Title: "The Persian Campaign"

Author: Baliansword

Chapter: 15, "Final Attempt"

A/N: Your reviews are all wonderful. Vania thanks so much for the name. Next time I mention the Advisor, I'll totally use it. Queen I can tell you that it is not a Persian. As for the rest of the question's, we'll see. –As for this chapter, it just thrusts you into the middle of a scene. It is much more interesting this way. It adds to the mystery as well. However, things are going to begin to come together. Enjoy! Please review if you have the chance!

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Silence filled the room, it thickened, and it could have been cut through with a sword. He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the calm breathing of the one that stood above him at his side, and thought of nothing. He just continued to see the ceiling, nothing more, just that dull colored ceiling in this beautiful palace. Swallowing, he tasted copper in his mouth, the taste of blood. Again he swallowed, tasting more blood, and he felt as if it were going to choke him. The one above him reached down and pushed his head further back, tilting it more, forcing him again to swallow blood.

"How does it feel," a darkened voice said. He didn't pretend to hear it. It was just a mumble to him now. The ceiling was so dull and boring. There was a shadow as someone stepped over him. He didn't even know who it was. His eyes focused only on the ceiling, and he couldn't move them away. For a moment he thought that he could feel the cool floor beneath him, but it was quickly washed away again. He couldn't feel a thing, but he could stare up at that ceiling, and watch the nothingness that surrounded him.

They left him there and that scared him the most. He wanted them to finish it, but they hadn't. Again he swallowed and tasted blood. This time he coughed, but it only forced him to swallow again. He was drowning, this was all he knew. He didn't know how to stop it and it didn't even occur to him to try to move. He could only lie there, choking on his own blood, staring at a ceiling. This was not the way he'd imagined his death. Again he coughed, this time swallowing and trying to call out for help. Instead of a sound, there was only a gurgling sound.

Tears began to fall from his eyes as he helplessly lay there. He squeezed his eyes shut to force the tears from his eyes when they clouded his vision. Again he swallowed. After a moment it began to sink in. He was going to die like this if he didn't move. He had to move, but he couldn't, and it only made him cry more. He was so helpless, and it was the last thing he'd wanted to be. Again, he made a gurgling gasp as he tried to lift his head. No, he still couldn't breathe. His mind screamed at him to move.

He flung his right arm over to the left side of his body. He was so limp. With a sudden push he rolled himself onto his stomach. His mouth opened and blood came pouring out. He put his forehead to the ground, not moving, but feeling each and every drop of blood that poured from his mouth. Suddenly he began to cough, his body shaking as he tried to push himself off of the floor. He only managed to get an inch off of the ground before falling back, forcing more blood from his mouth. Weakly he reached up and put a hand to his cheek. The cut there had gone straight through. He could put all four of his fingers in a line and put them through the wound if he wanted to, straight into his mouth. But he knew better than to do it. For a moment he wondered if the cut that had been put across his tongue would heal. At least it was still there though.

He lifted his head so that he could see the floor in front of him. He then threw his arm out, grabbed the post of the end of the bed, and tried to pull himself forward. Desperately he pulled, and tried to drag his lower legs, but it hurt more than anything he'd ever experienced. This wasn't a time to be heroic, he knew, but he couldn't give up and die either. He had to get to them before it was too late. Again he pulled himself forward, and this time he felt his opposite wrist snap, the bone finally breaking. A deep moan forced pain through his entire body and blood from his mouth. Tears fell from his eyes again.

It hurt, that was all that he could think about for the moment. He moved his shoulder, moving his broken wrist from under his body. He drug it against the ground but really couldn't feel it. For a moment all he could do was cry. The pain mixed with the helplessness was exhausting him. Blood dripped down his throat and he opened his mouth and let the rest pour out. When he opened his mouth he felt the tear in his cheek begin to tug, and felt it almost widen it seemed. Finally he let go of the post, and then began to try to pull himself off of the floor. He put his hand higher on the post and pulled himself closer to the bed. Then he put his other arm around the pole and began to pull himself up, using one hand, and his elbow and arm. His wrist seemed to dangle as he pulled himself up. It seemed to take forever, but he was soon standing.

"Ah," he said crying as he looked down at the floor. The pool of blood scared him and he began to look down at his chest. There was a deep cut, and it bled worse than his cheek. Cassander held tight to the post with his elbow, then put his hand over his chest, and reached for the flap of hanging skin that hung from the wound. So this was what it would have looked like all over his body if he had been skinned alive. Luckily, it was only a cut that was four inches in length, about one inch deep, but the layer of skin was thinner, but it had been pulled further away from the wound, and was hanging about an inch and a half. He put the skin over the red mess that he saw, and then looked desperately around the room.

