Title: "The Persian Campaign"
Author: BalianswordChapter: 16, "Remembering Details"
A/N: Once again, thanks for the reviews. Yes, I know Cleitus was a very interesting choice. But the ones closest to you are often those willing the most to betray you for their own gain. However, don't start looking at your friends oddly now. Anyway, I promise that Cassander isn't dead. Here is the next chapter, so let me know what you think!
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He didn't know what was worse just yet. It could have been the memory, could have been the actuality, but might have been the pain. No matter which it was, the reason for his thrashing in his sleep, he didn't know. But he was subconsciously aware of his tossing and turning. He was aware that soft hands would reach for him, lying him back down, stroking him in areas. Every now and then he could feel cool hands running over his skin with thick salves that smelled either wonderful or terrible. There was no middle point in the smell. Yet he couldn't bring himself to fully waken.
There was something that kept him not in the world and not in the dream world. He'd slip between the two, but was in overall darkness. From time to time he could hear those that surrounded his bed whisper things, speaking of how they could not believe the events that had unfolded. It was hard, trying to listen, while you couldn't hear things clearly and couldn't open your eyes. It was even worse when you became awkwardly dizzy in your own head, and you felt as if you were falling to the ground suddenly, but you weren't, and then complete darkness and silence took you again. He was going in and out of both worlds, but didn't want to awaken in either.
If he was in the land of dreams, there were no dreams, just a slew of a thousand unwanted nightmares. No, not nightmares, but they were memories. He'd see Cleitus, remember not only what he'd done to him and the ones he cared about, but he could feel it. He could feel each blow, each stab, each time he forcefully held him down and pushed himself into him. It was worse when he remembered Cleitus pulling both of his arms back, bending them uncomfortably, and when he'd tried to fight back the other had just cracked his wrist. He didn't break it, but left it just on the verge of it, and Cassander had been the one to finish the job. He wasn't sure what it looked like now but knew that it couldn't look like it did and would likely never work the same again, and he wondered about that, among other things.
He'd never thought himself to have appealing looks, for that was hard when you had Hephaestion in you encampment, but he'd always known that he was not displeasing to look at. He was what he considered a man to be. They weren't supposed to be overly attractive, that was what the women were for, except for Hephaestion. Somehow he'd slipped by, passing for a man, but he should have been a woman. No, he took that back, for he was the most wonderful man he'd ever known and it wasn't even the looks that made him think such of him. But it was looks that were keeping him from waking, leaving him shadowed in darkness, afraid to reenter the light.
He didn't know what he looked like now, that's what worried him the most. The beating Alexander had given him was bad enough. It was so bad at times he knew that he would die, knew that eventually Alexander would kill him, his body mutilated. But he hadn't died and his wounds had been bad enough. Most of the cuts on his thigh would be thin, less than visible scars, which didn't bother him. They wouldn't be that horrendous to look at. The bruises would fade, as would anything else Alexander had taken from him. There would only be thin white scars to remind him of such things and they wouldn't be that bad. This was in part thanks to Bagoas, who had known a few tricks, and for once Cassander found something useful in the boy apart from his backside.
As he began to think, he wondered how long it had taken for the wax to be peeled from his chest. He wondered what his chest looked like. Only when he'd begun to feel pain again for the first time after he'd fallen from killing Cleitus had the thought occurred to him that he could be seriously hurt. He recalled blood, too much blood, but hadn't thought about it at the time. He'd felt the pain, seen the blood then, but pushed it to the back of his mind. Now he couldn't help but wonder if it had been too much blood. He next recalled the dagger to the side of his face. Perhaps he shouldn't have turned his head at that moment. He could feel it, even now, the slit in the side of his cheek that went straight through. For some odd reason he could remember a burning sensation later sweeping over the area when he'd been trying to awaken, but remember nothing other than that.
Cleitus, the thought popped into his head unwillingly. He didn't want to think about him at all. He just wanted peace, the blackness that he'd grown to love so much in the last few hours of tossing and turning. It was true, Cleitus had been behind everything. Cassander could barely remember how he'd found out and how things had unfolded, leading to this. He'd gone to Farnacus', the Advisor, room and had found him already dead. The fact that another had killed him before he did was at first what bothered him. He'd wanted to slit the bastard's throat for what he'd done to Hephaestion. Yet it had begun to make sense that he wasn't truly the one in charge of things. A Macedonian was, one that could have gotten venom, and one that Alexander would have never suspected. From such observations he had a long list.
