Title: "Cassander's Campaign"
Author: BalianswordChapter: 18, "Alexander's Death"
A/N: Alas we come to the end of the tale. It may make some cry. Some may feel relieved. Yet no matter what you feel I wish to thank you all for being so involved in the process of this story. I hope to post something new soon, and hopefully I shall hear from you all again!
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It was dark now and the world around him seemed to sleep. He glanced down at the ring on his finger, the light of the candle behind him catching it. Still, to this day, it caught his eye. The significance was worth far more than the ring itself. No matter though, for he loved the meaning and the ring. Yet at the same time he was the only one that knew what it stood for. He always was the only one, and he always would be. However, he could keep it like this forever. As he was looking at the ring he heard the doors thrown open and Alexander was helped into the room by Bagoas. He seemed drunk yet Cassander knew all he had to do now was wait. For the longest time he sat there, making sure he was in the shadows so that no other would see him, and he waited.
A distant memory caught him as he was sitting there. It preoccupied most of his time and the world around him fell away. Staring at the ring he thought of Hephaestion, saw his cerulean eyes and envisioned him as he had been. It had been so long since he'd seen him, yet at the same time, it seemed as if just yesterday they were together. There was a coughing though and it drew him back to the realm of the living and now. He glanced over at Alexander then, lowering his hand.
How long had he been sitting there waiting for this condition to worsen so that he could come out of his shadows of hiding? Bagoas had been there, done some things to Alexander that he should not have, mainly tried to get him into the same sexual desire he'd once had for the Persian. Cassander thought for some time that Alexander would let Bagoas be his on this night, drunk with wine and sick with illness, yet he alas did not. This was at least one thing that Cassander could be thankful for. Alexander never touched another after the death of Hephaestion. That was as it should have been at least.
As soon as he'd lifted the goblet to his lips Cassander had smiled softly. Alexander drank anyway, even after seeing this. He knew, deep down, what was going on. In truth he knew all along that the day would come. What he did not expect was for his death to be so suddenly announced to all. All of the men surrounding Alexander had seemed to know. Cassander he was sure knew. The rest were just pawns in Cassander's game. Yet now he was ill, lying on his floor, coughing and thinking that none would come. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his dark knight appeared though.
"Why Alexander," Cassander said as he knelt down in front of him, sneering it seemed. He'd waited so long to see him like this. He wanted him to suffer, and knew it would never be enough to amount to what Hephaestion suffered his entire life, yet even if he could have a fraction of this then it would all be worth it. It was not hard to find the poison and buy it. He'd not even done it in disguise. He wanted them to know, the entire world, that he'd done this to Alexander. One man with one small vile of poison conquered the king that could not be conquered. "You look ill. Is there something wrong?"
Alexander looked up at him and Cassander only smiled. It was the same evil smirk, one that Alexander had seen often from him. Cassander stared down at him now as he stared down at all of his enemies. He wanted him to die. Alexander coughed once more before he could push himself up.
"I must say," Cassander said as he took a lock of Alexander's blond hair and pushed it behind his ear. He wanted to see him. He wanted to laugh at him. "You were right about Persia. There are many wonders here that we would never have seen in Greece. One of which," he said with a laugh, "is the poison in your drink."
Even though he knew his eyes grew wide. He did not know what to say to him. So instead he said nothing. That did not bother Cassander though, for when he tried, he could not find his voice. He was like a fledgling bird, fallen from the nest for the owls to pick off. He may be able to pick at the grass around him, but not for long, for without the comfort he'd had there would be nothing left of him. Already in Cassander's eyes he was a skeleton of the man he once was. Without Hephaestion there had been nothing for him. In that they were both the same.
"You shouldn't try to speak," Cassander said. "Poison from the best of them causes you to loose your voice. Soon you shall feel the pain. My dearest Alexander, I hope that you feel it, deep in your guts and beneath your breast. Feel what he felt everyday. Do you think that I killed him?"
Again Alexander said nothing. But it was clear that he had thought it all along. Neither of them could understand the other without him. Hephaestion had always kept the two of them together. They had always been safe to one another when Hephaestion was there to calm and protect the both of them. Poor Hephaestion, Cassander finally thought, he shall hate me for what I am doing now. Yet it mattered not because Cassander loved himself for it.
"If anything killed him it was us," Cassander said. "That is the truth, is it not? We smothered him with our love. We killed him, with the one thing he should have been able to love. Ah, Alexander, if you think that I killed him you are right in the sense that I loved him more than anyone in the world can love. I loved him, and with that love, I pushed him away."
"I loved him," Alexander gasped out. His voice was fading and it hurt to try to say the words. It was as if his throat was constricting. Everything in his body seemed to be tightening in fact. It hurt, there was no denying that. It hurt more than anything ever had inside of him.
"We both did," Cassander agreed with a whisper. He reached out, grabbing Alexander by the arms, and pulled him off of the floor. He tossed him onto the bed and then lifted a candle from the corner where he'd been. He set it down on the desk by the bed and then sat down on the chair he pulled out. He then rested his chin on a hand, elbow in the covers of the bed, and stared at the king as he gasped out in pain. There was the same evil smirk upon his lips. "It hurts, does it not?"
"Why?"