There was a candle and he had an idea that would make doctors cringe. He knew that he would fall if he reached for the candle, back to the floor, but he knew he needed to do something. He could only hope that he could get back up. So he suddenly pushed himself forward when he let go of the post and reached out for the candle. His face collided with the side of the dresser, his nose being crushed and began to bleed, and he fell back to the ground. The candle was still in his hand though as he crumpled to the floor in tears. The pain in the rest of his body caused him to be completely ignorant to the pain in his nose.

He glanced at the melted wax at the candle's center. Then, looking away, he removed his hand from the patch of skin and poured the hot wax over his chest. Tears stung his eyes and he moaned as the wax burned his chest, but it sealed the flesh, gluing it back against the previously opened flesh. The wax had put out the candle and he looked at it as it was held in his hand. He then threw it the best he could, hitting a metallic mirror, and watched as it fell from a stand to the floor with a loud clang. Someone had to hear it. But after a few moments he knew that no one was coming.

Tears streamed down his face and he reached up with a hand and pulled the hair out of his face. He then reached behind him and grabbed a drawer of the dresser. Slowly he began to pull himself up. Reaching back as he was rising he pressed his broken wrist to the dresser as well to steady himself. He glanced over at the door, and knew that he could make it. Suddenly he knew that he had to do it. He couldn't die, that was what they had wanted. He had to get to Hephaestion and Alexander, he had to warn them, he'd figured it out. Cassander drew in another breath and then began to shakily walk to the door, reaching down as he passed a stand he picked up his dagger.

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Hephaestion lightly tapped Alexander on the head again. The king rested his head on his chest, and was sleeping soundly. Hephaestion felt the blade being dug deeper into his throat. He glared at its beholder as he put a hand on the back of Alexander's neck and ran a finger up and down the hairs just at the base of his neck. Alexander moaned, and then began to stir. He slowly began to awaken, and knew as he did that something was wrong. Hephaestion didn't move, but the man pressed the blade into his throat even more.

Alexander was up instantly when he saw the blade at Hephaestion's throat. He followed it to the face of the man that held it. It was the last person he would have suspected. Alexander lifted himself off of Hephaestion and began to lift himself off of the bed. But the man shook his head and pressed the blade further into Hephaestion's throat. Alexander quickly stopped moving. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark depths of the eyes that had betrayed him.

"Lower that blade," Alexander ordered. His voice was powerful, even in the situation, and he knew what he wanted. He wanted him to back up. He wanted that sword away from Hephaestion.

"Alexander," Hephaestion whispered, careful not to move too much. He reached over with a hand and grabbed his forearm. Silently he held him back. It wasn't himself he worried about. What he worried about was Alexander, and judging by the blood already covering the swordsman and the blade, he worried about Cassander as well.

"Oh, the whore speaks," the swordsman said bitterly as he dug the sword's tip even further into his throat. The blue eyed one tilted his head back and let the tip of the blade lightly graze his flesh, leaving a small cut against him. He didn't breathe, and dared not swallow, but stared back at the man. He still didn't seem to be afraid.

"Why," Alexander had the nerve to ask. "Why did you do it?"

"What are you asking me," the man laughed. "Are you asking why now? Why here? Why the elaborate plan? Is that what you're asking me Alexander?"

"Yes."

"Huh! Do you even have to ask? Alexander, I tried to tell you that crossing into Persia was insane. I tried to warn you. As for the plan, I couldn't just kill you in Macedonia. If I killed you there it would be far too easy for someone to suspect me. Here, with all of these Persians around, they are all suspects. I'll go free. Then, once you are dead, we can all go home."

"And Hephaestion? What was the benefit of trying to kill him?"

"He's smarter than you give him credit for, whore or not. He would have figured it out, so I decided that he needed to die too. It wasn't easy to convince the Advisor (Farnacus) to help me either."

"What did you promise him," Hephaestion asked, defiantly speaking when he should not have been doing to. "Did you tell him that Alexander would marry Stateira? Is that what you told him?"

"It worked," he answered before digging the blade deeper. "Besides, with you gone, there would be nothing to stop me from taking command of it all. Or so I thought, until Cassander had to get involved. It was rather odd to see him caring for you as he did. I knew him only as a killer before he bent you over."

"You son of a," Alexander began but the blade was pressed against Hephaestion's throat more. There was a slight prick again and a few drops of blood slid down his neck. Alexander stopped. He didn't want to risk hurting Hephaestion.

"I wasn't done." The betrayer then sighed. "Yes, he acted so differently. That's why I had to keep him uninformed. Otherwise, he'd be standing here with me. But he became Alexander's personal assassin, looking in every direction for an answer. I don't know how he found things out. I didn't think he was so wise. But he did, so I sadly had to get rid of him too, and it wasn't hard to get some Persian help. He's made himself a rather hated man."