But then again, he began to take names from that list and think them over, and slowly it had begun to unfold. The plotter had to have been someone with a grand amount of power. And they would have been able to poison Alexander's drink, which only someone very close could have done with not a single pair of eyes seeing him. Cassander eliminated from the group most of the Companions immediately, especially Ptolemy. He felt bad for even thinking his name at first. Ptolemy was a kind soul, one who wouldn't lie or betray someone, at least he let that aura out. Cassander didn't know for sure yet, at least not anymore. He couldn't trust anyone apart from Hephaestion anymore, and perhaps in time, Alexander.
As soon as he's found out about Farnacus, suddenly the real mastermind of everything had killed him. If he wasn't alive he wouldn't be able to tell Cassander anything important. Like perhaps Cleitus' name. But Cassander had figured it out, somehow, putting all of the names together. He had to find someone that wanted the King and the Grand Vizier dead, had to find someone close to both of them that would know when they struggled and when they were weakest, had to find someone that had enough power to sit in a room and still be a friend and look them in the eye while planning the whole thing, and he had to find someone that could make false deals with Persians. Once he'd figured all of this out Cleitus' name had leapt out of his mind and hit him for not thinking of it sooner. Of course it had been Cleitus. It explained everything.
It explained why he had been so close to Alexander for the last days before Alexander had become poisoned. Because if he'd been close it would make perfect sense for him to be close afterwards. He hadn't tried to help Hephaestion and him escape. He'd knowingly sent Hephaestion to his death, either by the forces of the wild, or by the poison that he was eventually inflicted with. The second time they had left, Cleitus had known, for he had to have. He'd known all along! He was the one that had called the guards away from the gate, not Ptolemy, who'd only come up with the plan. Cleitus was going to send Hephaestion to die, making sure that Bagoas would not be near to help him. Cassander meant nothing to him and was glad to be rid of him.
But Cassander and Hephaestion returned, immediately beginning to thwart every plan that he had thought of. With Hephaestion back Alexander wasn't going to listen to him and blindly appoint him in charge, should he die, like he'd planned. Alexander often agreed to things when angry, and not paying any attention to what was spoken. Even Cassander knew that. With Cassander back, he'd begun to dig through things, finding answers and clues that Cleitus had not known he'd left behind. So when Cassander had gone to the council and told them he knew Farnacus and Stateira were involved, he'd panicked. As Cassander spoke with Stateira he'd gone and killed Farnacus, the poor idiot never seeing it coming.
Once Cassander had put the pieces together he'd gone to Cleitus' room. The guards said he was not in and Cassander had dumbly told them to give him the message that he was looking for him. But it never was delivered and didn't need to be. When Cassander had gotten back to his room Cleitus, along with some very unhappy Persians, had been waiting for him. They'd attacked him, the numbers truly unfair, and had beaten him. Cleitus had told him everything as he let the Persians beat Cassander to a bloody pulp on the floor. However, only now could Cassander remember all the things he said, for at the time he'd been trying to fight back.
Cleitus dismissed the Persians. They waited down the hall, scattered in the shadows, just incase Cleitus needed them. It was unlikely though. Cassander could barely move so how could he fight so well back? When Cleitus had grabbed his groin Cassander immediately knew what he was planning to do to him. Even though he knew he couldn't fend him off, Cassander had still tried to fight back. He'd struck him a few times with his fist, but it was rather useless. Weak arms couldn't land hard enough punches. Cleitus had quickly torn Cassander's loincloth away from him, leaving only his Macedonian garments on, which stopped at the higher half of the thigh. Still trying to fight with no avail Cassander was thrown to the edge of the bed, where Cleitus grabbed him and bent him over. Cassander had managed to kick him in the crotch though, which had only ended badly for Cassander. Cleitus pulled him up, spun him around, and slammed his head into a dresser. Cassander couldn't remember how many times, but knew everything had become unclear, but he'd still been awake.
