Defiance Chapter 3: Three, an alexander fanfic

Title: Defiance

Author: Baliansword

Rating: PG-13 / Teen Mature

Chapter: 3 of ?

Summary: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

Warnings: There will be sexual content, mild language, mild violence. You have again been warned. (Jessica, people sometimes talk during sex…)

A/N: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Jessica, Jami, Mary, you know who you are.

The room was fairly quiet, considering the celebrations taking place just down the hall. Already the ambassadors had gone, but only after he had given them specific orders to. They were unsure of leaving his side, as if it was some sort of violation to their cause, but Philip needed to be alone for a few minute. There was a small pile of treaties on his desk, that in fairness he should look over, but instead he tucked them away in a drawer. The door opened, and he glanced up from the papers as Cleitus, his favorite, entered. Had it been another he would have reprimanded them, but alas, he had always had trouble chastising his general. Cleitus sat, waiting to be acknowledged, pensively chewing his nails.

"Out with it," Philip ordered, his tone perhaps too harsh for such an occasion. Cleitus glanced up, still tearing a hang nail away, but was not instantaneous in a response. He knew that no words Philip could ever say would harm him. Philip needed him, but more importantly, he wanted him. This fact alone had solidified their relationship, general and king, long ago. However, he knew that he would have to initiate the conversation relatively soon, before Philip tired of the silence and decided to attend his feast.

"Your son openly defies you," he stated, alluding to far more than the king himself had been informed of. Philip looked up from his labors, but did not seem surprised by the statement.

"We resisted our parents in our day, disregarding their titles. Why should my son be any different? Though, I admit, it does tax me."

"He should have more respect for you, as a father and a king. Especially," the general added, "when there are members of foreign legions present. Imagine, to hear from your loyal subjects that King Philip of Macedon is tried by a sixteen year old. His own son, nonetheless. Distention in the family is a plague Philip, starting off as a small wound, which festers until it bleeds black."

"I'll speak with him, later."

"He bides his time here, if you don't mind my frankness." Philip raised an eyebrow at the general's statement, but Cleitus went on. The best perk of being the favorite to a king, was you were their whispering conscious. They would not silence you, though, were they wise, they would. "The longer that you allow Alexander to make friends, you appoint your own enemies. We know Antipater, how badly he would challenge you to the throne if he had the power. However, he does not have it, because he has no support to overthrow you. But, Alexander spends time with Cassander, who could be his father's eyes and ears."

"My son does not hold such a high esteem for Cassander. Believe me; he has made that clear to me on plenty an occasion."

"And Hephaestion?"

"What of him," the king asked, tossing another misplaced piece of parchment onto the floor, where it would remain until a servant was asked to take it away. He then turned his attention to Cleitus, whose eyes shimmered in the light from the candles in the room.

"He is close to Alexander. He is close to his heart."

Philip thought about this for a moment, registering the connotation that Cleitus had set forth. It was only natural for young boys to feel desires, unexplained, and to at times act upon them. He was one to admit, that in long fought battles, away from all women, soldiers too found physical comfort in one another. However, physical desires did not place a man close to another's heart. No, it was love that bound hearts, until one party, for any motive, tore the second into pieces with a dull blade. Philip had learned, long ago, that love was a cruel trick of the gods. Alas, it was a powerful treachery.

"Youth blinds them, Cleitus. They are secluded from the rest of Meiza, from Pella. It only makes sense that they spend time together. That does not mean love, it does not even indicate it."

"Love, lust," Cleitus shrugged, again picking at his nails, "it does not matter. Either way, uniting them is dangerous. Alexander is beloved by many of the Companions, true, but those that do not love him adore Hephaestion. Some envy him, perhaps, including Cassander, but even in envy they would listen to the orders of Alexander. They would do Hephaestion's biding as well. More to the point, they have lain with one another, many times. Are you still unconcerned?"

"Rumors," Philip interjected.

