A/N: I thought about ending the story here, but it somehow does not seem complete. There are several 'loose ends' that I plan to deal with in the next chapters. Thanks for hanging in there!

Six

Hephaistion snapped awake and stared around in confusion. He lay naked on the floor in a heap of cushions scattered around and underneath him. Recollection crashed on him in the next instant and he cursed the cruel fates who allowed him to remember what had passed between him and Bessos the previous night but nothing else about his life before he was imprisoned.

Shifting painfully, he shook his head trying to clear it, only to be rewarded with nausea and pain, which brought the awareness that he had a body. He strained to ignore his aching body; he pushed himself up on his elbows as best as he could, hindered as he was by his still bound wrists. Orange light battered the tent walls and he was alone. The air was stifling with the dulcet smell of costly incense that Hephaistion would henceforth loathe with a passion.

As awareness was gradually restored, thirst unquenchable began to plague him. His throat was so sore that he couldn't even swallow and every inch of his flesh was beset with a tremor of fatigue and revulsion. But he could not afford himself the extravagance of time to waste on lethargy and self-pity.

Bessos had forced some wine into him the previous night, not only spicy and strong, but, judging by his reaction, Hephaistion was convinced that it had contained some sleeping draught. It had promptly sent him into a mercifully dreamless slumber. With hindsight, Hephaistion realized that, out of all the debasement that he had endured, he was at least grateful for the dead sleep.

Because he had managed to rest after a fashion, he felt remotely capable to stand up, albeit shakily. When his head stopped spinning, he padded awkwardly to a nearby table which was laden with what looked like the remains of Bessos' breakfast and a plate of fruit that Hephaistion wasted no time in devouring, strenuous as it proved to swallow food.

He took a swig of water, looking about for anything that could become useful and discovered Bessos' clothing chest. It contained odd bits of clothing and jewellery but, rummaging further; he was rewarded with a small, ornate dagger. It looked more like a toy, bejewelled and dainty as it was, but the point glinted deadly and it proved to be sharp enough for Hephaistion to hew off his bonds. He winced at the pain when the leather bonds, slicing into the skin like they were part of it, peeled away to bare raw flesh.

A crowing outside alerted him and he raised his head instinctively. Eagles and hawks, he knew. The battle would have started already. Perhaps it was already over.

Hephaistion slipped into a shirt he found in the box. He hid the dagger, the only weapon he had found, inside an inner pocket.

He spied for more weapons or anything that could prove useful but he had been making more noise than he had thought. The tent flap was pulled aside and two guards strode into the tent, spears at the ready.

Cursing bitterly, Hephaistion flung the heavy water pitcher at them, realizing that he could not take them on in his weakened state and armed only with a small dagger.

The guards started shouting at him in Persian and arguing amongst themselves. Eventually, taking great pains to keep their distance, the two men led Hephaistion out of the tent beckoning him with the ends of their spears, and motioned him towards the area where he and the boy had been kept chained the previous day.

The sun was up and the heat was already stifling and for the first time, Hephaistion heard the roar of battle. It sounded to him like a distant storm, now getting closer, now drawing further away. A discord of voices, iron and animals, screaming and killing and dying all at once.

The boy was still there, lying in almost the same position as the previous evening. The night winds had covered him in dust and he looked diminished, as if the flesh had been picked off his bones by predators. Hephaistion's heart foundered at the sight. After he had been taken to Bessos' tent, the satrap had ordered his men to leave the boy alone, but without water or food and in the pitiful state that he was in, he could have easily died in the night.

One of the guards pressed a half-empty water-skin in his hand and, to Hephaistion's surprise; he waved him closer to the boy. It looked like Bessos had left orders for the guards to bring Hephaistion to the boy. At least he was honouring his word, Hephaistion thought grimly. Hoping that it wasn't too late, Hephaistion knelt by his side and turned him over as gingerly as he could, resting his lolling head in his lap. He cringed at the feel of the limp body, hoping that nothing was broken that would cause the youngster more pain.