Again he was thrown down, and Cleitus grabbed a fistful of hair and arched his head back. He thought he'd put Cassander out, but he hadn't. Cassander reached suddenly for the Persian dagger that Cleitus had carelessly tossed onto the bed and tried to swing around and strike Cleitus with it. The only mark he made was a small cut on his arm. Cleitus, furious, grabbed his wrist and began to break it. He grabbed the dagger from him, and just as Cassander turned his head to fight with him, stabbed the blade through his cheek. It had only added to the haziness in Cassander's vision and mind, but it hadn't stopped him from trying to fight.
Cleitus grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. He held him forcefully as he violently thrust himself into him. Already things were hazy, dim, but Cassander had still felt it. It hurt more than the gushing wound on the side of his face did as he tried to open his mouth. It only tore it open more and brought attention to him that his tongue bled as well. He felt his wrist bend more as he tried to still weakly struggle. Cleitus was soon done with him though, but it had been the longest time Cassander could have ever remembered. Next he was thrown to the floor, his chest torn open and flesh peeled back with the blade. He was choking on his own blood, couldn't fight, and didn't have the strength in him to do so.
Only after Cleitus left did Cassander stare up at the ceiling, thinking he was dying, and wondered how he could help Alexander and Hephaestion before it was too late. As he stared up at that ceiling he'd thought of nothing. But deep down, somewhere, he'd thought of Hephaestion who would never want him again if he knew about what had just happened. Then, that protectiveness had come back to him. Hephaestion, he had to get to him, had to before Cleitus did, and only then did he try to move. Everything after was only a blur of pain, then Cleitus falling to the ground, and then he fell to the ground too.
Now he lay in blackness, not sure if he was alive or dead, or dying. He began to hear little pieces of conversations again. He felt someone come closer, even though he couldn't see them, and knew that they'd just gripped his shoulder and said something to him. What it was, he didn't know, but it was likely someone begging for him to get well. He knew though that it hadn't been Hephaestion. It wasn't soft enough. It hadn't been tender enough to have been Hephaestion. He wanted to feel him touch him. He wanted him beside him. Just after thinking that, everything in his body ached again, and he began to toss again. Hands placed him down, but he still was in blackness, and was slipping back to dreadful memories.
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"Cassander," Hephaestion whispered as he lightly held him down. A small trail of blood came from the right corner of his mouth. Every time he moved it seemed that either his tongue or cheek bled. Hephaestion wiped it away with his fingers, not knowing how else to help him. He had his own aches and pains, and he wasn't supposed to be out of bed yet, but he had to be. He had to sit next to him, holding his hand, and had to be there when he woke up like Cassander had been for him. Cassander had stopped flailing though and was now back in the same unconsciousness he'd been in for the last five hours. Hephaestion took a hand and pushed the dampened locks of hair that lingered on his forehead away. He was so pale, so dreadfully ill looking, but still so much stronger than he had been. Hephaestion let go of his hand for a moment go take the soaking cloth from the basin of warm water, along with whatever else Bagoas had poured into it, and lifted it. He rung it out and then lightly wiped the sweat away from Cassander's face. The hardest area was his cheek, where Hephaestion had been told to wipe the water even over the stitches. Hephaestion found it hard every time, knowing that if Cassander could feel it he would be quaking in pain. Each time he wiped away at the wound, no matter how lightly he did it, the corners seemed to bleed.
Bagoas assured him that it was better for the wound to bleed than immediately seal. It could catch infection if it sealed shut instantaneously. The blood that was dripping from the corners was a good sign. It would push out any germs that had managed to fester in the wound. Hephaestion had no choice but to believe him. Bagoas also assured him that in the warm water there were leaves soaking at the bottom, which gave way a chemical like a sedative, which would dull the entire area. Once again, all Hephaestion could do was trust that Bagoas knew what he was doing.
He returned the cloth when finished and then took Cassander's hand again. He looked at the other that rested on his lower chest. Bagoas had also done the bandage around it. There was no splint, just a salve and a layer of leaves, then a thin gauze bandage to hold everything in place. Hephaestion had wondered about this. All Bagoas did to reassure him was show him his own wrist, bending it each way and then turning it, just to show him that it had worked on others.
