Title: "The First Campaign"
Author: BalianswordChapter: 6, "Battle Wounds"
A/N: If you feel bad for Hephaestion, don't worry. We all know that he can't die here. So keep reading and enjoy. By the way, it's really sad that I can't upload this today, but I will do so immediately tomorrow.
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Hephaestion lay back and tried to calm his breathing. It didn't seem to work though and a young understudy to the medic tried to hand him another goblet of wine. Weakly Hephaestion swatted the offer away as he had done three times before. He wasn't thirsty and he didn't want to drink. He just wanted to go back to sleep. But before he could the medic stuck another needle into his leg. Hephaestion screamed loudly and arched his back. Again he tried to sit up but the pain blinded him and the understudy pushed him back down.
There was nothing else for a few moments. Hephaestion wondered why the medic had not continued. Perhaps he had given up on him, for if Hephaestion were trying to give himself stitches in this situation, he'd give up quickly too. Hephaestion turned his head, grinding his teeth, and glanced at the understudy. The understudy had looked away for a moment, at someone entering the tent, but then had looked down to the ground. It could only mean one thing.
"How is he," Alexander asked the medic quietly. He did not look at the elder man but continued to stare at Hephaestion. Blood covered his leg now, and was dripping down onto the sheets of the table. Some blood had even soaked through and was dripping onto the sand.
"It would be better if we could relax him," the medic spoke in the same quiet tone, so as that Hephaestion would not hear. The medic did not know on the other hand that Alexander was not just here because Hephaestion was now considered a prized general. He knew nothing of Alexander's true intent. "He refuses the wine my lord."
Alexander nodded and approached Hephaestion. The understudy stepped back, handing Alexander the goblet that he requested. Alexander brushed wet hair away from Hephaestion's face. Hephaestion had relaxed only a little, but still was clearly in pain. Alexander put a hand on his forehead. The fever was beginning to worsen from his wounds and useless struggle against the medic. The prince raised the goblet so that Hephaestion may see it.
"It will calm you," Alexander said. He went to put the goblet to Hephaestion's lips but Hephaestion turned his head. Even in this movement he let out a soft cry. Alexander pulled his hand back and took the other, placing his hand on Hephaestion's cheek, and turned his face back to face him.
He said nothing as he raised the goblet to his nose. He inhaled deeply, exaggerating just to make sure that Hephaestion got the point. He then wiped a finger on a clean rag lying on a side table before dipping his finger in the wine. He waited for a drop to hit the ground. Next he took another drop and put it to his lips. Hephaestion watched as Alexander took a sip from the goblet.
Alexander then put the goblet against Hephaestion's lips once more. Hephaestion began to drink then, draining the cup rather quickly. Alexander took the drained goblet and handed it to the understudy behind him. The understudy appeared not to understand and Alexander had not the time to explain. Instead he gave a simple answer.
"He's superstitious," Alexander told him before turning back to Hephaestion. He color was draining from his face and he clenched his jaw again as the medic merely put a hand on his leg. Alexander turned back to the understudy, and then decided he would be needed soon. He looked the other direction and caught sight of a wandering scribe.
"You," he called out to the boy, "come here. Go find me a pitcher of wine. Get it from wherever you can. Tell anyone that tries to stop you that Alexander asked for it." He took a crest that hung from around his neck. "Show them that if they say anything else. But hurry back."
Hephaestion cried out again as the medic began his work. He had gone back to cleaning the wound, washing it with waters, various cleaning solutions, and alcohol. Alexander knew very well that most of them would burn. But he knew from the sand bits that were still being flushed out that it needed to be done. Hephaestion cried out again and tried to rise as the medic poured the last liquid into the wound but Alexander held him down.
The medic was beginning to stitch again before the scribe returned with the pitcher of wine. Alexander had the boy pour a glass and bring it forth. Alexander checked the wine again before practically pouring it down Hephaestion's throat. He looked again at Hephaestion's leg. The medic was already about finished. But the bruised flesh would next needed to be looked at, and his fever would have to be monitored as well.
"Almost done," Alexander told Hephaestion as he held him down before he tried to get up again. He then brushed more of his soaked hair out of his face. It took everything in him to refrain from putting his lips to Hephaestion's. There was something about him at this very moment that made Alexander want to be with him now more than perhaps ever. He wanted to comfort him.
"He is likely to go into blackness when we reach the end," the medic assured Alexander. As promised, when the medic finished the last stitch Hephaestion closed his eyes. He'd been trying to for some time but Alexander had kept speaking to him, telling him random things, just to make sure that he did not fall into blackness too soon. Alexander glanced back at the medic.
"He will have some trouble walking for the next week or so," the medic said as he looked over the bruised leg. He took a few small pins and sunk them into different areas. Alexander was not sure why he did this, but at least Hephaestion couldn't feel it. "Now, let me see about this fever."
Alexander stepped back and let the medic put his hand against Hephaestion's forehead. The medic mumbled something that Alexander did not understand to his understudy and then went back to the leg. Alexander waited for the understudy to return. He held a small vile in his hand and gave it to the medic. The medic in turn handed it to Alexander.
"That is something that will calm the fever," the medic says. "When he awakens he may be very different from the general you knew. Delirium will only claim him for awhile though. Put that in his drink, or have his page do it, and he will relax. He may not sleep but will give everyone little trouble. That is all, other than have this salve rubbed on his thigh twice a day until you run out."
The medic handed Alexander a container of a cream looking salve. Alexander noted that it smelled wonderful. He knew that he had smelled it before when he was young. No doubt Olympias had used it sometime. He glanced at the medic and wondered where he was from, for it was not Macedonia. Perhaps he had come from the same lands as his mother.
