the Elysian Fields and into my courtyard? I should have sent you back to Athens, where you were safe from these politics."
"I would have come back," Hephaestion whispered, blinking more and more. Alexander reached for a cloth in the cool wash basin and wrung it out. He then began wiping more blood away from Hephaestion's face. Hephaestion whispered something else, something he could neither hear nor guess, and then the breath left him momentarily. Again he slipped into the realm of darkened dreams. Alexander could only watch him and silently pray, hoping the gods would protect him.
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A/N: I actually feel really bad about having Hephaestion brutally beaten, so don't hate me. Review though!
