Title: Far Away From Here
Chapter: Four
Fandom: Alexander (historical)
Rating: PG-13 this chapter. Will rise by final.
Summary: That famous quarrel with Craterus, and Hephaestion's summary decision to return to Macedon.
A/N: OC still there. Thoughts welcomed
Dedicated to: The admissions tutor at Oxford. She won't ever read this, and I don't even know her, but thats the way it goes!
Thanks for reviews to: Salome, animelover52843, Yolass, candice, CoralDawn, Yaoi Angel, Arlad, Wolf Bitc, Manidefronsac, chibisanzo, Moon71, angstman, VaniaHepskins, lize, khepri2, fanfic lover 4ever, Mariana , Queendel, sunny-seid-up
Craterus stayed more than some time, talking over army matters, especially those concerning the division of the army, and morale. Hephaestion thinking of the loyalty his own troops had displayed towards him, shrugged the matter off easily on his own account, but he was able to intimate to Craterus without so much as a word on the subject that he was worried about Alexander's personal rating amongst the troops which had sunk to such a low pass. They were both intelligent men, well versed in the way of the world, and after so many years their instincts had sharpened to a honed edge concerning these matters. The wine flowed freely, well replenished by Timonus, who as befitted a good page, kept himself unobtrusive. His feet were aching, and he had promised to meet Laonicus as soon as he could, though at this rate it didn't look like he would be released before the early hours. Hephaestion's sharp eyes noticed his page's discomfort, and deciding he could be with dispensed with, dismissed him after instructions to fetch more wine. The wine duely arrived, and Timonus vanished into the gloom outside the tent.
Craterus held up a glass expansively. "Do you remember Alexander's sixteenth birthday?" he asked, and receiving Hephaestion's confirming nod, continued. "You were drunk as a lord, and you were just sitting there, drinking it down. No mess, no arguments, no fights even, until you just toppled off."
Hephaestion laughed, remembering. "Then you pulled me back up, and spilt your wine on me. And blamed me for it."
Craterus laughed, his eyes crinkling as he reminisced. "I know. I couldn't figure out who on earth you were, wasn't until later I realised you were Amytor's son." He stopped speaking, remembering the evening. He had been in his twenties, one of the men chosen to accompany Philip as an acting officer. He had indeed tipped wine over Hephaestion, who by that point was too sodden to even notice. "That was an evening," he remarked.
"Indeed it was," Hephaestion agreed. He didn't tell Craterus the brightest spot had been Alexander, putting him to bed, and the shy hesitant touch on one cheek. He sighed. "Where did those evenings go?" he asked, half plaintively, the memory still strong in his mind.
"I don't know," replied Craterus. "They seem to have vanished, somewhere back in the mists of Macedonia, and the days of yester-year," he stopped and squinted. "Poetry. I must be drunk." Sighing, he drank back half a glass, almost choking himself. "I don't know Hephaestion. Somewhere along this long tired trail, we seem to have lost all meaning. We drag ourselves onwards, but leave everything we care for behind." Hephaestion remembered Craterus had left a wife and child back in Macedonia, and had not remarried since. "I know you don't agree with me Hephaestion, but I hold to it anyway. It is the fault of that Persian luxury. He is surrounded by decadence, their eunuchs, their silks and perfumes, their effeminate nobles who will sell their loyalty to the highest bidder. They seek to mire him in the opulence of luxurious living, to him with comfort, to prevent him smelling the foul scent of corruption which surrounds him. They gift him with dancing-boys who beguile, yet whose tainted smiles are yet another symbol of the utter corruption of Persia. It makes me sick to my very soul."
Hephaestion stared into the depths of his own glass. "I know," he said quietly. "And his men grow apart from him. They do not have his innate curiosity, his knowledge that to conquer, you must assimilate and integrate. I will be honest with you. The Persians fascinate me objectively, as much as they repulse me in close view. I speak their language, know their etiquette, yet I still feel as though I do not understand them in the least, and the more I learn, the more I do not wish to understand them." He coughed. "I do what I do, because Alexander wishes me too. He needs someone who knows the rules, and is willing to learn every detail." He shook off the seriousness, by saying with a bright smile. "And there are some wonderful things about them. I hear even you Craterus gave in and bought that Persian . The beauty with the long hair, though she looks inexhaustible. You must be tired out."
Craterus grunted in agreement. "I'm afraid you are right Hephaestion." He poked the platter of food that Timonus had brought along with the last jugs of wine. "She doesn't understand a word I say, and I don't get a word she says. She simply smiles and nods, staring at me with huge blank eyes. I'm thinking of giving her away as a gift. You speak Persian don't you?" He nudged Hephaestion. "Say something in Persian." Hephaestion considered, and said something in Persian swiftly. Craterus narrowed his eyes. "You called me a 's son."