"Now," the medic said, "he just needs to be taken to his tent. There is nothing else I can do for him and I need the room here. Is that fine with you Prince Alexander?"
"Of course."
The medic called others forward. Alexander knew that they must be slaves from some land his father had long ago conquered. They picked Hephaestion up as if he were nothing and took him from the tent. Alexander began to leave before the medic stopped him.
"You are cut too my lord."
Alexander glanced down to where the medic was looking. Sure enough there was a cut and the upper of his arm. It was nothing but a scratch really. The medic seemed to think so as well. He could see that Alexander wanted to make sure that Hephaestion was well suited in his rooms.
"Come back if the skin around the wound reddens," the medic ordered. Alexander nodded and then left the tent. He quickly made his way to Hephaestion's tent. Before entering he took the lamp down from the post. It had not been lit yet, but if it were not there, then how would a slave light it? He entered the tent and placed the lamp down on a small desk. He then let the two slaves pass by him.
As soon as they left the room Alexander went to Hephaestion's side. He put the vile and the salve down on the stand next to the fur lined bed. Silently he took Hephaestion's hand in his. Again he looked down at his thigh. Reaching out he lightly brushed his fingers against the stitches. Hephaestion moaned lightly and turned his head. Once again Alexander found himself brushing the dampened hair that fell over his cheek away.
He was serene as he slept. Alexander could not help himself any longer. He reached out and with his fingers lightly traced the curves of his face. He ran his fingers over his jaw, feeling the stubble at his chin, and the soft planes of his cheeks. He put two fingers to Hephaestion's lips and felt the softness of them. He ran fingers over his closed eyes, his nose, his brow. Just touching him made Alexander feel that tingling feeling in his thighs and his heart began to beat just a few beats faster.
His fingers fell to his neck, and then to his shoulders and arms. Even in sleep Alexander could feel the muscles of his body beneath his taunt young skin. Alexander looked at Hephaestion for a moment before he boldly put a hand to his chest. Silently he untied the leather strips that held Hephaestion's breastplate on. He removed the piece of armor, holding Hephaestion's head up as he pulled the piece away from him. He set the armor down behind him and then just watched the rise and fall of Hephaestion's chest.
Once again he could not stop himself from putting a hand against Hephaestion's muscled chest. Only a thin white shirt was between Alexander's hand and the hardened planes of Hephaestion's body. Alexander glanced up at Hephaestion's face to make sure that he was not waking. He then let his hand glide lower. He felt the smoothness of his abdomen, the dip in his body just before the top of his war skirt began.
Hephaestion shifted his head as Alexander's hand began back up his chest. Alexander froze, neither moving nor removing his hand. He did not wake though. Alexander finally removed his hand and waited a few more moments before he stood. Many men were returning now and he knew that he must make an appearance. He would make it a short one though and get back to Hephaestion before he began to wake. Before he left he took the vile and opened a small chest and hid it amongst one of Hephaestion's robes. He didn't want him finding it when he was not there. The prince then reluctantly left the tent.
Alexander left the tent and immediately Cassander approached him. The arrogant bastard still had the same smirk plastered to his face. Alexander put an arm out and took Cassander's. He even hugged him as they did as friends.
"You were great," Alexander told him. Then in confidence he told him something he had been thinking for some time now. "I think you'll always be good at leading the right."
Cassander laughed, "Making a stable militia already young prince?"
"Of course," Alexander replied. He knew that Cassander was going to hold him to it though. It did not bother him, because he had meant it. Cassander truly would be a great general. "How bad are things with the men though?"
"None of them are going to throw a spear at you if that is what you mean. They are rather proud of you even. You fought well amongst them, even got on the ground with many of them. Look, you're even bleeding."
"A scratch."
"Scratches still bleed though."
"How busy are the medics," Alexander asked.
"Medics are always busy," Cassander said as he drew in a breath. His excitement about the whole thing still was rather visible. "Do you have any idea who we fought Alexander? I just got word of it from a Theban we found still breathing on the field."
"No, who?"
"The Sacred Band," Cassander told him. "Some of the best Thebans in all of their silly legion. They aren't that sacred anymore though are they?"
"They still deserve their honor Cassander," Alexander informed him. This exact thing Cassander sometimes hated about him. He was so damn politically correct. "Beaten or not they still fought well."
"You won't be wanting your honor when you are beaten and the barbarians are about to remove your head from your shoulders. I assure you of that."
"I won't be beaten."
Cassander let out a small laugh. It was not that he did not believe Alexander. He hadn't even thought about that yet. What he laughed about was the fact that Alexander had for once been openly arrogant. Usually only he would be so, well, cocky. Cassander laughed once more before turning his attention completely back to Alexander.
"No," he agreed. "I don't think you'll be beaten Alexander."
As they walked Alexander began to make his way back to the medics camp. Cassander came with him, for he wanted to see what the Thebans had done to his men. As they entered the tent there were surprisingly less men injured than Alexander had thought. But he knew that there were many men that would never return to Macedonia.
"How many," Alexander asked as a medic approached.
"Fifty or so injured," the medic began. "Mostly just cuts and so. A few need stitches, but nothing terrible. Two amputations, both of which were arms cut too bad to be healed. One eye will need to be removed from one of your father's men. Other than that I believe you fared well."
"Do you know anything of how many are dead?"
"Mostly Thebans at this point but there are many of your father's men dead I hear. Of the Companions I believe so far there are only twenty or so."
"Not bad," Cassander said.
"Tell that to their families," Alexander said. He then left the medic and Cassander's side and walked amongst his men. He spoke to each of them and offered them wine when there was no one else that could spare a hand. By the time he left, having spoken to every man, the sun was setting and the slaves were lighting lamps. Alexander knew that he had to get back to Hephaestion, for he figured he would be waking any moment.