This story got harder to write as I went along. In spite of what I'd planned, the epilogue was by far the hardest because of the story lines that had to tie. I hope I've managed to pull it off.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for the lovely words of encouragement that kept me at my table, happily writing away. I wish any writer this kind of bliss.

Epilogue

Baktria - 2 Years Later

In the remains of the sunset, Hephaistion surveyed the small camp below. Dappled shadows rendered their few tents unremarkable against the rocky landscape and it was so quiet that Hephaistion could wager that if he listened hard enough, he would hear heaven.

The small party had left the Valley of the Benefactors three days ago at sunrise and, according to the guides, their destination lay another half day's march ahead. It had proven difficult to find a guide who spoke the language of the hillside tribe. Being so far off the beaten track they had been informed that, to their good fortune, even bandits avoided the back roads, there being nothing to steal more than a horse or some fairly useless artefacts.

The tribe they were going to were artisans - famous for their craft once - who made their living by trading their art. But they could be fierce and proud enough, as Hephaistion had learned.

In the beginning, because Hephaistion had squires serving him, the boy had little to do. Soon, Hephaistion had realized that idleness frustrated the young man, who even though had learned to understand Greek, had not the privilege of being able to communicate through speech. Kept by necessity on the fringes of everything that happened in their mobile empire, he attended the classes the Kallisthenes held for the young squires, listening and trying to pick up whatever he could. However, he could neither ask questions nor request perfecting of his skills.

One day, quite unexpectedly; one of the squires brought Hephaistion a parchment with the portrait of a young man on it.

'It's you,' Hephaistion had said incredulously studying the uncanny likeness of the squire's face to the sketch. 'I had no idea that he could draw like that.'

From that day onwards, not a day had passed that Iras – the name given to the boy by the squires, which had stuck and seemed to please its owner – was not surrounded by parchment and ink. He honed his skill daily by drawing small scenes that he observed around the camp.

His chief talent though proved to be in the rendering of human faces. He had a gift for capturing the exact expression that defined the person he was drawing and before long, he had all ranks of soldiers, officers and civilians standing in line to have their faces sketched, some to be sent home alongside letters, some to be given as keepsakes to lovers or friends.

Even senior commanders were often employing his skill: Philotas commissioned no less than five sketches that he gifted to his mistresses and Ptolemy had one of himself sent to his favourite courtesan.

Hephaistion however, watched all this with interest and thought ahead to the boy's future. It would be useful to have Iras formally trained in a trade, under the instruction of the King's architect, Aristobulus. The man, upon being showed Iras' sketches, had been impressed and had agreed to help. His instruction could begin as soon as he wished.

He broke the news to Iras and the boy's eyes lit with gratitude. But Hephaistion had perceived something there, not quite sadness, not quite melancholy, but rather a longing that he had seen before and he could not explain.

'Even without speech, it would benefit you greatly.'

Iras had frozen then, remembering his station, he had bowed deeply in thankfulness.

'You don't want this, do you?' Hephaistion had probed gently. 'It's alright, I won't think it ungrateful.' Iras' doe eyes dropped and he shook his head.

'Will you show me why?'

Iras nodded and glanced at Hephaistion's writing table. One of Bessos' maps lay spread there and he walked up to it, his brows crunching in concentration in the attempt to read it. Eventually, Hephaistion pointed to their location.

'We are here.'

Wearied and angry after a nearly fruitless year of playing hide-and-seek with Bessos, Alexander had decided to spend the winter in the Valley of the Benefactors, with an ancient people whom he had admired from his boyhood reading. Iras' finger traced from their location northwards along the map until he pinpointed a settlement, so insignificant it had not even been graced with a name.

Hephaistion understood immediately.

'Your home? '

Iras nodded.

'Are you sure it's as close as this?'

Again the boy assented hastily, his excitement barely contained, although mixed with a tinge of apprehension.

So - it ends here, Hephaistion had thought, rather grimly. Now he understood the reason behind Ira's earlier hesitation and in his mind, the pieces fell into place. He had observed the young man often enough and had noticed that Iras, even when given his freedom and having found his calling in art, still looked at times, unconsciously, as if he was caged. Iras idolized Hephaistion and it had taken many months and a lot of insistence to get Iras over the habit of making deep reverence.

It did not surprise Hephaistion at all that he regretted Iras' eagerness to return to his own people. Certainly, after the years of slavery and trekking with Alexander's army from here to there, Hephaistion could not begrudge this decision. But he had grown attached to the boy, even if he had not been very good at showing it and even if his duties had more often than not taken him away.