There was nothing more he could do now other than wait. He held Cassander's hand, holding him tightly. After a few minutes of staring, he heard the door open. Alexander entered, dressed again in Persian attire, the robe billowing out behind him as he walked. He brought Hephaestion a cup of water, handing it silently to him, but with more tenderness than he had showed him in the last weeks. Hephaestion took a drink, then just held the cup in his free hand. Alexander sat down next to him, putting an arm around Hephaestion's shoulder, and was silent. After a few moments Hephaestion sunk against him, letting his head rest against his chest, and Alexander wrapped his arm tighter around him. He kissed the top of his head and let his lips rest against his dark hair.
"Be strong for him," Alexander whispered. He felt Hephaestion's tears fall onto his bare chest. It was a feeling he liked, but he didn't like Hephaestion's pain. He wanted to absolve it from him, free his mind from the uneasy thoughts he had, but he was after all only a man. He already knew the thoughts that plagued Hephaestion. It wasn't his fault though, despite what he thought. Alexander wasn't sure where to place the blame, or where to spread it out, but it wasn't Hephaestion's fault.
"Alexander," Hephaestion whispered, tears falling, but he was keeping his sanity. He really was trying to remain calm. Alexander stared down at him, seeing only the white of his cheek from the angle, but Alexander still looked down at him. "Do you think that he was awake, for all of it?"
Alexander knew what he meant. He didn't answer for a moment. He just stared at Cassander, knowing him all to well. Cassander was a fighter. He wasn't one that would give up. Alexander knew that Cassander had fought through every excruciating moment of it. Yet he knew Hephaestion as well. If he were to think that Cassander had gone through it all, still fighting, it would only crush him. Alexander stared back down at Hephaestion and then softly answered.
"He couldn't have," Alexander told him in a soft assurance. Whether or not Hephaestion believed him, he wasn't sure. Yet it didn't matter. Hephaestion had begun to wipe tears away from his face. As he did Alexander stared at Cassander and knew the exact opposite. He'd gone through it all, would remember it all, but would never mention it again. Especially in front of Hephaestion.
Perhaps that was what Alexander saw in front of him, when he looked at Cassander. He saw himself. Cassander had the same fears that Alexander did, he just hid them better. He worried about his fate, ran from his father like Alexander did his mother, and he would keep going until it killed him. Alexander knew they were the same, with the exception of the way that Cassander handled his emotions. He hid them, and later put them at the tip of a blade, but would never hurt those closest to him unlike Alexander. Alexander put his other hand to his head and rested it against his temple as he leaned back. Cassander was so much like him that it scared him. But at the same time, he wasn't afraid of him at all, for they both held one thing closest to them. Hephaestion's heart.
Alexander hurt him, but never on purpose, but he still did it. Cassander on the other hand had not hurt him. Alexander couldn't see him doing so in the future either. For that, he put faith in him. He looked back down at Hephaestion, whose eyes were red from tears, but were now looking up at his own. Alexander gave him a soft smile and wiped a tear from under his eye with his thumb. Hephaestion was the only thing in the world that he cared about. He was the only thing in the world that he had. He was the only thing, and now he had to share his heart with Cassander. Alexander knew that Cassander and Hephaestion would never have what he had with Hephaestion, but he knew that it would be enough, and because he loved Hephaestion he would have to sit back and let Hephaestion's heart wander where it did. He would come back, Alexander didn't fear that, just as Hephaestion didn't fear for Alexander when he took other women as lovers.
"What are you thinking," Hephaestion asked. Alexander only shook his head softly. He couldn't tell Hephaestion that he was letting him go, because in all reality he wasn't. He was just going to let him do as he wanted and hope that things worked out for the best. Already he knew that Hephaestion had told Bagoas. It was bittersweet to know, knowing the feelings that Hephaestion had never spoken. Yet, he shouldn't have had to. He remembered what Hephaestion had said to him, about Alexander killing him but he was never able to see it. That had been true, but Alexander was going to fix that. He wasn't going to smother the light anymore. He had to do better.