The previous day, under Hephaistion's eyes, the boy had been raped and battered repeatedly, until nothing more remained of him than a mass of shivering flesh. One of the attackers had suggested that he be kept alive for the next day, after victory. For the beastly treatment that the boy had endured alone, Hephaistion hated Baktrians to the end of his days.

The choice to take Bessos' torment had been his own and mostly because he had known that the boy would not withstand another assault. But the youngster had not had the luxury of choice. Murderous rage grew in Hephaistion's heart and if he had it in his power, he would have hunted down each and every one of those responsible. As it was, he could only wish fervently that they met a slow, torturous death.

The boy's swollen throat would not allow the water to go past at first and it bubbled out, choking him and coursing down his chin and neck. But Hephaistion persisted, kneading the throat muscles lightly, until he was satisfied that some liquid trickled through. How long it took to coax him to take a few more drops, Hephaistion was not sure, but in the back of his mind, he became more and more aware of the din of battle drawing closer. It was cause for concern for the guards as well, whose uneasiness began to show.

And then, like water bursting out of a shattered dam, razing everything in its path, soldiers - Persian and Macedonian alike - invaded the camp from all directions. Hephaistion could only tell each nation apart because they wore a dissimilar garb. The noise built up to a thunderous level as they ran in utter disarray, their ranks broken, cavalry and infantry all clustered together. They heeded nothing in their path except saving their own lives or - in the case of their pursuers - taking them.

With some measure of satisfaction, Hephaistion noted the desperate, panic-stricken countenance that every Persian soldier wore and the blood-thirsty, vengeful mood of the Greeks.

The battle was won, Hephaistion knew then, but at the same time, he recognized the danger of being caught in the frenzy of destruction. Unarmed and dressed in Persian clothes, he was likely to be skewered by one of his own countrymen, who by now were killing and burning tents as the tumult swept through the camp. Without wasting another breath, Hephaistion lifted the boy's sagging body in his arms and made for the nearest shelter. The guards had fled at the first sign of trouble.

It was not a moment too soon because in the next instant a Macedonian cavalryman rode up to Hephaistion, swinging his sword and seeking to slice his head open. Gathering what strength he had left, Hephaistion ducked and tackled the riding man, successfully pulling him off the horse. He'd had the momentum of the animal to thank for a move that he would not have been otherwise strong enough to carry to its conclusion.

The soldier, uninjured and furious, leapt to his feet, freeing his dagger and turning to face Hephaistion, who raised his palms in a pacifying gesture.

'I'm Hephaistion Amyntor,' he shouted over the roaring noise, hoping that the man would recognize him. Dust blinded both of them and the pitiful light of the shelter made recognition almost impossible.

The cavalryman stared for a moment, incredulous. He sheathed his dagger instantly and rushed forward, clasping Hephaistion's hands.

'Gods be thanked, Hephaistion,' he yelled over the noise, 'we thought you were dead.'

'Well I'm not,' Hephaistion replied, 'but we'll all be if we don't get out of here soon. We won, is that right?' he asked, feeling his mouth stretch into a smile even before the other nodded enthusiastically.

'The Persians are eating up the ground, they're running so fast. The men were passing messages along that Darius fled the field first with his senior officers in tow.'

Hephaistion could not have hoped for better news.

'Well done, boy,' he slapped the other's back, laughing.

The soldier gave Hephaistion a perplexed look. 'Don't you recognize me? It's Sarios, from the Companions regiment.'

Hephaistion's mind raced. He understood that the moment he went back to his old life, this would be the kind of obstacle that he would have to fight at every step. He remembered nothing of this young man who regarded him with big round eyes, no doubt as his superior. How could he explain – if at all?

'Yes! Of course, Sarios,' he stammered, making a gesture that indicated confusion. 'I wasn't sure for a moment. You're covered in blood. Good to see you.'