Iras had always been there upon his return, with his soothing hands and calming presence, ready to give him whatever he wanted. Only Hephaistion never took it. It would have been easy indeed. Even Alexander had asked Hephaistion about it, with no jealousy or resentment. There were even those who said that Alexander had taken Bagoas as a lover because Hephaistion had Iras. But after Iras' ordeal at the hands of first Bessos, as his slave, then his soldiers, when they were re-captured, Hephaistion could simply not bring himself to think of hurting Iras, not even in the act of love. It was all quite irrational and silly, Hephaistion understood, because Iras had made it perfectly clear that he was more than willing.

There was only one thing to do. So Hephaistion had asked Alexander's leave to spare him for a few days so he could escort Iras personally to his village.

And now, with one night to go before reaching Iras' village, Hephaistion had left his small party behind, busy with pitching the tents and cooking supper, and climbed to the top of the highest hill to think, alone. The sun scalded the horizon for a moment longer before it disappeared and Hephaistion thought it would be wiser to climb down while there was still enough light to find his way.

He felt movement behind him and he turned to find Iras standing there with an uncertain, troubled look on his face and a lantern in his hand. The boy had come looking for him, after seeing him climb the steep hill in search of solitude. He was flushed with the effort and his face was covered in a film of sweat. Hephaistion smiled at his concern, at the same time noting – as if for the first time - how much more confident and grown the boy looked now that he had shed the gawkiness of early teenage years.

Like it was the most familiar thing in the world, Iras knelt behind Hephaistion and parted his long hair, pushing it out of the way. He always did that when he wanted to massage him, kneading the neck first then moving slowly down Hephaistion's spine.

Only this time Iras' touch was more a caress and it was so completely different than how he usually did it that Hephaistion found his muscles stiffening instead of relaxing. Next, Iras' hands travelled across his shoulders and insinuated themselves under Hephaistion's clothing, rubbing slow circles into his upper chest. The touch was heavy with yearning and Hephaistion felt the heat of Iras' breath on his exposed neck before the butterfly soft brush of lips. Hephaistion closed his eyes and sighed. How could he find it his power to refuse that which he was being so freely offered? Especially on this night.

He caught Iras' head between his hands and, arching his neck, he brought the boy's mouth against his own and kissed him hard, biting his lips. It felt strange to find only a stump of tongue battling his own, but the boy's mouth tasted sweet and what little had remained of Hephaistion's resistance shattered.

He spun around seizing Iras' upper arm and torso in a powerful grip and lowered him onto the ground, crushing his weight onto the lighter frame. He wanted Iras to have no illusion about how gentle he would be and that if the boy changed his mind, there was still time for him to do so. But only a content moan issued from low in Iras' throat as he lifted his head, seeking Hephaistion's lips, his hands frantically seeking purchase around the older man's neck. They made love desperately, discovering each other and saying good-bye at the same time, the open sky above and the rock still warm from the sun scraping their heated skins.

And with all that felt right between them, Hephaistion finally understood the deep sadness that Alexander often spoke about in the aftermath of love.

It was not until the next day, when Iras' village came within sight that Hephaistion felt a sharp stab of pain at the inevitable parting.

The village still stood but it looked like it had been slowly falling into decay if one were to judge by the houses that stood half in ruin and the hollow wind that whistled through the gaping windows.

The sight of the armed horsemen riding into the village sent the few people who still inhabited the place scampering about frantically, no doubt thinking that their settlement was being invaded.

Iras glanced about with eyes veiled with remembrance and Hephaistion knew that the last time he had been here, his brothers and himself had been dragged away in chains by Bessos' men. Iras' brothers had met their death at the hands of Bessos for rebellion and Iras had become the satrap's latest plaything.

Hephaistion read the apprehension and pity in Iras' eyes and set his hand on the boy's shoulder to steady him. At the same time, he rebuked himself for thinking that maybe Iras would change his mind and return with him if he found that he could not bear to live here.

'Lower your weapons,' Hephaistion commanded his men, who held their arms at the ready in case of a surprise attack. 'These people are terrified. I doubt it that anyone will attack us. But keep your eyes open.'

The men obeyed, albeit a little reluctantly.

'Tell them that we are not here to harm anyone,' he instructed the interpreter, who complied immediately, spreading his arms demonstratively and pointing to the soldiers' lowered weapons.

The panic subsided slowly and it was not long before faces began to appear in doorways and windows. Eventually, a party of several villagers made their way up the path to meet the foreigners. They were dressed simply yet their clothes were painted in rich colours and traditional symbols that Iras had shown Hephaistion were the marks of the tribe elders.

