Many thanks to my lovely reviewers for the unexpected - but enormously appreciated ! - support. It is indeed an honor to know that you are awaiting my further fumbling attempts with such anticipation and it is with some trepidation on my part that I offer you the next chapter.

Two

If anything good came of it, at least I learned my name, Hephaistion thought grimly.

Not that the name brought back the slightest recollection of his past.

The man who had spoken to him had turned out to be an interpreter. The taller man had not given his name, nor had he spoken. He had merely regarded Hephaistion with open mistrust laced with an interest that he had not bothered to conceal. With an effort to ignore it, Hephaistion had concentrated on what the interpreter had to say but had understood a lot more from what had not been said.

It was the Great King Darius of Persia whose hospitality he enjoyed, yet his initial assumption that he was a captive was accurate. Again, the name meant nothing, but he stored it away together with the other one - of Alexander. Sooner or later the connection between the two, of which Hephaistion was becoming convinced, would become apparent.

The interpreter had addressed him in halting Greek, and Hephaistion had known that only because the man had apologized for his poor language skills.

For one thing, Hephaistion had understood from the interpreter's tone that he was a prized prisoner. With some annoyance, Hephaistion had wondered how it came about that he was captured alive - or barely so - by the enemy. Of course there was a perfectly good explanation; so said the side of him whom he had learned was the voice of reason. But the other side, still young and rash, demanded answers – now! He hated to think what the terms of his release would be. Somehow, it seemed logical that a high-ranking prisoner would be exchanged for great favours in any country. It raked at Hephaistion's mind how these small details seem to spring into his mind so easily while the most important ones escaped him completely.

For another thing, he had realized that the language that he thought in was not Greek. Or not entirely Greek. But it seemed to him that he had known both languages all his life. It was as far as he got, because the more he forced his mind to obey and remember, the more elusive any part of his past became.

So over the next few hours he continued to try and piece his memories together, chiefly wondering who this Alexander was, whose name he kept repeating to himself. He felt no stir of emotion, neither warmth nor dread at the name.

It was the head-wound, he knew. Out of what prior knowledge he could not fathom, but somehow he did recall having encountered soldiers - again, in what army he could not place – who had been plagued by temporary loss of memory owed to a blow to their head. His own wound had been severe enough to send him into fits of unconsciousness for hours at a time. So he told himself to be patient and perhaps he would be rewarded with more visions from the past.

Only he was aware that he didn't have all that much time. How long could he hope to fool the Persian king and his advisors, pretending to remember who he was, when in fact he did not? Of course, they would expect him to be evasive and reveal as little as possible, yet there were limits to what one could talk about before it became blatant that his memory had been severely impaired. Then maybe his captors would reconsider his value in terms of an exchange of hostages.

That afternoon, he endured patiently while the boy washed him from head to toe and rubbed a stinging salve into his healing wounds. The swelling on his head had subsided and headaches only plagued him at night before he slept or when he was particularly tense. It was one of those times now; just before he was due to confront the might of Persian royalty. Hephaistion did not feel remotely hungry and he pushed away the bowl of fruit offered by the boy.

The young man noticed it, because Hephaistion saw a glint of concern in the dark eyes. It was the first time Hephaistion bothered to notice anything about the boy and he wondered if it was the first time the boy showed it. Hephaistion had never stopped long enough to give any thought to the boy, whose presence he took for granted by now. Suddenly, it occurred to him that, because he was at the mercy of his captors after all, they could decide to remove the boy from his side. The thought was a lot less welcome than Hephaistion would have cared to admit. He realized he must have been gazing quite intently at the boy, because the youngster averted his eyes and a faint blush crept into his cheeks.

'I'm Hephaistion,' he said trying to sound as amiable as he could, pointing a finger to his chest. 'What is your name?'

Surely, he thought, the boy must have heard his name before. And indeed, instant understanding was mirrored in the dark eyes. But in the next moment sorrow swept over the boy's features. He pointed a finger to his mouth and shook his head helplessly.