Sarios regarded Hephaistion with a worried eye. 'Are you wounded? You look like death warmed over.'

'I'm alright,' Hephaistion waved the question away impatiently.

'I'd get you an escort now, but…' the soldier said dismally, waving his hand at the carnage outside, 'we'd be trampled. Better to wait til it's quietened down a bit. Then we'll ride back'

'No need, Sarios. Thank you,' Hephaistion replied.

'Take my horse, Hephaistion,' Sarios offered eagerly. 'By Herakles' beard – Alexander will jump out of his skin when he sees you,' Sarios added with a wide smile. 'They say he's been mad with grief ever since you went missing.'

The news was welcome to Hephaistion but nevertheless he shuddered inwardly at the thought of what Alexander would say if he ever found out what Bessos had done.

'There is something you can do,' Hephaistion pointed to the boy, who lay in a heap next to the entrance of a tent, 'You have to take him back to camp with you. Make sure that he is cared for like one of our own. I owe him my life.'

It was all Hephaistion had to say for the soldier's gaze to change from disgusted pity to respect. 'I'll see to it. Trust me, Hephaistion,' he said resolutely.

It was only afterwards that the meaning of the words dawned on Sarios.

'But where are you going?' he protested, a great deal of anxiety in his voice. 'I can't leave without you,' he almost squealed, his face mirroring the desperation he felt at the prospect, 'Alexander will have my skin if he finds out that I saw you and left you behind.'

'He won't find out at least for a while,' Hephaistion hoped he sounded sure enough of himself. 'I have something to do first.'

Then he added urgently, 'Hurry up. Or he'll die and I'll have your skin before Alexander gets to you.'

With a badly concealed look of doubt, Sarios gently lifted the Persian in his arms. The boy's head hung lifelessly and Hephaistion checked that he was breathing. Sarios carried him over to where his horse had stopped, rider-less and confused, and was snorting agitatedly at the clamour surrounding him. He settled the boy gingerly across the saddle cloth and climbed beside him. Hephaistion smiled encouragingly before Sarios spurred the beast on, glancing behind apprehensively as he rode away.

Hephaistion breathed a sigh of relief and finally allowed himself to sink his quivering frame against a tent pole. He had not wanted to show Sarios how dreadful he really felt; otherwise the young man would have never left. At least the Persian boy would be cared for – if Sarios made it back to the camp unharmed. Hephaistion knew that the horse could not have carried all of them.

The wave of retreating Persians had thickened and so had the numbers of those who gave chase. Careful to avoid open areas, Hephaistion made his way, painfully and barely able to stand, back to Bessos' tent. Once he reached his destination, he made sure that no one was there, before he went in. He had made up his mind to do this when Sarios' had told him that the senior Persian generals were fleeing in Darius' tow. Bessos would not be returning here any time soon.

The Macedonians would waste not time sacking the richer tents soon and it was better to be done by then, Hephaistion reasoned. He searched about briefly until he saw what he was looking for: rolled in a corner were map scrolls.

He spread them open one by one, smiling to himself at the wealth of information they revealed: all of Bessos' strongholds in Baktria, supply points, roads and detailed accounts of the number of forces he held in every fort. In short, vital statistics that Alexander would value just as much as his men would value the gold they would sack from this tent.

Hours later, Hephaistion finally rode back to the Macedonian camp, escorted by a unit of soldiers that Sarios had gathered and carrying his treasure of information with him.

The aftermath of battle was the cruellest of times. A price written in blood that victors and losers alike had to pay. It felt like that to Hephaistion, not because he remembered when his last battle had occurred, but because it was plain from the constant agony and death that surrounded him at every step as he made his way to the hospital tents.