An old man approached them, his unsteady step supported by a younger man. He stared at them through rheumy eyes, half blind, for only one moment before Iras leaped off his horse and bowing, he touched his forehead to the old man's gnarled hands. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he lifted his head and silence befell both parties when the old man blinked in shock and recognition at once. Neither the four years Iras had been away nor the old man's near blindness prevented him from recognizing his own son.

The Greeks stood a little apart and Hephaistion saw how even his hardened soldiers were shaken by the reunion, no doubt thinking about their own loved ones that they had left behind.

Inside, Hephaistion's heart bled a little. He wished he could remember his own father, from whom he still received letters and to whom he replied dutifully, but whose face, after two years since the amnesia had struck him, was just as alien as always.

He watched as father and son fell into a desperate embrace and soon, the fear was forgotten and Iras was surrounded by his fellow villagers and the interpreter was busy answering on his behalf.

They were shocked to learn that he was mute now but they were even more astounded when Hephaistion signalled the men to start unloading the cargo they had brought. In addition to various supplies and what Iras had earned with his portrait work, Hephaistion had forced upon him a fair amount of gold, in spite of Iras' silent but nevertheless forceful protests. It had been the one time when Hephaistion was glad that Iras was unable to talk.

Having said their goodbyes the previous night, Hephaistion thought that it would be easier to part come the morning. But when Iras embraced him, clinging to him for a long time, Hephaistion felt his throat tightening uncomfortably and he felt as if he were letting go of the single part of his memory that had not been splintered by forgetfulness.

On the return trail, Hephaistion pushed his men hard and they made it back sooner than expected.

The need to exhaust himself over his limits often overcame Hephaistion especially when he wanted to exorcise one demon or another. It had happened often in the past two years and he had found that the joy with which he bounded head-first into his duties shielded his spirit from unnecessary torment.

He supposed he had always been hard-working, but he could not ignore the fair amount of good fortune. If he had to believe the tales he'd been told, or what he had pieced together himself, he'd had heaps of it in his life. To be loved the way he was by Alexander was certainly fortune that many had hoped for but none had attained. It did not sit well with most of their countrymen but Hephaistion had trained himself again to ignore it.

But of all the things he had been blessed with, the return of his memory was not one of them. After returning from captivity, he had spent entire days going in vain through his things, his letters, clothes and weapons. For all he remembered, they might as well have belonged to a dead stranger.

In the beginning, there had been denial and the firm belief that his memory would re-surface, slowly, a memory here and there. But nothing more came to him. Anger followed on the heels of denial but luckily for him, it had passed quickly and because he had forced himself to conceal his situation from everyone else. Slowly he had begun to accept that the damage to his memory could very well be permanent and that he had to either move on from there or sink into self-pity and doubt. It was enough most days.

On the night of his return, he dined with Alexander and the other generals, in spite of his wish for solitude. Alexander had insisted that he did not want Hephaistion to be alone and when the others left, Alexander beckoned him to stay behind.

'Well?' he said expectantly.

Hephaistion shrugged. 'I did the right thing. But it doesn't feel any better.'

'It never does, does it?'

Hephaistion nodded, smiling dourly at the irony of it.

'I didn't understand for a long time why you wanted to let him go back to his people. I thought his talent would be wasted there and that he could have done well for himself here,' Alexander said.

'He's free to return and he knows it. But he won't. I saw it when I left. He will make sure that his village prospers even though he might not be the leader that his brothers were. That forsaken place, forgotten by trade routes and merchants, will grow again, thanks to him.'

Alexander handed him a fresh goblet of wine and Hephaistion sat in a chair stretching his legs. Uncharacteristically, he tossed back the wine and reached out for the jug again.

'You still looked troubled,' Alexander said carefully.

'You should have seen it, Alexander,' Hephaistion said, seeing it all again in his mind's eye. 'They were so poor. Yet they feasted us with the best they had. Iras' father could not stop embracing his son, only to make sure that he was real. I get shivers just thinking about it. This man, old and almost blind, robbed of hope and convinced that his sons were all dead, couldn't believe his good fortune'

Hephaistion's voice was thick with emotion. 'I so wished I could remember my father and I tried to think how it would be if I – we – ever went back to….'

Crossly, Hephaistion hurled the goblet down and it hit the ground with a dull thud.

'Arghhh, I cannot think of it as home anymore!'

'Neither can I,' Alexander countered, his eyes shining with the raw grief he saw mirrored in Hephaistion, 'even if I can remember everything. And neither can any soldier that left with us.'

'I know,' Hephaistion said quietly. 'and I'm sorry to have brought this up now. I'm tired and I guess pitying myself would just about describe how I feel.'

'Actually, I'm glad you brought this up,' Alexander's eyes sparkled in a way that made Hephaistion instantly alert. He knew that look.