He was mute. Hephaistion sighed. No wonder the boy attended to him in silence.

Yet in spite of feeling saddened, Hephaistion was more at ease, now that he had made known his acknowledgement of the boy's presence. He allowed the boy to help him dress in the clothes that had been given to him. It felt odd to have his legs wrapped in cloth and not feel the skin of his inner thighs rub free. Surely his own clothes must be different, Hephaistion deduced. A long tunic, complete with an ornate belt, finished the outfit. Of course, he would have preferred to wear his own clothes, but apart from not even knowing how they looked like – though he assumed he had been wearing armour of sorts – he did not think that they were in any condition to be worn, considering the state he himself must have been brought into the Persian camp.

He tucked away a mental note to enquire about his clothes later. More answers could lie hidden there.

He did not protest when the boy produced a comb and, with some effort, smoothed the knots in his hair. Instinctively, Hephaistion felt that his attendant took his job very seriously. Because he still felt a little guilty about his earlier violent reaction towards the boy, Hephaistion kept his grimaces at a minimum as the knots were defeated one by one.

But when the boy produced a jar containing a dark powder and a miniature brush, Hephaistion raised an eyebrow. Mutely but resolutely, he was bidden to close his eyes. Hephaistion shook his head. He had no desire to look like a Persian subject. Wearing their garb was one thing. Painting himself like a girl was entirely another.

The boy stepped back and regarded Hephaistion half-critically. Obviously he was looking for anything that might be out of place, but he found nothing, because he smiled shyly and nodded his approval. Hephaistion, less inclined to smile, nevertheless did so. It did not hurt to show some appreciation after all.

A moment later, the tent flap was raised. The escort had arrived. Hephaistion stepped out into the fading light and raised a silent plea to find more answers before he returned.

Answers were something that Alexander had not had for three weeks. He had known, when every one of the bodies of the men sent out was accounted for – except for Hephaistion's – that his friend must have met the fate of every high-ranking official who was more valuable alive than dead.

The brief elation he had experienced at that realization had nevertheless been assaulted by the horrifying implications: sooner or later, if indeed Hephaistion had survived the attack, Darius would put forth terms for his release. What that meant, Alexander could only guess.

But one thing was certain: before the eyes of the entire world, before his army and the enemy alike, he would be faced with a choice that he would give up his life to avoid.

The weeks had passed and Darius had not sent an emissary. Alexander had been convinced that Darius, whose spies must have informed him of Hephaistion's closeness to him, would ask for his household to be released to him in exchange for his friend. His men would not approve of exchanging the vital advantage that the Persian royal women presented for one of them who had been captured. There would even be those who welcomed Hephaistion's demise. But Alexander could deal with that.

What he could not entirely deal with however was Darius' lack of communication. It unnerved him slightly, even if he did not wish to acknowledge it.

Logically that could mean only two things: that Darius did not wish to trade Hephaistion just yet, for whatever reason. Or, even worse, that Hephaistion was badly wounded, or even dead, and there would be no point to the trade.

Then came the night when Alexander felt his composure crumble. Enraged with himself, he retired to his tent to confer with Ptolemy alone, feeling too burdened to allow any of his other generals to see him in so vulnerable a state of mind.

'I've decided, Ptolemy. We are going ahead with the battle. It will have to be Gaugamela. Even if it's Darius' choice.'

Ptolemy sighed. He had assumed as much. The plain had been smoothed by Darius' servants and it held all the advantages for the Persians.

'I will call a war council in the morning. I can hear them already,' Alexander said heatedly, pacing around his tent. ' "They outnumber us five to one." "It is Darius' terrain." "There's no turning back if we decide to accept the terms." "Are you doing this with Hephaistion in mind? Grow up, Alexander – would you have rushed into battle and sacrificed your entire army in the process had it been another one of us who was taken?". They will all say that. '

'And they wouldn't be so wrong, Alexander,' Ptolemy countered gently. 'Most of them are great generals, but they lack your vision. And yes, there will be those who will see your tactic as a rushed move to get Hephaistion back. But think about what Hephaistion would counsel you to do right now, if he were here? He would not agree to such madness.'