His men, overly elated at having their commander back, had insisted that he get some medical attention, at least for the hurts that were visible to their eyes. Hephaistion had refused at first - too overwhelmed by their welcome and finally allowing himself to unwind somewhat - adamant that all he really needed was rest. But his men would not hear of it and they had threatened to drag a doctor away from the other wounded. Knowing what a precious commodity healers were after any battle, Hephaistion had agreed to go, coaxing one of his men into showing him the way. Not one of them had realised that Hephaistion had no memory of his way around the camp.

On the way, hardly anyone paid attention to one more wounded man except those who were hale enough to notice and recognize him. After several stops where words of welcome were exchanged, Hephaistion's strength had waned abruptly and his escort had to support him along. He had allowed his mind to slacken off the hold it had on his body since he had arrived on friendly territory and he recognized that he was on the verge of collapse.

But just as suddenly as his energy dipped, he forced himself to regain his foothold when he saw a cluster of riders approaching in a whirl of dust. When they drew closer, Hephaistion saw their elaborate armour, visible even though it was marred by the ravages of battle.

A deafening cheer rose from all the men present but even before that, Hephaistion knew. He recognized the horse before he recognized the rider: the fiery black stallion in his vision, although considerably older now. And riding it, helmet-less and irresistible like a force of nature, was Alexander.

Even covered in blood and dust as he was, there was still something about the shorter man that told Hephaistion he could not be mistaken. If it had been anyone else, Hephaistion would have liked to make sure. He would have sat and observed a while, making up his own mind. But not now – and not with this man. .

Those men who could stand flocked around Alexander like a pack of tame lions, and it took him a while to even be able to dismount, such was the crowding surrounding him. And afterwards, when he was on the ground, he still stopped and talked to each man. To Hephaistion's eyes, who observed from a distance, it seemed that Alexander was amidst his most beloved kinsmen. And he decided that it was better to stay out of sight, for fear of shattering such an intimate moment.

He wondered if Alexander knew of his return. The men, in their contagious enthusiasm, had the news flying around the camp as soon as Hephaistion had arrived back.

Presently, a man rushed up to Alexander and pointed to where Hephaistion had stopped to survey the scene. It was clear that it was the first time the King had the news because he stopped mid-sentence, his lively demeanour becoming very still.

For Hephaistion time ground to a breathless halt in the moment that it took Alexander to turn towards him, his body language telltale of hesitation and disbelief, maybe even fear of what he would find. Hephaistion's breath caught when their eyes met for the first time. For indeed it felt like the first time to Hephaistion.

In the instant it took for Alexander to fly and close the distance between them, Hephaistion understood why it was that he loved this man. Without even having to remember the past, one look at Alexander's eyes told him everything. The intensity, the passion, the incredible stamina burned there with an everlasting flame that devoured Hephaistion whole.

Alexander did not say a word, but it was plain that in that moment, everything and everyone else ceased to exist for him. Except Hephaistion. He stopped less than an arm' length away and Hephaistion felt more than saw a tremor that proved to him that the being standing before him, as divine as it looked, was still human.

With a sigh only they could hear, Alexander put his arms around Hephaistion's wider shoulders and pulled him into an embrace so tight that Hephaistion thought his very soul was being squeezed out. Joy as inexplicable in the absence of memory as it was longed-for drowned him.

'Phai,' the whisper, he knew, was meant for his ears alone but Hephaistion cared not a bit that the whole of the Macedonian army was watching. Nor did he hear them cheer. He was aware only of how Alexander's body felt, pressing against his, and he laid his head instinctively on his shoulder, in a gesture that seemed to him normal beyond the need for memory.

It was easy for Hephaistion to understand how oblivious Icarus had felt, so close to the sun, with his wings melting away yet happily giving in to the deadly bliss. The knowledge of having dared to tread beyond the point of no return was pushed to the farthest corner of his mind and he knew that now that he had come so far, there was no going back.

TBC

Next chapter: Alexander and Hephaistion have to deal with the aftermath of victory, imprisonment and the challenge of finding each other.