The King's manner was suddenly vivacious as he bounded over to a chest where he kept scrolls.

Hephaistion watched with mild interest. Sometimes, when his head was out of the clouds, Alexander had this uncanny sense of knowing exactly what to say or do to make one forget.

'I was planning to give this to you only on your birthday,' Alexander said matter-of-factly, 'but it looks like I'll just have to catch Bessos and give you his head on a platter instead.'

Hephaistion winced at Alexander's wanton generosity. 'No, thank you.'

The easy thoughts flew right out of his head when Alexander handed him a scroll. Before he even opened it, a premonition that something important was about to happen gave Hephaistion a dreaded weak-kneed feeling.

Inside, sketched with the precision and mastery of Iras' hand, were the portraits of a man and a woman. The middle-aged man bore an expression of strength and gentleness and the woman's soft light-eyes, so much like his own, stared longingly from the parchment and into Hephaistion's very core. His mouth went very dry and he struggled to bring forth the words.

'Is this…? Are they……?'

Alexander nodded slowly, a sad-joyful smile curling the corners of his mouth. He looked years younger when he did that.

'You did this for me? When?'

'Before Iras left,' Alexander explained patiently, 'I instructed him from my memory of your parents and he sketched many drafts before I was finally happy that the likeness was remarkable. I might have been a little inaccurate about your mother, because I only saw her once,' he apologized,' but your father looks exactly the way I remember him.'

Hephaistion felt suspended in time, his blood singing, warmed by something beyond hope, chilled by something beyond remembrance. That someone could love him enough to do this humbled him and made him soar at the same time. And when his thoughts were his own again, he stared from the images of his parents into Alexander's face in speechless wonder. It took him a while to realize that tears – overdue for two long years – trickled down his cheeks and fell free, becoming one with the parchment.

Winter was far from over when the news came that Bessos had been sighted, on the run with his much diminished army. It sent them all in a flurry of activity and preparation.

Weeks and months of pursuit had bled into nearly two years that Bessos had eluded Alexander. But relentless as the King was in everything he ever did, Hephaistion knew that the capture and defeat of Bessos was far more personal for Alexander than even he himself cared to admit. Yet in the grand scheme of things, Bessos was an enemy who had to be eliminated.

His armies having one by one deserted him, Bessos found himself alone and surrounded, like a once wild and powerful animal, now bereft of his protective flock and at the mercy of the hunters.

In the end, Alexander sent Ptolemy to capture Bessos, claiming that he would not dignify the rebellious satrap with his presence. The truth only Hephaistion knew: Alexander did not trust himself not to attack and murder Bessos, if only to satisfy his blood lust.

When Alexander finally rode up to inspect the newly imprisoned Bessos, Hephaistion saw the unconcealed look of satisfaction at the sight of the naked and tied man. He himself was not sure if he felt revulsion or contentment confronting the one who had once stood tall and brooding, exacting his terrible price for Iras' life and who now slumped under the yoke to which he was tied, his honour and rank stripped from him, his frame diminished and the pride in his features no more than a shadow of what it once was.

Even when he tried to parley with Alexander, claiming that he'd only had an insignificant part in Darius' murder, Hephaistion saw a look of unconcealed disgust spreading on Alexander's face.

'I was mistaken to ever think of you as a serious menace. For one who's made such threats about defeating me, you are a great disappointment,' he ultimately told Bessos, not even gracing him enough to speak his name and in spite of the calm words, Hephaistion noticed the restraint that his king was exercising upon himself. He watched Alexander's every reaction like a hawk.

And then, like a cobra spitting the last of its venom, Bessos glanced in Hephaistion's direction and sneered at Alexander, so that his words were for their ears alone.

'You might be disappointed, but know this: your pretty whore over here - all dressed up as a general now – he didn't disappoint me. Or didn't he tell you how he squirmed in pleasure when I took him again and again? Who knows, maybe, secretly, he even yearned for my return..'

Bessos eyes glinted maniacally and Hephaistion understood why the Baktrian was egging Alexander on. He would not bear the shame of a public trial and he wanted Alexander to lose his temper and kill him on the spot.

Hephaistion placed his hand on Alexander's arm to steady him and to avert the display of his king's wrath. He was reasonably sure that no one else had heard Bessos mention what he'd done to him, but he would rather that the whole army knew about it than for Alexander to attack and mete out his punishment in full view of his men.

'Leave him be, Alexander,' he warned in a low tone. 'He's not worth the trouble.'

The killing blow never fell. Alexander stared at Bessos with cold fury spreading on his face and making him look beautiful and terrible all at once.