Surprise showed in Hephaestion's eyes. "You understood me?"
Craterus guffawed, and shook his head. "No, your insults are just too obvious." He tried a morsel of the meat, and Hephaestion took another. "Oh well," he said stretching. "Tomorrow Hephaestion is as always, another day." He paused suddenly, a memory swimming before his eyes. "About earlier," he said quietly. "I am truly sorry." He was referring to the incident, which had started as a quarrel over supplies, and ended a duel, each infuriated at the other's failure to see their point of view, and goaded into personal insults. "I did not mean any of it," he said, his eyes meeting Hephaestion's squarely.
Hephaestion nodded, "I didn't mean it either," he confessed. "And what happened after would have happened anyway."
Craterus lazily peered into the jug, "why, what happened afterwards?" he asked, more interested in the contents swirling provocatively at the bottom.
Hephaestion was well able to hold his drink, but they'd been through enough jugs to kill a lesser man, and his inhibitions were down to the floor, as were Craterus's. "Alexander threatened to throw me into prison if I dared leave. So I told him I'd rip him apart if he ever spoke to me again."
The jug dropped from nerveless fingers. Craterus peered drunkenly at Hephaestion. "You what?"
The answer that greeted him was bitter. "The whole camp will know soon enough, you might as well know now. The King and I, are no longer..." he fumbled for the right words, then threw up his hands. "You know what I mean." He relapsed into silence, fumbling for his glass, and drinking the dregs.
A long low whistle cut the air. "Not something I ever saw comin'," slurred Craterus, and his head hit the table. Hephaestion stared at him, the ready warmth and cheerfulness of the wine already dissipating, leaving him very cold, and very tired. Stumbling outside, he yelled for Timonus, not caring if he woke anyone else. It took a few minutes, but he finally appeared. In contrast to Hephaestion, he was starry eyed, bubbling over with an inexplicable kind of joy, with a ready smile on his lips. Hephaestion stared at him, trying to remember who he reminded him of. The answer was slow and unwilling. Alexander, the night he first kissed Hephaestion. That realisation made him much harsher than usual with his page. He snapped out orders, and together they swung Craterus onto the bed. No use trying to wake him now. Hephaestion made himself up a bed on the other side of the tent, from spare blankets, and from what he didn't like to acknowledge was pure spitefulness, ordered Timonus to stand watch for the night, and wake him at dawn.
His sleep was heavy, and filled with bad dreams, either from the superabundance of alcohol, or the after effects of the sudden breathing difficulty. When he woke, he was more bad tempered than ever, his natural irritableness showing clearly through, which combined with the ing hangover, made him insufferable. Timonus came in for a particularly bad half hour of it, soon after Craterus had left, bleary eyed, and headed for his own tent. Hephaestion was writing a note, when Timonus walked in, all shining eyes, and half smile, as though in some sort of dream. Hephaestion glanced up, lip curling. "I see Laonicus has finally made his intentions clear," he said sourly. "About time if you ask me."
Timonus timidly nodded. "Last night."
"I really should inform the King that he needs to keep a closer watch on that page. The boy already has a lover, and he's out all night as it, Gods know where." He watched with a clinical eye, the effect that had on the page. It was immediate and absolute, the eyes still shone, but with something closer to tears, and the joy faded from the face, leaving it lifeless and dull. He berated himself for his callousness, and his cruelty. Just because his own joy in love had faded, broken, didn't mean he needed to do it to others. He did his best to repair the damage. "I'm sorry boy, my head aches like Hades. I think you should go find Leona for me, and the doctor. Leona first I think." Timonus scurried out, as though the winds bore his feet.
He raced from the tent, then stopped and raised his arms to his face, roughly wiping away the tears that had gathered. So stupid to cry over Laonicus, he wasn't a . But he had really thought.. last night. It had felt so real, nothing like he'd thought it would. They hadn't done anything even, just talked and sat there, and when Timonus had to attend to Hephaestion, Laonicus had briefly kissed him. And now.. to find out from Lord Hephaestion's lips that he was quite possibly only one of many. Surely Lord Hephaestion would not lie? He shook the thoughts away, and went to find Leona. She was alone, and came quite readily.
Hephaestion glanced up, and escorted her in. "I have solved a problem," he began without preamble. "I am grateful for the assistance you rendered me last night, and I am not unmindful of my promise to do well by you. Which is why I have arranged for you to be taken under the protection of the doctor. He will see to your welfare, the safety of your child and will prevent you from being a burden on your family. He insists that women know nothing of medicine, but it may be that duties may arise which he will ask you to take care of, and I wish you to do so." He looked at her shrewdly. "If you have a son, I shall sponsor his upbringing, if a daughter then I will make provision for a dowry of some kind. Is this acceptable to you?" Her consent was really only nominal.
