Title: Forgotten Lakes

Chapter: 9/?

Fandom: Alexander (Historical. Not bloody movie.)

Rating: PG-13 for slash. No longer implied

Pairing: Alexander/ Hephaestion

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

A/N: It has been far too long since I have updated this. Apologies for this chapter- it is a trial one to get me back into the swing and style of Alexander fanfiction and as such not that much happens

Warnings: None for this chapter really.

Thanks for reviews to: sevy, ukio, InkandPaper, Jey, Moon71, Norrsken, Rashalla Entalio, SongNatasha, anberzen, Yolass, Queendel, Manidefronsac

Dedication: All those who favved me. Special thanks to Moon71 whose last beautiful story, gave me the idea to help end Forgotten Lakes

After their virulent argument the day before hand, things were back to the same uneasy impasse between Alexander and Hephaestion, though this was not openly acknowledged. The tension was different now, less caused by their respective age difference, and more to do with the fact that Hephaestion was gradually waking up to see what was happening around him. No longer was he the same sleepy eyed boy, who played, laughed and loved as a child. He was still fundamentally unaware of the changes within both himself and Alexander, but he was now aware that the changes were there, and they were not things that could be helped.

Aristotle as keen eyed as ever, had virtually given up on the situation. It seemed that Hephaestion was blind and Alexander if not a coward then at least a fool. Hephaestion was not going to remain innocent forever, and there were few others better equipped to care for him than Alexander, in this difficult time. He looked thoughtfully at the ground. Alexander had better to hurry. There were people who were less reticent in displaying their affections, and one of those at least was not going to take no for an answer. His eyes drifted over to where a handsome young man on guard duty was ostensibly looking at the stables, but in fact spent most of his time gazing soulfully in Hephaestion's direction.

Cleitus had not forgotten the wood's incident, and had since come to the conclusion that Hephaestion had merely been shocked by such an approach, and would respond far more positively to a more subtle courtship. Thus he did not mention the aborted kiss, and was as friendly and genial as he could be; often talking to the younger lad about things he knew interested him, or soliciting his help in identifying a herb, or quotation. Hephaestion responded well to the friendship, and soon grew to dismiss the kiss as something that had happened by accident- the other man had obviously been carried away. Yet Cleitus's presence was a living reminder of the first introduction of sensuality into his life, and as such Hephaestion's subconscious was busier than he realised.

Not only his mind was busy. His body, so long under his control seemed to be alien again. Like Alexander he had matured physically earlier, and now his mind was catching up- however unwillingly. His conversation with his father had confused him naturally. All the views and beliefs he had held for years- based upon a father who in his eyes was God, had been turned upside down. Yet his natural stubbornness rebelled against such a change in the order of things. His father must be wrong. There was no point in idle flirtation and in appointing such importance to sex, a subject that so far was linked unpleasantly in his mind with Cleitus, Philip and the court prostitutes that were even here at Mieza. It did not strike him that this was the height of arrogance, to apportion to himself the right of deciding what was important and what was not. But Hephaestion was still untempered by life's fire, and with the casual arrogance of youth, had decided to fight not only preconceived opinions, but even his own urges.

Alexander had been kicking himself since their last argument, and lambasting himself for a fool. He had finally got on Hephaestion's good side again, and had jeopardized that, over such a small thing as jealousy. What kind of fool was he in the name of Zeus? King of the fools it would appear. True, it meant that he now knew more about Hephaestion than he ever had done before, but at the cost of almost losing his precarious footing with the younger boy. He tried to castigate himself for getting into such a state over a boy his own age, whom even if he accepted Alexander's overtures, could only be his lover for such a short amount of time, until they were both fully grown and warriors in their own right. But the heart ignores such reasoning from the head, and Alexander had to live with a body that was all too keen to show Hephaestion exactly how he felt.

His eyes were thoughtful when he remembered what Hephaestion had told him of his family history. Never had he dreamed that such a tangled web of feelings and actions lay behind the seemingly united Athenian family's front. He had known both of Hephaestion's parents, but it wasn't until a nominally short time ago that he had even known that Hephaestion had had a brother, let alone one who had been Demosthenes of all people's lover, who had subsequently been slain by a Macedonian arrow. And yet it explained so much. He had never thought of asking Philip why Demosthenes was so bitter towards Macedonia, had just accepted it as 'one of those things' that were simply freak manifestations of nature, rather than as a grievance with it's roots in something personal. He did wonder however why Philip had never told him about Hephaestion's family history. Alexander strove to be fair within his mind- maybe Philip had simply thought Hephaestion would have told him, but he couldn't help feeling doubtful. It seemed as though his father was always one step ahead of him. As it happened there were far worse things to be wondering about, considering the conversation that Philip was having with one of his closest generals.