'I'll have you flogged for your insolence,' he said unemotionally, pausing to think for a moment before he passed the rest of the sentence. 'For your betrayal and killing of your king, you will be put on trial for treason and you will suffer the appropriate punishment.' His voice dropped lower when he leaned closer to Bessos. 'As for what you did to this man, and by extension to me, I wish upon you to live long enough to see yourself in the deepest of ruin. As the gods are my witness, I have never wished this upon anybody, but no one is more deserving of it than you.'

'You are too arrogant, Alexander,' Bessos portended, uttering the name as if it were cursed, yet the fear in his voice was plain to all present. 'Before long, you'll know that for you, even the world is not enough.'

Bessos' eyes turned to dead stones as Alexander signed for him to be led away.

That night, housed in one of the larger rooms that the fort could offer, Alexander looked more at ease than he had in months.

'Do you think I was too harsh?' he asked Hephaistion long after the hour of midnight had passed.

'He is a killer of kings and a rebel..' Hephaistion began, but Alexander interrupted.

'You know what I mean.'

Hephaistion sighed in frustration.

'I do not need anyone to make justice for me. Not even you, Alexander,' he said gently, like coaxing a stubborn child. 'What bargain I struck with him he honoured - he did not put Iras to a gruesome death. It's all in the past now, along with the bruises to my pride and my body.'

'So you say…' Alexander said.

It was no longer painful to Hephaistion, but more like the memory of a sickness that had come, threatened his life and then gone. What was painful was that sometimes Alexander felt the need to torment himself with it, as if enduring punishment for failing to protect him.

'So it IS – and please, for the love of Zeus, stop doing this to yourself. It's been two years.'

Alexander shook his head, a deep sigh rising from his chest and his eyes tired.

'I wanted to gouge his eyes out,' he said heatedly. 'All the while I spoke to him, I imagined him suffering the worst torments and that was the only thing that prevented me from gutting him right there.'

'I'm glad you didn't' Hephaistion said with unconcealed relief.

'But why should anyone care if I'm cruel for once in my life – and to a man that did nothing but harm to anyone who crossed his path? Look at Darius. Gods, look what he did to Iras, and to you. And to all those thousands who followed him and now lie dead or enslaved.'

Hephaistion could not fault Alexander's judgement, but he did not say so.

'And besides, Achilles had his revenge, why shouldn't I?' Alexander sounded petulant.

Opportunity unhoped for had raised its head and Hephaistion took it with both hands.

'Because, ' Hephaistion said slowly, trapping Alexander's palm between his own, 'for one thing, it is not in you to be cruel. For another, I am not dead. And last, Hector was a brave and noble man and Achilles knew it. Bessos is neither.'

Even as he spoke, Hephaistion's heart bled at the thought that Alexander could think, even for a moment, that his old Hephaistion was dead and thus felt that his revenge was justified.

'You don't need to blame him for anything else that happened. He is not responsible for my lost memory,' he added more as an assurance to himself rather than to Alexander.

But then again, maybe Bessos was to blame for the way their love took rough turns sometimes – even if it proved entirely pleasing – but most of all for Alexander's need to take another lover in Bagoas.

'It's over now,' Hephaistion said, wrapping Alexander in his arms and kissing him softly, feeling the tautness in Alexander's muscles subside somewhat. 'What we have left is what we must thank the gods for.'

'Indeed,' Alexander said thoughtfully, leaning into Hephaistion's embrace, 'it is time to move on. And what we have is good fortune. Though, how strange that even now I desire more than anything to press on, to see what lies beyond the next hill. Even when I know that all I ever wished for is right here. '

He disentangled himself from the embrace, albeit reluctantly, and entwined their fingers, pulling Hephaistion closer.

'You made my dream yours, Phai, once before and now again. Can you live like that?'

Hephaistion smiled, the weight of his divine burden glistening in his eyes. 'I think I knew what I was getting myself into. And besides, my dream was fulfilled a long time ago. What have we got to do now other than follow yours?'

'That might be true, but sometimes I find myself thinking of what a fool I am to be so blind to all that is so real. Do you think this arrogance will draw the gods' envy?'

'Who knows these things? They envy you because you shine so. They envy me because I hold your heart. Maybe this longing of yours is their punishment.'

'Then we have it easy yet,' Alexander's smile was cheerless. 'For me, immortality would be a harsher punishment, if I had to spend it alone.'

Outside, the camp was already stirring with the first light of dawn. There would be packing and planning and bustle and in a few hours, they would be sitting in council with the generals, mapping out the new routes and setting the next objective There were cities to be built and new lands to discover.

The horizon awaited, infinite and tempting.

The End