He Too is Alexander
by RueRoyale

Notes/Disclaimer: Based on history and glorified history.

It wasn't considered good procedure to go after the lead General in an army in a battle. The Greeks would much prefer the infantry and auxiliaries fight amongst themselves for a while until a sufficient number of men from both sides were killed off and then the Generals could issue their commands to take out the leader.

It was an old way of fighting, and soldiers took much pride in fighting in this manner. Therefore they had some trouble, predictably, adjusting to the emotional fighting of Alexander. He always looked for a challenge, and wanted to be in the midst of the action at all times. The only challenge suitable for him, he thought, was the enemy General. And in this battle, the enemy General turned out to be the enemy King, the top man on all things. This made Alexander infinitely happy and even more eager.

As soon as the battle began Alexander had mounted scouts search out Darius's own location among the many flying banners, each signifying different sections in his vast army led by many Generals. The Persian King was toward the center-back, with cavalry flanking him on the right side, and his Cardaces on the left side side. They were aided by archers. It was a wise vantage point. His back was mostly uncovered, but I knew that would not be a problem.

Alexander didn't fight by the Greek rules, but he was still an honorable warrior. He wouldn't break his phalanx to attack the back of the army. And he didn't stay behind his phalanx either.
This disturbs to me to no end, as I'm always wondering if and when a stray Persian arrow would hit him. He doesn't care though, driven as he is.

With a vicious yell he unsheathed his sword and charged into Darius's infantry, alone on horseback. He's done this before, but it never ceases to make me jump in panic. I chased after him, and as the rest of his Bodyguards took the sudden cue, I could hear Philotas behind me say "Holy Zeus."

Alexander was cutting the soldiers down, eyes ablaze, sword swinging in a blur human eyes could not follow, gripping Bucephalus with his knees, looking gallant and at the same time fierce. I sought to take care of any soldiers who got past him, but there were few. Bodies fell around me before I could raise my sword for the blow. Alexander was cleaving his way through the army, and we were just following in his trail. Before I knew it the arrows were flying.

"Archers!" I yelled at Alexander. He did not reply, but deftly raised his shield with the arm not swinging that sword, and an arrow deflected off it. In earlier battles I would gasp and cry out
for him to be careful, but I had gotten used to it, mostly. It made me flinch, but I rode on. One had to deal with relying on the will of Fortune when with Alexander.

We were upon Darius's unit before I knew it. How had we ever come this far? It had seemed as if the army stretched for miles, but we must have crossed its distance in minutes. I turned around, as we were now in the center of the enemy, and attacks were coming from all sides.

I stopped a blow with my shield, and swung at my offender. An arrow whizzed past my face and I got my shield up in time to ward off one that would have gone to my chest. In the midst of the chaos I heard Alexander's voice, angry.

"He's fled! Darius fled! Arrybas, Ptolemy! He escaped! Hephaestion! Darius ran!" he yelled into the air.

The Persian men, upon hearing this, erupted into screams, of confusion, of despair. They were without a leader. I saw the first soldier turn his back on us, panicked and disoriented. I spared a
glance back at Alexander, and he was charging toward the one Persian tent, the one that held the Royal Family. I ran easily through the disintegrating army, swiping at those who got in my way.

Alexander reached the entrance. It was gaurded, but he knew these were no war veterans. They were just guards meant to give a little security to the people inside, and they bolted at the sight of him. I reached him finally, and he turned his body and smiled at me. We dismounted, and swept aside the flap door of the tent.

The Royal Family lay huddled in a far corner, all of them, pressing closer to each other as they saw us. Some of the women broke into screams. It hurt my ears. I never did like women screaming. Alexander took little notice though, and walked toward them. He sheathed his sword as he came near, and I did too. He would be civil with them, and treat them with respect, as they were deserved.

The Queen Mother, the most splendid of them all, broke free of her clinging children, and trembling, stepped up to us, tears running down her face, hands clasped together. Reaching us, she fell to her knees and held up her hands, then lowered her chest in prostration.

Alarmed, I turned to Alexander, willing him to do something.

She bawled out, raising her head, in Persian accented Greek, "Alexander, have mercy on us!"

I heard Alexander by me chuckle. What was there to laugh about?

I looked down at the Queen, and was astonished to find her looking not at Alexander but at me. For a moment I was scared on her part. What would Alexander say to this?

"I'm not…" I said to her, finally able to warn her of her mistake. I gestured to the person standing next to me.

The Queen's eyes widened, and tears began to flow even more profusely. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, forgive me!" she cried.

But Alexander only bent down and smiled at her mildly. "It's alright, Mother," he said, placing a hand affectionately on my shoulder. "He too is Alexander."

end