Nodding helplessly, she kissed his hand. "Thank you my lord," she said through her tears. "I shall do my best by you."
He smiled absentmindly. "The doctor will be here soon. I think you should stay and meet him properly, especially since there is something I need to say to you both." At that moment the doctor entered, and Hephaestion nodded. "I must ask both of you to remain silent about the attack I suffered yesterday. It is imperative no-one gets to hear of it. Have either of you mentioned it?" They both shook their heads and he sighed in relief. "Good. Now perhaps you would like to get acquainted yourself."
It was a polite dismissal, and they walked to the door together, their conversation fading. "How long have you been expecting?"
"Four and a half months."
"You're carrying high, that usually the sign of a boy..."
The details of gynaecology floated in the air a moment, before they faded leaving Hephaestion alone with his thoughts. He had not yet seen Alexander, and he gritted his teeth against the inevitable council being held that afternoon.
Alexander for his own part was still raging like a caged beast, in his own tent. "Who does he think he is?" he asked Bagoas through gritted teeth. His page, frightened by the King's mood, had summoned Bagoas who seemed to have a knack for calming the king down in these sorts of mood. The eunuch sat, his legs curled up under him, still slim and young. No-one but he knew the fight it took to keep himself that way, the fight it took to resist the corpulence that overwhelmed so many of his fellow-eunuchs, the self denial. He listened, his watchful eyes gleaming, following Alexander as he paced. "How dare he, how dare he presume to know what to do. I gave him a direct order, and he resents it."
Bagoas had no answer. There was one, but he could not tell Alexander it- it was not for a lowly eunuch to voice. Alexander loved the fool, more than he loved anyone else, and it had blinded him to the obvious. Hephaestion was a man, not just a lover. Bagoas did not know that he was reaching the same conclusion as Hephaestion had, only slightly changed around. Alexander did not see in Hephaestion, the same faulty man, he saw perfection almost without flaw, and for Hephaestion to break that illusion of his own accord was devastating. Alexander saw properly for the first time that his love was merely a man, like all others, filled with pride, and anger. He did not voice his own hope, even to his secret mind. Alexander loved pliability, softness, willingness, all that Hephaestion wasn't. Perhaps now he would give up on the other man, and turn to find that comfort elsewhere. However he first tried to calm Alexander down. "Iskander," he began in his soft voice."
A vase hurtled past his head. "You fool! Will you stop in the name of the Gods, calling me that? I know you can say Alexander, so do it, or call me sir."
Bagoas tugged his dignity around him more tightly like a robe. "Sir," he repeated, wary of a slip of the tongue, "Lord Hephaestion is very proud," there he thought, with a little satisfaction. Let that reinforce itself in his mind. "He is impetuous. You must let him calm, and ask your forgiveness." Bagoas knew as did every man in the army, that Hephaestion would not, could not do such a thing, indeed that almost no Macedonian man could so such a thing and retain his pride. He thought rather contemptuously of the Macedonians. No Persian man would have done such a thing as challenge the king in such a manner, and if by some aberration of nature they had, they would have lost no time in apologising to the man they had offended. The man who firmly held the reins of power. Hephaestion was an utter mystery to him. How could a man such as he, hold down an office, and the love of a man? In Bagoas's world, love was reserved strictly for those designed for such function, perhaps a wife even.
He slipped off his chair, and walked carefully towards Hephaestion. "He has angered you my lord," he murmured quietly. "He does not understand you, or what you need." Bagoas gently placed his hands on Alexander's shoulders, beginning to rub. Alexander's head dropped.
"What do I need Bagoas?" he asked softly. "I don't want anything except for what I cannot have, and I can't have him. You can't understand. He is my other half, he completes me as no other man or woman could do, with all his faults, flaws and quirks. There can't be anyone else for me." He seemed utterly unaware that he was speaking to Bagoas, he was looking into the distance, as though merely talking out loud to himself. "So why would he do so such a thing?"
Bagoas bit back his first reply, and thought a little, on why he disliked Hephaestion. Perhaps it was connected to his mercy. When he had first been gifted to Alexander, he had been made well aware by every woman in the army, just exactly what he was entering. And after that first night, he had been sent to Hephaestion's room, to offer himself as though he was a piece of meat. The man on the bed, had looked at him with an impersonal kind of curiosity, as though wondering what on earth he was doing there, and had sent him back with an insult. Alexander had been in a temper, and Bagoas had been informed by someone who had heard the entire thing, that he had offered to give Bagoas away, and that Hephaestion had stayed his hand. Such favours do not make the recipient feel kindly towards their benefactor.