"It has always been a game," he said with a soft laugh. "You always thought that because of what you were, you could do as you pleased. Crush those beneath you if it were for the better of the rest, go here and there claiming land as if you'd made it, but never did you find the truth in life. Aristotle should have told you that without someone to share your world with, there is nothing, and no one."
"It was not…a game."
"It was. You know it. You always tried to be stronger than I. You always tried to be better. Why was that Alexander? Was it because of what your mother told you as a boy, for that is when you changed slightly, yet once we got to Persia she reminded you when you had Parmenion killed, along with Cleitus. Was such a thing so much to make you use Hephaestion as a pawn against me? Was it worth it to you, because it wasn't for him, and not for me."
"You'll never be my…brother."
"In your heart of course not. However, the blood does not lie. Your father was right to tell you about the Cretans though. They overthrew their parents. But when there were two brothers, they fought, and this he failed to show you. One always had to be the stronger. So you kept me in the dark for so long, pushed me to the side, just to prove to yourself that you were better. Alas I must say though, I seem to have an advantage over you. I am stronger. That is why you lie before me now as you do, because you may have outdone me in conquering the world, yet in love –I succeeded where you did not."
"Perhaps you do not know the day," Cassander said as he pushed the hand Alexander tried to grab him with away. Alexander made another struggle to try to grasp him but Cassander just shoved his arms away. It was too easy for he was far too weak. "Do you remember this day, a year ago?"
"Heph..."
"Yes," Cassander whispered as he leaned closer. He got too close to Alexander, so close they were almost mouth to mouth. Cassander kept his voice low, knowing this would be the last time to speak to him. "I am doing what he should have done, Alexander. I'm releasing you. Go to him, and see if he loves the man you've become."
Cassander placed his lips against Alexander for a moment, kissing him goodbye. Then he pulled quickly away and left the room. Alexander would have cried out had he been able to. Yet he could not. It mattered not though for Cassander would not have listened. He left him there, beginning to die, and entered the hallway in the best mood he'd ever been in within the last year. The next time he would see Alexander would be on his deathbed.
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320 BC…Athens…Palace of Cassander…
At last he turned to face the one before him. He knelt and put his forehead against his captives. There were tears in both of their eyes, each for a different reason. Yet in this moment they shared at least something. They'd never before shared anything else.
"That is what your son was," Cassander said as he shoved Olympias back. She fell, barely able to keep her face from hitting the floor. Her hands and legs were bound and bruises covered her body. She'd struggled yet it had mattered not to Cassander. She did not need to look beautiful for what he had in mind for her. He stared down at her, and he spat at her before he continued. "That is what we both became. Yet it was your precious Alexander, Alexander the Great, that was the weaker."
"He was not the monster you portray," Olympias said as she tried to reposition herself so she was sitting up. She'd known, all along, about Philip's infidelities. Yet she'd thought that the best of all had been Cassander. It was true, for he was a strong leader, and he led like she would have. He led without care for anyone but himself. At least he had. Now he seemed to be doing good for the people of Athens. Nevertheless though, he was planning to get rid of her.
"Do not worry," Cassander said as he sat down on a chair. "Ptolemy I hear is telling a wonderful tale of your son. From what I know of Ptolemy people for hundreds of years to come will love him."
"As they should!"
"I just thought you should know, before you die."
Cassander stood and she closed her eyes, hoping that it would be quick. It was not though. Instead he walked past her, and left her there. As he left the dungeon it occurred to him that he did not care how long it took her to starve. If she killed herself so be it. The only thing that mattered to him at the moment was the pile of parchments on his bed in his room.
He picked up the pile when he reached his room and ran a hand over it. Then, he stepped out onto the balcony. The stars were brighter tonight than they had ever been. Upon seeing them he knew that Hephaestion would have loved him, he who loved the stars more than anything at times. Yes, he should have been a philosopher or an astronomer. Cassander still stood by that. But he looked back down at the parchment and let tears fall from his eyes.
He slid the ring off of his finger and placed it on the top of the pile. He could no longer wear it, not knowing what he planned to do to this world. Olympias would be the first but there would be many to come. He'd kill Roxanne and the child she'd given birth to. Gods only knew whose it was, but Cassander knew that it was not Alexander's. The golden ring glimmered in the light of the moon. Lifting the pile Cassander kissed the paper on the top, and then just as a gust of wind came, he threw them into the sky. Standing silently he watched for a moment as the sheets of parchment flew out into the night. Never again would he see them.
But he would go and find the ring. It did not sit on the stone ground for long. He took the ring and put it away in a box, which he hid even from himself. Upon his death he did not know that it would be found. Yet it was, as was the note, which said that if the ring were found to burn him with it on his finger, a sign that he was wed. It also mentioned to throw it into the Mediterranean if he was already gone. At the time he wrote it he found it something rather silly. But it had been needed, for when he died, the ring was placed on his finger. He was burned with the ring as had been stated, and he rose to find Hephaestion, with the ring that bound them held over his heart in death.
ENFIN.
A/N: I am now handing all of you that are crying a tissue. For those of you that are furious with me I am ducking what you throw at me. Yet again I thank you all! Hope to have a few reviews. See you again in another story!
Baliansword