Alexander IV Chapter 11: A Fight for Princes, an alexander fanfic

Title: Alexander IV

Author: Baliansword

Chapter: 10 of 12, "A Fight for Princes"

Rating: T for Teen

Pairings: to come later

Summary: Cassander has taken charge of Hercules Alexandros, the only true surviving heir to Alexander's great empire. Hercules now is turning sixteen and Cassander must decide which course of action to take with the heir. No matter the choice he makes both a good and a bad outcome will appear.

A/N: I know, Cassander is not the nicest person in the world. I am sorry. Also, Ptolemy had two sons, and neither was Ptoleus. However, you'll see why (below) this third son would never have been mentioned anyway. Just a cute little twist of history. Pardon moi.

IMPORTANT: Dorganus will be mentioned in this chapter, and later ones. If you have not read THE MISSING you should be aware that he took Hephaestion and tortured him, horribly. Note that Cassander was there when they got Hephaestion back. In short, Dorganus is horrible!

Leassandra: Lee-ah-san-drah (Cassander's daughter)

Arast: Air-ast (Cassander's young son)

Syrikriah: Seer-eek-ree-ah (Cassander's wife)

Ptoleus: Toll-ee-us (Ptolemy's son, heir to Egypt)

Dorganus: Door-gan-us (Captor of Hephaestion in THE MISSING)

Carmalla: Car-maul-ah (Dorganus' daughter)

Alexandria, Egypt… Palace of Ptolemy…a fortnight prior

It was late in the afternoon when Ptoleus set the parchment letter down on his father's desk, taking a seat and folding his arms over his chest. Ptolemy reached forward, taking the letter, and began reading. He then folded the letter and tossed it back to his son. So, had all of his years come to this, to hunting down a child that was the true heir to the Empire? Sighing, the elder ran a hand over his face and then shook his head. He would not go to Athens, not for this, he owed at least that to Alexander's name.

"He could take all," Ptoleus snorted, hating that his father was not going to do anything but sit around and wait for Hercules to grow older. Wasn't it hypocritical that his father would nag Cassander over simple things, but that this issue could be pushed to the side. He set the letter back on the desk, slamming his hand on top of it.

"Olympias knows nothing more than we do," Ptolemy corrected his son, who was all too eager to chase after a possible leader. It was his fault, his corruption, that he wanted all power, no matter how he got it. It was the only disappointment that Ptolemy had found in his three sons, that they all craved power. Ptoleus was bad enough, but his younger two sons fought amongst each other as well, and soon they would set their eyes on Ptoleus, the eldest.

"She saw him, we have seen him," Ptoleus corrected. "That is the child of Alexander! What do you need to do something, Alexander's word from beyond the grave?"

"Enough," Ptolemy finally shouted. He stood, angrily shaking a hand at the boy, who for sixteen was too bold. "If you want to go to Athens," he pointed, "then go! Fight him in the streets if you would like, but not here! I'll not help you. Take a horse, take yourself, but you'll have none of my men, nothing from me."

"You would betray your son for a dead king," Ptoleus spat, wheeling around and leaving the tent. His father did not understand, could not understand. He was a fool. It would only take a group of people believing that he was Alexander's heir, and that in such he should rule all, and he would lose his standing in Alexandria immediately. Cursing, he glanced at his horse, tied just outside the stables. Perhaps he would pay Hercules a visit himself.

Outside of Cassander's palace at Athens…

It was dark now, the sun already swallowed up by the horizon, the birds roosting in the trees above him. Even as thunder began to light up the angered skies, he remained, caught up in insomnia and his thoughts. He brought his knees to his chest as the rain began to pour from the skies, threatening crops that would be flooded in the morning. Drawing in a breath, he screamed as loud as he could, knowing that no one around would hear. His head then sunk back against the base of the tree and lighting and thundered overtook the skies. It was because of Olympias' death that the gods were so furious, he had decided nearly an hour ago. As he slid further down he let his legs sink into the mud and grabbed at the uprooted grass, again screaming.

Throwing his head forward he wrapped his arms around his knees and began to cry. He hated them, hated them all. He hated Cassander, hated his wife, hated Olympias, hated his father, hated Hephaestion –he hated everyone and everything at this moment. He closed his eyes and again tried to sleep, not caring about the rain that soaked his chiton, the thunder that rumbled through the sky, causing even the earth to quake. Still, sleep would not come. He wondered if it would ever come. Biting his lower lip he threw his head back and screamed again. He wanted the memories gone, wanted it all gone. It only ended in despair…it all ended in despair.

"You know my weaknesses," Alexander whispered, reaching out and placing his hand in Hephaestion's. They never held hands, at least, he could not remember them holding hands. Hephaestion turned his head, eyes red and watering, and smiled, though it pained him. He could see the pain at the corner of his eyes, how his body tensed and tightened, but still, he smiled. Alexander reached up with his free hand and wiped tears away from his eyes. He was trying hard, so hard, to be stronger than the man on the bed. He was failing.

"The doctors are on the way," Alexander then stated, stroking a hand over Hephaestion's forehead, as if he could take the fever from him. Hercules drew in a breath. Was Hephaestion so ill that Alexander was in a state of tears? No, it could not be, not Hephaestion who had just two days before taken him to the river, taken him fishing again. He could not be sick. He had been so lively. No, his smile was the same as it had been days before.

"I've missed you."

"Forgive me for ever leaving you," Alexander pleaded, the tears now streaming from his eyes. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Hephaestion's cheek and then wrapped his arms around him. Hephaestion, fighting through pain, wrapped an arm around Alexander's neck, holding his king against him.

