Title: "The First Campaign"
Author: BalianswordChapter: 12, "Further Expeditions"
A/N: As you all know, the first campaign is over. It is now time to end the story. But there really isn't an end, only a thought as Hephaestion lies in Alexander's embrace. Consider it the beginning of his expedition to Persia, but the end of Alexander the boy, and the emerging of Alexander the Great. I'm in a sad place right now, so if there is lingering sadness it's the truth of the story, but forgive me if it haunts you.
000
Hephaestion ran a hand over the front of Alexander's chest as he lay behind him. He felt the softness of Alexander as well as the hardness of muscles that lay there. Hephaestion looked there, thinking about earlier moments. He then wiped away from dried blood from Alexander's temple. Everything had been different this time. There was no tenderness in their lovemaking. There was nothing that Alexander wanted from him it seemed even. To Hephaestion, who couldn't complain despite the fact, it felt like Hephaestion wanted only to conquer something else. He had, he'd conquered Hephaestion's body, conquered his heart and soul and claimed it as only his and his alone.
Hephaestion let a tear fall from the corner of his eye. He felt the coolness of it as it rolled down his cheek. He ran his fingers over Alexander's arm lightly, tenderly. He then moved away from Alexander. He lay on his back, his eyes drifting down to the bite mark on his own arm. It hadn't been Alexander, he tried to remind himself before he could find the tears. The conqueror, an Alexander that hadn't existed before today, had done this to him.
As he lay there he thought about the boy he had once known. He remembered Alexander in Chaeronea, the Alexander that cared for him, the Alexander that was not afraid to show his love. The years had changed him though. Life had changed him, whether through his campaigns, his mother, or his father, or even Hephaestion himself perhaps. He wasn't a boy anymore and he never would be again. He was Alexander now, a man, and Hephaestion would never fully have him back.
He knew, and he hated knowing it. He craved not to know, to be oblivious to the fact that Alexander wanted the world now. He would take him with him of course, take him across the world, but never again would Hephaestion have all of his heart. He knew this and it tore him apart. His eyes ventured to Alexander again as he slept. He still looked like that boy he'd fallen in love with, the one he'd held in Pella when he was eighteen, but in two years he'd lost him. Looks were deceiving.
Alexander wanted the world now, it was visible in his eyes. He could conquer it all. He would make thousands of men crumple at his feet. Alexander the Great would have it all. But Alexander would be pushed away, and Hephaestion would become a general. A love interest perhaps at times but never again what he had been. Even tonight had shown him this.
Alexander brought him back, blood still upon him even, and had taken him. Hephaestion loved him, loved the heat of it, but when he kissed him it wasn't him. He kissed the fury that Alexander had for the world. He did not kiss Alexander himself, because Alexander hadn't been there. It was passionate, erotic, violent even, their time together on this night. Hephaestion couldn't complain because he had enjoyed it too even.
Tears stung his eyes as he thought of it. Alexander wasn't there. Had he been things still wouldn't have changed. Alexander had dreams and they filled his heart. He would never completely give himself to Hephaestion. Hephaestion knew this, knew that loving him would put him through pain, but he couldn't stop loving him. He wouldn't regret this night or any night afterward. It was strange, he thought, how life became so clear at the moment. It was as if he knew what would happen in the future. He could change his destiny now, but he couldn't, because he looked at Alexander.
Hephaestion pushed himself up on an elbow and pressed a kiss to Alexander's jaw. He left his lips there for some time before he pulled away. He couldn't leave him. Others would, they all eventually would at least loose their faith with him, but Hephaestion would not. He loved him and if loving him meant loving what he had become, what he would become, then so be it. Love was a complicated thing. It would be tender to you in a moment then thrash you in a second's notice.
He looked at his sleeping beauty one more time before he carefully crawled from the bed. It was late and Hephaestion wondered if anyone would be awake to see him leave. He pulled his clothes on quietly though and to the flap of the tent with an expertise he did not know he had. He glanced over his shoulder, turning back to let his cerulean eyes looked over Alexander's sleeping form once more. He then swallowed his emotions as he left the tent.
Once outside the cool night air filled his lungs. He stood, staring at the lamp that emitted a dull light about the area. Hephaestion stepped closer, lifting the glass, and blew out the flame. He watched in silence as the gray trail of smoke lifted towards the heavens. He glanced up at the dark sky and the stars. They were the great men that had come before. Hephaestion noted with a sadness that there was a black area uninhibited by any white light. Silently he whispered a prayer, praying that spot would be filled by no one at this camp, and if it were not for a great while. Not for many years. But deep down he knew it was for Magnus Alexandros.
He walked away from the tent then. He walked without looking at anything else until the glimmer of a small campfire caught his eye. Glancing over his eyes met with Cassander. Cassander stared back at him, his jaw tight, as he poked at the fire with a stick. Hephaestion, who had not stopped, quickly looked away and continued back to his tent. Cassander watched him go, his movements stopping, just thinking of those teary eyes. He had thought that Hephaestion was not meant for Alexander, but maybe it was Alexander that was not meant for Hephaestion.
Hephaestion reached his tent, tears stinging his eyes, his body aching. He felt every forming bruise, every bite mark, and each scratch on his back from Alexander's nails. It was pleasurable and painful at the same time. The wounds didn't bring tears to his eyes though. Something else did, a feeling he'd never known before, but knew he'd feel for the rest of his life.
He stopped and stared at the lamp outside of the tent. He watched the small orange flame dance back and forth in the night. It captivated him, this simple dance, this simple thing. His cerulean eyes glistened with tears as the light fell upon him, fell upon his weakened body, and his parted lips. Hephaestion watched the flame for only a second more before he swallowed, holding back his tears, and rushed into the tent. Tonight, he would allow the lamp to burn.