"I have seen them," Cleitus assured him. This caused Philip to choke on his words. It was one thing to accuse, because it could always be denied. However, seeing the pair together was incriminating. Perhaps Cleitus was right, and they needed to be watched. It made sense, that the pair was becoming stronger. Rubbing his hand over his eyes Philip exhaled, still considering what he was to do. Loud laughter rang out from the dining hall, pulling him from his thoughts, realigning his mind with the task at hand. He rose, as did Cleitus, and the pair made their way out of the room.

"I will deal with this later," Philip insisted, telling the general to drop the subject, though he need not say more. Cleitus seemed pleased with himself. It was enough to know that the seeds of doubt had been placed in the king's mind. Upon entering the festivities, he knew that it would be quite an interesting night.

Meanwhile, Hephaestion and Alexander sat side by side on one of the showy blanch couches that had been brought into the room. Already darkened wine was staining the cushions beside Hephaestion, not by his own doing, but instead from Cassander, who had fell against the back. Laughing, Cassander pushed himself back, and then clapped a hand over Hephaestion's shoulder. He leaned in, saying something to Hephaestion, but Alexander could not hear him. He took a sip from his own goblet, and while Cassander waltzed away, swinging along with a young woman, Hephaestion turned his attention back to Alexander. They were back to stealing secret glances, surreptitious touches as they shifted, but Alexander could not complain. Hephaestion appeared a god tonight. A wreath had been woven into his flowing hair, and his eyes sparkled in the light of the candles and flames seemed to dance against his skin, though it was only their light.

"You should pretend to enjoy yourself," Hephaestion suggested, leaning in, his hand lightly covering Alexander's. Alexander wanted to leave, wanted to take Hephaestion away from here, to Athens, where they could be free. Yet before he could enact his plan, a chorus of trumpets announced King Philip, who, as always, was trailed by Cleitus. The Egyptian ambassadors almost swooned, causing Alexander to roll his eyes. He sunk into the couch, and Hephaestion tried to soothe him with a look. But what was he to tell his prince, that it was expected for his father not to appreciate him? The king then moved to the center of the room and raised a goblet in toast. Hephaestion lifted his own, shooting a warning to Alexander at the same time. Alexander raised his cup, and then drained its contents immediately, not even pausing for air. Hephaestion would have told him to keep a clear head, had Philip not been giving a speech. Instead, cerulean eyes drifted over him, their plead silent, but it cut him deeply.

"Alexander," the king said, after finishing his speech. He had not bothered with introductions with others, for something else was on his mind. Alexander did not stand, because he simply did not feel like praising a father that could not even acknowledge him in public. Had his mother been here, she would have told him to remain strong, that he would someday be king. If Hephaestion had his way, he would silence Alexander, no matter what it looked like. But, when angry, nothing could silence Alexander. He had been created in a womb of hate, born into a home of anger, and in such, the two guided him.

"Greet our guests," Philip instructed, introducing the men individually. Alexander stood, which was more than Hephaestion could have expected from him, but he then did the unthinkable. Taking Hephaestion's cup quickly from him, he shoved it against one of the ambassadors, spilling the rest of the wine. All went silent in the hall, and all eyes turned to the scene playing out in front of them. Hephaestion's eyes jumped from Alexander to Philip, fearing what would happen next. He stood, reaching out and placing a hand on Alexander's extended elbow. He pulled his arm down, listening to the Egyptians as they ranted in their language. He could only imagine what was going to happen next.

"Hephaestion," Philip bellowed, and suddenly eyes were all turned upon him. Hephaestion felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but he tried to think of something else. Hoping that he was not there did not seem to work, for Philip continued to glare at Alexander, even after speaking his name.

"Hephaestion, please allow my servants to see you to my room. I think I would like to spend the night discussing my defiance of my son with you," Philip slurred, still loud enough for others to hear. Hephaestion could not find his voice. To decline would be his death sentence, but to openly agree would be a betrayal against Alexander.

"Why not speak with me," Alexander fired back, causing a few of those present to gasp, some even while reaching for their chests. Hephaestion wanted to shove him away, to make him leave. Did he not understand that he was only causing more trouble for himself? At times Hephaestion wanted to shake him, wanted to curse him, wanted to do anything to get him to understand that he had to bite his tongue. Was that not what the world was about?