"It is the destiny for the stars to chase the sun, coming close, but never touching. You are the sun to my stars, Alexander, and I pray, even without me, you will light up the world with your dreams."

The rain had slowed but had not yet come to a stop. He did not know if he could blame the gods for wanted to seek vengeance against Cassander, who had now taken from the world a woman of much worth. Perhaps she had driven Alexander partly into madness, Hercules admitted, but he had always had Hephaestion to rein him back in. Their love was cursed, they were Trojan heroes living in the new world, but the ending would always be the same. Patroclus first, followed by Achilles. Calming, Hercules glanced up at the lighting in the sky, thinking of what Leassandra had said. Yes, perhaps this was some sign from his father, from the gods, but still, were the constant memories necessary? He began to rub his eyes before he heard muddied footsteps on the trail behind him.

"We cannot touch him," a voice whispered in the wind, causing Hercules to look over his shoulder. However, there was no one there. Instead, there was a muddied trail, boots pressed deeply into the ground, and they were not his own.

"I won't," another whispered, causing Hercules to push himself up and look in the opposite direction. He turned in a full circle, but still, there was nothing. He drew in another breath, rubbing his eyes, and then opened his eyes to the world again. Silence, apart from thunder.

Hercules, now standing soaked in the rain, knew that it was now too much. He turned, edging around the tree, and began on his way to the palace. It took him some time, the trails winding into others and he had no way of knowing where he was actually heading. Stopping once to kneel over, he looked at a bloodied knee and cursed before standing once more, and only as he did were the flames of the palace visible, the flames that stood on tall columns, awaiting the lost. Laughing under his breath he made his way into the palace, knowing well enough that he looked like a starved dog. Before he had reached his rooms he felt a hand clasp around his arm, and instantly a messenger was at his side. He dipped his head and then began to speak.

"My prince," the servant turned news bearer gasped, "the king has been requesting you all night. It is urgent, says he. Go, go now, before he asks again and you do not show."

"I will go," Hercules assured him. "But I think it would be best if I could wash before going."

"No, no, no time. Now. Urgent, urgent says he."

Hercules knew when arguing would not benefit him. He gave in and let the messenger drag him to Cassander's chambers. Before he could protest further he was literally pushed into the room. The doors shut behind him with a thud that echoed through the silence. He truly did not want to see Cassander, not now. He was not ready to face him, knowing that he had taken his only true family from him, the only family that he had left. But it must have been urgent, for Cassander was pacing the room as he entered, and stopped only when Hercules stepped forward.

"Where were you?"

"Out," Hercules replied, feeling that he did not have to explain himself to Cassander. Cassander seemed worried though. He came closer and then threw his arms around Hercules, pulling him close, without saying anything. He held him for a moment before he released him, and he then looked him over. Hercules' lip turned upward, unsure of what exactly was going on.

"Ptoleus is on his way here," Cassander then said, worry sounding in his voice. "He knows who you are, and it threatened by the power of your name alone. He has hired, with his prince's purse, mercenaries to track you down. You are worth a fortune dead, and when you were absent from dinner, I was beside myself."

"I was thinking."

"You cannot leave now, not unguarded. And when Ptoleus arrives, he will challenge you. Tomorrow, I believe, according to my couriers, he will reach Athens. I would have him killed before he reaches the palace, but, how would that look? It would be better if you accepted his challenge, and then kill him."

"You want me to kill Ptoleus? Why," Hercules asked, "so that you can eliminate another family one member at a time?"

"She was dangerous," Cassander stated. Someday the boy would see what life was truly like. He would soon understand that those he thought had crossed him were only protecting him, and those that he would have called his friends were his truest enemies. He was now forty, and just now he was reliving his life in his dreams, and this he now understood.

"So I am to kill Ptoleus?"

"If you could solve this diplomatically, then do so. But unless you are willing to drain your blood from your body and trade it with Ptoleus, I don't think you'll reach an accord."

"What if I don't want the Empire?"

"What?"

"If I don't want it," Hercules restated, staring at Cassander, watching just how deeply this hurt him. He did not want to hurt him. Surely he could understand that he did not want to harm him. He only wanted to live a meaningful life, one where he did not hate everyone he met, where he questioned those closest to him. Where he lost everything, and for nothing.

"You want it," Cassander said. It was the end of the conversation.

Mid-day…the next day…

Hercules held the sword in his hand and looked to the sky, particularly to the eagle that soared through the sky. He swallowed, the heat affecting him for the first time. As he reached up and wiped sweat from his brow he tried not to look disturbed by the light that shone in the eyes. Instead, he stepped forward, facing Ptoleus for the first time in a good year. The last time he'd seen him they had also been on friendly terms, or so he'd thought. Now, it was the opposite. Ptoleus sneered at him, as if he had done something wrong by being born.

"I don't want to fight you," Hercules said, glancing to the left, where a balcony of onlookers stared down at him. Cassander merely stared, but Leassandra was holding tightly to Arast's hand, as if it would better things. Carmalla sat, seemingly bored. He could expect nothing more of her.

"And am I not to secure my throne," Ptoleus asked.

"I don't want Alexandria," Hercules assured him. "Ptoleus, you know that I am a better fighter than you. I've had more training, better training. Just have my word that you can keep Alexandria."

"No," Ptoleus said, lunging forward. Hercules said nothing as Ptoleus threw an arm around him. Instead, he held him, as a friend would. They both collapsed after a moment, falling to the dirt. Ptoleus then began to pull away, and blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

"Forgive me," Hercules whispered, pulling his hidden dagger from the other's chest. He then released Ptoleus and let him fall. So, he thought, I too am a tyrant.

A/N: Short, but I can do that. Review!