Alexander grimaced. 'We have little choice, even if it wasn't for Hephaistion being captive. And I daresay that even if he is captive and not badly wounded, he can take care of himself. But this is not why I asked you here. I will have it out with the rest of the generals tomorrow at the council. For now, I just need someone to talk to.'

Ptolemy understood. What Alexander was saying in not so many words was that he missed the presence of a friend.

'I am worried at the lack of news,' Alexander said truthfully. 'It has crossed my mind more than once that he could be dead after all. And I cannot think of how I will go on without him. I know I must, as I indeed have these past weeks, but more and more I realize that maybe I don't want to. Not if I have to give up someone I hold so dear.'

Alexander's eyes were aflame as if possessed by a terrible memory.

'I'll let you in on a secret, Ptolemy' he said as his voice dropped to almost a whisper. 'When I was younger, I would pray to Zeus for Hephaistion to die before me. And do you know why? Because I don't want him to have to deal with the pain of losing me. I know he's the more level-headed and practical of the two of us, and that he would probably be able to pick up the pieces and carry on - for my sake - but still I prayed for it. Why then, Ptolemy, when losing him has become almost certainty, do I feel so scared?'

'This is madness, Alexander,' Ptolemy answered, completely at a loss as to what words - soothing or harsh - to tell the man and bring him back from the edge of reason. 'You are making yourself sick over this.'

He knew that there was little that Alexander had not considered already. He also knew that, after three weeks, Alexander was neither in denial, nor in the throes of anger anymore. The least he could do for his half-brother was to help him accept the inevitable in whatever way he could.

'You are both grown men. You've seen much of this world. Do you not think it is time to set aside some of your childhood phantasms? Let us fight this battle and then decide what to do about Hephaistion. I doubt it they would have harmed him in any way. Not after the way you treated Darius' family.'

Alexander nodded dolefully. 'And that is what we will do, Ptolemy. But sometimes in my heart, I feel as if I've already lost him. There are times when he feels so far away that I know I have no other choice. Yet there are other times when I would give anything in this world just to see him once more.'

'Hephaistion would not want you to make a different choice than the one you have made,' said Ptolemy levelly.

He watched Alexander's agony written all over his face. The usually clear eyes were bloodshot and uncertain and it had been a long time since Ptolemy had seen him like that. In fact, the only other time that Ptolemy had seen Alexander so lost was just after Philip's death, when he had caught a glimpse of Alexander's frightened eyes, in an unguarded moment.

'I know what Hephaistion would want me to do,' Alexander said quietly, staring straight ahead, as if seeing through the fabric of the tent across the miles where the Persians had most likely imprisoned his friend. 'He wouldn't think of how the men would hate him if I chose him above all of them. But he would not want them to hate me for it. And more than that, he would think of what it would cost me in terms of my dreams. That maybe, years from now, when we would have returned to Macedon, not quite the conquerors that we planned to be in our youth – he would think that I might turn bitter. He would certainly not be able to live with himself if that had to happen. It is why he would want me to choose to fight this battle here, regardless of what might happen to him.'

Ptolemy sighed. 'I hear you,' he said gently, 'and I know that is exactly what Hephaistion would want you to do. He loves you too much. But tell me, what is it that Alexander wants to do?'

Alexander sank in a chair. He ran his hands through his hair violently, as if he wished to rip it all out.

'Don't you see, Ptolemy? There is no more Alexander. I cannot think of myself as a man apart any longer. Instead I have to think of this army, the enemy and their expectations – of this whole monster I've created. It is devouring me alive and I am enslaved to it until the end of my days, no matter how many loved ones I have to hurt in the process. What Alexander the Man desires is completely irrelevant. But what Alexander the King must do is what the world will see. And it has nothing to do with love or the soul.'

TBC