Amyntor was reclining thoughtfully as he accepted a chilled white wine from the docile servant girl, smiling at her appreciatively. "You are determined on this course of action?" he asked the man opposite him, who was reclining in a similar manner. "And the other boys?"

"Those older and his own age will have to disperse back to their own duties, and I scarcely think that Aristotle will have much interest in teaching the young ones, with the focus of the class removed." Philip shrugged careless shoulders. "It is more than time that Alexander began to feel the weight of some responsibility on his shoulders if he is ever going to succeed to the throne." He did not mention his personal doubts that were just beginning to emerge. "He still acts like a child. This foolish fascination with your son," he paused for a moment, "not that I do not believe Hephaestion would be good for him in some ways, but still the intensity that Alexander insists on lavishing on his emotions is not good for someone who must learn to control himself in some matters, to see the bigger picture."

The other man nodded shrewdly, understanding there was no offence meant, though he disagreed with the lightness that Philip treated his son's emotions- after all it was one area at least in which Philip and Alexander were very similar, Alexander having more control than Philip even. "Very well," he acquiesced. "I shall write to Hephaestion immediately and summon him back, if that is well with you. I should prefer him to return a little earlier. And perhaps you will have less trouble tearing Alexander from his studies if he knows that his friend is waiting for him in Pella." He did not mention to the King his other reason for wanting Hephaestion back. Helene his wife was weakening faster by the day, and it was his secret hope that his son and his wife be able to speak at least once more before her, he mentally flinched from the word he had been avoiding. He did not mention it, for he was sure that Philip knew already, as the King had pressed his hand in silent sympathy each time he had made excuses for his wife.

Duly, later that evening, a letter was dispatched in Amyntor's careful pen and inkmanship, and arrived in course to Hephaestion. He read it through in silence- it was little more than a short note.

My dear son,

Greetings to you and to your friends. You may wonder at the abruptness of this summons, and I apologise for this hastiness. I write to summon you back to Pella. I am not at liberty to explain my full reasons, but dutiful as you are, I am sure you forgive me for this lapse. I am sorry that I cannot allow you more time, but the escort which brought this letter must take you back on the day that they return. I doubt that you will return to Mieza, and unless Aristotle comes to Pella, then this will be the last time you see him, so bid him farewell with due affection, and convey my warmest greetings and regards to him. Your schoolmates you need not lavish such cares upon, as I can tell you in confidence that you shall be reunited with most of them soon. Your mother sends her love to both you and Alexander.

Your loving father.

Hephaestion stared at the note in his hands, and experienced a sudden sick feeling of dismay. He was being summoned back to Pella? He read the note through again, it didn't seem as though he was in disgrace, and the cryptic line at the end seemed to offer reassurance that he wasn't being banished or anything. He folded it, and tucked it into his pocket, resolved to seek out Aristotle immediately. He was to leave tomorrow morning that much was clear.

Standing before the sage, he remembered his father's admonition as to the secrecy element. He chose the next most likely reason for such a sudden withdrawal from the class, something he had suspected since Amyntor's last visit. "I don't know the reason sir," he said in perfect truth, "but I believe that my mother is ailing."

Aristotle peered at him with sharp eyes, and read his bland face. "Come off it boy," he said wearily. "We both know the real reason. You are only the first to go, Philip must have finally decided that Alexander is ready to take on some of the work of ruling a kingdom, while he embarks on another foolhardy campaign of his own." He smiled at the shocked looking boy in front of him." Never mind," he said more kindly. "I shall not be coming to Pella unless there is a farewell that I must attend, so I believe this is farewell."

"Sir," Hephaestion said, then hesitated, and plunged. "It has been an honour being taught by you." He made a curiously formal bow. "There is little I can do, but thank you for all you have done for me."

Sighing, the older man came closer. "I've enjoyed teaching you Hephaestion," he said honestly. He tilted up the younger boy's face. "You are a strange one," he sighed. "There is little I can tell you or advice you in, for you will forge your own way in the world. So I tell you what I would tell no-one else who lives as you do. Trust in yourself. You have rare gifts, and perhaps the rarest one is clarity of mind. It may be your curse or your salvation, but though it may hinder your rise to better things I tell you never to lose sight of what is right and true- and the courage and conviction to voice your opinion." As though in benediction, he kissed Hephaestion on the forehead. "Now go and pack." He turned away, and Hephaestion left quietly to seek out those of his friends he could find.

He told them merely that he was being summoned back home because his mother was ill, which they accepted instinctively when faced with Hephaestion's insistence. Alexander waited until they had dispersed, then caught Hephaestion by the sleeve. "You're going?" he asked with dismay evident in his voice. "But why?"