Whatever the reason, he disliked Hephaestion helplessly, and with all the more reason because Hephaestion did not even seem to notice he existed. He would look puzzled, and smile politely if he passed Bagoas, but there was never a sign of recognition, never a hint that he thought of Bagoas in the slightest, as a rival or otherwise. The old man who had cut Bagoas, had instilled in him the basic principles of his job. He was an article, to be used when desired, and ignored when not. Many eunuchs had secondary purposes such as secretaries, and many rose to great power, like his namesake Bagoas, but the primary function Bagoas himself had been cut for was pleasure. He had been a beautiful child, and his parents very poor, and though sorry to do such a thing, had convinced themselves it was their only option. Because of this, the first thing the old man had done, was caution him. As a eunuch, he must never presume on affection or loyalty, must never ask for anything that he was not offered. When he had been given to Alexander, the King had been the first person in his life whom had treated him kindly, giving him small presents from time to time, correcting his mistakes and even allowing him to talk sometimes, and Bagoas had found love growing in his heart for him. Though he did not realise it, it was the love of a child starved of affection and kindness, the simple whole-hearted adoration of someone who had never properly been a child, and who would never properly be a man. He did not realise this, to him love was only an act to be performed, the only way he could show his devotion. He did not care about the other areas of Alexander's life, the other ways Alexander loved, and to be put aside in favour of one whom already owned so much of the King's heart was unbearable.
The only thought in his usually quick and able mind, was that perhaps now that Hephaestion was gone, Alexander would turn elsewhere for comfort. He could never hope to equal Alexander in anything, but he could at least give him everything.
"He does not know himself I would hazard my lord," were the words he spoke.
Alexander impatiently shrugged himself free of Bagoas's hands. "Not now," he hissed. "Why am I talking to you about this. You can't understand, you never will understand." He poured himself a glass of water. "Go," he said wearily, and Bagoas backed away and out. Alexander was right, he never would be able to understand. Especially why Hephaestion was the object of the King's desire. It could not be physical, Bagoas knew that much, or at least not merely physical. Alexander's type tended to be sweet and supple, with perfect features. Hephaestion was tall, and though slender, carried the muscles of a warrior, the skin on his hands, and arms occasinally scarred. His dark hair, and grey eyes were interesting, but by no means exceptional, and his face though handsome, was by no means as regular and enticing as was commonly considered beautiful. It was an enduring question to Bagoas, what precisely King Alexander found attractive in Lord Hephaestion.
That afternoon, a council was held. The air was remarkably tense, since as Hephaestion had predicted everyone knew now at least roughly, what precisely had happened. Hephaestion was sitting on one side of Craterus, at the end of the table, while at the other end Alexander held forth about his plans. Though he spoke to every individual, he pointedly ignored Hephaestion, instead letting Hephaestion know of his duties, by loudly enumerating them to Perdicaas. Craterus shifted uncomfortably on his seat, and when Alexander was occupied in talking to someone else, he spoke to Hephaestion. "I to say it," he whispered. "But this is the most childish display I have seen in years. Why don't you both grow up, how on earth is not even talking supposed to remedy things?"
Hephaestion muttered back, one eye on Alexander. "It's not childish. I am making a point."
"Yes it is childish," cut in Craterus. "I remember that summer where you and Alexander didn't talk at all, all you did was fight, and look how that turned out. Why don't you grow up?"
Hephaestion sputtered. "I don't notice you telling that to Alexander," he pointed out. "He's the one who isn't talking to me. And he is the one who insulted me yesterday in case you had forgotten. By the Gods, he may be your king, but that doesn't mean he can't be wrong. And you weren't there during that summer." He could feel the slow, steady tide of rage rising up at the thought, and sought to stem it. There was an awkward silence for a moment, as they all remembered Cleitus.
"Only because you probably made it clear you didn't want him to talk to you." Hephaestion shot a startled look at him which was easily interpreted. "It's the sort of thing you might say."
"Am I really that predictable?" asked Hephaestion regretfully, and was faced with a nod. "Oh," was his rather muted reply. Then sensing the glance of the king, they turned their attention back to the table.
Well that was unusual. I don't think I've ever seen Craterus written quite like that before, which isn't actually something to recommend it. I just had this idea, that maybe his character could be taken in a different direction than usual. Very little Alexander/ Hephaestion interaction in this I'm afraid.
Also, it looks like this might be rather longer than I had anticipated, I don't think it can be wound up in one more chapter. Sorry!