Hephaestion didn't say anything. The look was in his eyes. It made the other laugh as he pushed the blade even closer, piercing more skin, causing more bleeding. The little whore had just found out that his new lover was dead. It must be painful, knowing your lover was dead, and you and the other lover were about to join him.

"Oh yes," he continued. "Cassander put up quite a good fight. I have to admit, I can see what you like about him. Although he didn't scream when I raped him."

"No," Hephaestion screamed as he suddenly pushed the blade away from his throat with a hand. He then tried to lunge at him, even in bed, but Alexander held him back. The blade began to press into his chest as he flung himself over Hephaestion. Yet the betrayer didn't stab him yet, just laughed.

"You should control him Alexander, or he'll get you killed."

"By the gods…"

"Yes," he sighed as he interrupted Alexander. "I already know that you vow to kill me. Interesting, I don't think that you're in the position to make such threats Alexander. What," he asked Hephaestion, mocking him all the while. "Did he scream for you?"

Hephaestion didn't answer. Instead he bit down on his tongue and dug his hands into the sheets. Alexander still was shielding him. Had he not been, Hephaestion would throw this scum to the floor and tear out his eyes. Instead he just wondered what had happened to Cassander. He couldn't be dead, it was impossible. Hephaestion would feel some kind of void if he were truly dead.

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He pulled himself forward even more, using the wall to steady himself. As he continued to walk blood continued to stain the wall. He had to stop, tried to breathe, let blood slip out of the corners of his mouth and run down his chin. It wasn't much farther. He had to get there. For a moment he wondered why no others were up at this hour, there were usually people swarming this hall. But it made sense again. There would be no guards if he had dismissed them, that son of a whore.

Cassander leaned against the door when he reached it. He listened, listened to the muffled voices from within. Slowly, he began to push the door open, making sure to make no noise. As soon as he was in the darkness of the entrance of the room he shut the door with the same silence. Everything ached. Blood spilled from his cheek, from his chest, from his leg, from his back, and from one area he didn't even want to think about. He then heard voices.

"He won't need testicles where he's going," he heard him say. Cassander just leaned against the wall, holding the dagger in his palm. He had to use it. He had to kill him. But at the same time he knew that he'd only have one chance to do so. He heard Alexander leap up then, heard him begin to scuffle with the other. Everything in his body ached, and he suddenly was sliding to the floor.

He held the dagger firm in his grasp and continued to crawl, this time faster than before. Blood poured from his mouth, and he could hear it hitting the floor. He only hoped that no others could. Suddenly he heard Alexander fall to the floor. He heard Hephaestion struggling to sit up, poison still weakening him. Cassander grabbed a pole, only his hand in the light, and he then pulled himself up. Holding the dagger tightly, he came into the light. Alexander was on the floor, a blade about to be shoved into his chest, there was nothing stopping the owner of the weapon. Not yet, but Cassander was going to change that. Hephaestion gasped when he saw him, which first caught Cleitus' attention.

"Cleitus," Cassander managed to scream out, and just as he began to turn, Cassander threw the blade. Cleitus could do nothing other than watch the blade strike him in the forehead between the eyes. Alexander stared in horror at Cassander, not Cleitus, as the man they'd all once trusted fell to the floor. What a wonderful charade he'd played, tricking them all for so long, pretending that he cared. Cleitus hit the floor, dead before he struck, eyes still staring at Cassander.

"Cassander," Alexander said as he scrambled off of the floor and rushed toward him. Cassander had slid to the floor by the time Cleitus had hit the floor. He coughed, blood falling from the corners of his mouth, but shook his head. Alexander sunk down next to him, grabbing his face, and Hephaestion forced himself out of the bed. He fell to the floor, but managed to crawl towards Cassander without too much dizziness. Alexander only continued to scream at Cassander as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Cassander!"

"Still," he said, blood pouring from his mouth as he mumbled the words that he said in his hysteria, "…still have…my…testicles…"

Hephaestion threw his arms around him and held Cassander against him, crying as he did so. He rocked back and forth, not knowing even if Cassander was dead or alive. Hephaestion felt him go limp in his arms, but he could hear him gurgling, trying to breathe. Alexander leapt up and was running out into the hall, screaming for doctors, screaming for Bagoas. Screaming for anyone that would listen.

"Cassander," Hephaestion cried onto his bloodied cheek as he held him. He said the name over and over again as Cassander's blood poured onto him. He said it again and again. But Cassander wasn't able to hear a word he said. Sweet oblivion had taken him.