"Shut your mouth," the king hissed. "You've too much bravado locked away in you."

"You would know nothing of it!"

Philip reacted fiercely, striking Alexander hard across the face. Blood pooled at the corner of Alexander's mouth, and Hephaestion fought every urge to wrap his hands around Philip's neck and squeeze the life out of him. Alexander reached up, placing a hand on the split in his lip, and then smiled, blood staining his front teeth. Laughing, on the verge of madness, he spat at his father. The bloody spittle hit Philip's face, and the king slapped Alexander once more, striking the same area. Hephaestion could take no more. Before Philip was able to kick Alexander, who was still doubled over on the floor, he stepped in front of him. Leaning down, he made his words audible to only Alexander.

"Stay down," he whispered. "If you love me, grant me this only request."

"Hephaestion," the king screamed. Hephaestion snapped back up and stood before the king. It would have been in his right to kill him, but he knew he would not. He could see the look Cleitus had in his eyes, a grateful resolve. No, Philip did not plan to kill him. He planned to use him as a pawn against Alexander. It was a wise idea, he had to admit.

As Cleitus stepped forward, wrapping an arm around him, he glanced over his shoulder. Alexander had not stood, and for this, he was glad. However, Alexander had tilted his head, making himself able to watch as Hephaestion was led away, blood still dripping from his mouth. Nothing could be worse than seeing the look of tortured agony in Alexander's eyes as he stared up at him.

Philip slammed the door behind him, causing Hephaestion to jump slightly. The boy sat in a very plain chair, his back to the entrance of the room. He was unwilling to stand, but when Cleitus slapped his hand against a desk Hephaestion rose. So, he could be trained. Philip walked around the chair, coming into view of the youth. No, he then decided, he was not trained. He was too swift to be trained. Hephaestion was, perhaps, the wisest youth he had seen in some time. He was also, he admitted, the most beautiful.

"You protect my son," he asked, stepping past Cleitus to pour himself a drink. Cleitus said nothing, but Hephaestion could see the smile that twitched at the corner of his lips. Hephaestion would remind himself, years later, that his death would mean little to him. But in the present, he averted his eyes, keeping them on the floor.

"Answer," Philip then demanded, his temper short. His son had already made a fool of him. He would not have another child talking down to him, or bettering himself, before him. Not tonight. Not again.

"Everyone should protect your son, for he is a prince of Macedonia." He raised his eyes, continuing, "I am his friend, and I look out for him if it is in my ability."

"You little whelp, you are indebted to me! Your father left you with nothing, and I took you in to honor his name and the friendship that we once had. Your father was a good man, one who knew where to put his words. In this case, he would have known where not to place his body!"

"Forgive me, but beating your son while he is on the ground is no punishment a father should dole out to a crowd."

Hephaestion felt the sting as Philip's hand collided with his cheek. He wondered if it had hurt Alexander as much as it stung him. Tilting his head back, showing pride, he did not let the pain affect him. Instead, he continued to stare at the king, whose chest was heaving heavily.

"I refer to something else, and you know it!"

Hephaestion knew, but what was he going to do? To admit that he had fallen madly in love with Alexander, to the point of physical meetings, was not his place. He knew of betrayal in all of its forms. His father had betrayed him, whether or not he had meant to, but he had forgiven him long ago –upon entering the palace of Pella and meeting Alexander.

"Damn it, answer me boy!"

"I do not know what you are referring to"

"I saw you," Cleitus piped in. Hephaestion turned his attention to him. His mind screamed at him. He had sensed someone in the hall, he should have stopped. He should have forced Alexander to be reasonable. His stomach flipped; he wanted to die. This was his fault, for not listening to the warnings, for continuing with Alexander when he should not have.

"Will you deny it now," Philip asked.

Hephaestion had no answer.

A/N: I know, that's a little cliff. It could have been a bigger cliff though. Come on, suspense keeps you reading and you know it. smile Let me know what you think and I'll have the next chapter up ASAP!