"I was just thinking, wondering about things," Alexander said. Hephaestion would think he was wondering why Cleitus had betrayed him. But he'd already thought about it and was now over it. A few more Persians were going to be executed, but that would come later, and neither Cassander nor Alexander would be doing the executing. Nearchus, Ptolemy, and Parmenion could take care of it. There were disgusted enough with the entire situation to do so.
"Oh," Hephaestion said. He sat back up, trying to remain awake. Next he picked up the cloth in the basin and wiped Cassander's face again. Alexander watched him and wondered if Cassander even felt a thing. When finished, Hephaestion put the cloth back and returned to Alexander's chest. He leaned against him and after a few moments found his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. Before he knew it, he was asleep against Alexander's chest.
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Agony. That was all that he felt as he tried so soften his lower lip. His jaw had been in the same position for hours and it ached. His entire face ached. Yet at the same time it was almost soothing when he felt something moist pressed against the slit in the side of his face. Cassander felt gauze on his tongue, and something sticky, and it tasted awful. He slowly forced his eyes open and found himself staring up at cerulean eyes. But he wasn't lying on a bed anymore, he soon realized, he was in a bath of warm water. Glancing up he saw Alexander, saw Bagoas, and then looked back at Hephaestion. Why were they all staring at him so? He wondered how he'd gotten from the bed to the tub, wondered how he'd been undressed, but decided not to think about it. The only one that hadn't seen him before was Bagoas, and he really was in too much pain to care about his nudity for the moment.
"You had a fever," Hephaestion answered to him, using a soft tone, hoping that if Cassander had a headache he wouldn't annoy him. But Cassander wasn't worried about that. He was worried about all the light in the room. There were far too many candles. They hadn't all been there before, and he knew that someone else had put them there. He glanced around, looking at all of the candles, and Hephaestion followed his eyes. "Its too bright."
Alexander began to blow some of the candles out. The Persian just backed away, standing in a corner, and stared at the ground. Cassander watched him for a moment, but then tried to focus on Hephaestion again. Hephaestion put a hand on his cheek, pressing the wet cloth against his wound. Cassander didn't say anything, but blinked a little with the pain of it once he felt it. He still had something in his mouth but didn't want to open it. Instead he lifted a hand, pointing to his mouth before his hand fell back.
"It's a salve. Don't worry, you'll swallow it before too long," Alexander answered before Hephaestion did. He glanced at the blue eyed one. He still worried, seeing the reaction that Hephaestion was having. It was the beginning of his tears mixed with guilt, a guilt that he shouldn't have.
"Ow," Cassander managed to say when Hephaestion touched his chest. Hephaestion withdrew his hand from the area. When he looked up tears fell from the sides of Cassander's eyes. He pushed himself up a little, and Hephaestion worriedly looked at him.
"I'm sorry," he apologized.
"No," Cassander began, slurring and mumbling words as he tried to talk, the numbing pain splitting his head in two. "Not you…he…it was…Cleitus…and…hurts…"
It wouldn't make sense unless you knew what he was trying to say. In that one fragmented sentence he had really tried to say so much more. He wasn't mad at Hephaestion. Cleitus had been the one that had planned it all. Cleitus was the one that had done this to him. But overall, he just meant to say that it hurt. Alexander knew what he meant to say. He nodded towards Bagoas and he left the room. Alexander then put a hand on Hephaestion's shoulder, and Hephaestion looked up at him. He knew that Alexander wanted to speak alone to Cassander for a few moments. Hephaestion kissed the back of Cassander's hand and then stood, tears in his eyes, and left the room, shutting the door as he did so.
"You're brave," Alexander said as he sat down. "A barbaric killer without reason at times, but you're brave."
"Thanks," Cassander muttered as he swallowed some of the salve Hephaestion was talking about. It was thick, glue like, and disgusting. He glanced over at Alexander, who now had tears. He'd waited for Hephaestion to leave the room before breaking apart.
"I'm so sorry Cassander."
"Not…your fault." He swallowed more salve. Alexander had taken his hand and was holding it. But he was also crying. Yet it was Cassander that did something dramatically unexpected. "I…forgave you…days ago."
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A/N: Hey, if you haven't reviewed yet, look to your left. See that little purple GO square? Hit it. I dare you! Everyone else, that already reviews, let me know what you think!