Hephaestion repeated his excuse, wanting to give into comforting Alexander by telling him they would see each other soon, but mindful of his father's words. So he had to leave his friend with a handful of unsatisfactory comforts, and empty promises. It hurt far more than he had thought, even this short separation, though he had a growing intimation in his mind as to why that should be so- why parting from Nicanor., Hector, Nearchus and even Cleitus did not give him the same queer half painful pang, as saying goodbye to Alexander, even with the assurance they would meet again soon. They embraced, Hephaestion with a queer aching lump in his throat, Alexander as subdued as Hephaestion had ever seen him, and the next morning while the sky was still misty grey with dew, and the air was chill Hephaestion awoke to travel back to Pella. He was a little hurt that Alexander was not there to wave him off, but as he finished tending to his horse, he turned to signal his readiness and found Alexander there, eyes bright despite the chill, and the warmth of his hug against the cold. "Be well," Alexander mumbled into his neck, and Hephaestion was vaguely aware of goose bumps rising on his skin. Alexander stood back and caught his gaze. Hephaestion's eyes widened in sudden almost comprehension and he shifted closer unconsciously, Alexander's hand rising to carefully touch his cheek.

The moment was broken by the shout of the guardsman, and slowly they moved away, Hephaestion mounting easily, and leaning down to clasp Alexander's hand one last time. "I'll write," he whispered, and then they were gone. Alexander stood there in the early morning greyness of the yard, and stared at the departing riders, though inside he was flushed and warm, remembering every little detail of the other boy's expression and the almost revelation of his feelings. Though Hephaestion had said nothing, and was now away, Alexander was suddenly inexplicably hopeful. He had a chance.

Hephaestion's thoughts lingered for a long time upon Alexander, but the closer they came after long travel to Pella the more his thoughts drifted to what awaited him. There was a sick feeling of dread in his stomach as he realised what his glib excuse to the other students could in truth mean if it was indeed true. As though automatically, he remembered Amyntor's expression when he had asked after his mother's health last, the pain that had so briefly flickered over his father's face. He inhaled a deep sigh. Now he thought about it, his mother's letters had been so infrequent lately, and their handwriting shaky- this from a woman who was lauded on account of her learning, and he mentally cursed himself. How could he not have thought?

As soon as he arrived in Pella, he hurried along to where his parents lived, needing no guide. The house was utterly quiet, and dread pounded in his throat, as he let himself quietly in. One of the servants was stoking the fire in the kitchen, an old family servant, whose face lit up when she saw him. "Master Hephaestion," she exclaimed, and stood. "You'll be wanting to see your mother?" she observed, and with the ease and familiarity of long experience she pointed to the garden. "My mistress spends this hour in the garden." Hephaestion smiled his thanks, and gratefully squeezed her. He paced himself deliberately, though he could not avert the feeling of impending doom. Then finally he saw his mother. His first sigh of relief was tempered with shock at how she looked.

She had changed even since the last time he saw her. Always thin, she was now positively emaciated, and her face was lined with furrows of pain. Dressed in white, she was a slender and ethereal figure on the bench, her unearthly face raised to the sky above, her eyes closed as though she was waiting for something. Hephaestion walked closer, not liking to interrupt, and saw that one of her hands at least was not naturally white. It was swathed in bandages, and through a little gap he could see the vivid red of burnt flesh. He could not restrain his gasp, and at the sound his mother's eyes opened. The eyes that had once entranced a general so much, that he had proposed marriage after the second meeting, were now dull and glazed as though with pain too much to bear. Her voice was the same, though somewhat reedier and thinner. "Hephaestion," he she breathed rather than spoke. "Darling." She extended the uninjured hand to him, and cautiously he took it, sitting next to her on the bench. "Have you enjoyed Mieza?"

"Yes," he said quietly, modulating his own tones to hers.

She smiled painfully. "Demosthenes is such a well spoken man isn't he? But darling are you sure he is good for you? After those rumours about the other boy, I do worry for you." Hephaestion sat still in shock, and then he gradually realised that she thought he was Lysander, that her mind was wandering. She continued on, her voice cracking slightly. "And what of Alexander? How is he the dear boy?"

Close to tears Hephaestion mumbled his answer. "He's well," he replied, and received a squeeze of the hand.

"You always were so beautiful together," she said musingly. "Two heads bent over the same toy."

Hephaestion looked up, and saw his father standing there, his eyes full of pity, and understanding, and shook his head bewildered, throat clogged by tears. How could this be happening?

Because I like to torture you Hephaestion would be the answer if I liked that sort of thing. Well people, the ending of Forgotten Lakes may be coming up soon. I had no idea how to finish it, then reading Moon71's last story suddenly dissolved my writer's block in that area, so thanks!

However this is by no means the end, so stick around for the next couple of chapters.

A.W.