Defiance Chapter 5: Five, an alexander fanfic

Title: Defiance

Author: Baliansword

Rating: PG-13 / Teen Mature

Chapter: 5 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: The usual. (Actually, I'm writing this as I sit here, so I don't actually know yet.)

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, you are just completely amazing. Jami, I have so much respect for you; all that you go through, with a smile on your face, makes me want to be a stronger person.

Nine days later…

He picked up the salve and carefully uncorked the top, wafting the scents beneath his nose. The concoction smelled of lavender, musky sandalwood, dirt, and possibly an olive branch. He supposed that the smell was not so bad, even though as he tipped the bottle more perfume seemed to fill the room. The thick liquid coated his fingers and he began to lightly dab the contents on the bruised flesh of his shoulder. He then glanced back to the silver mirror as he dropped a bead of liquid onto the splits on his upper and lower lip. His lower lip glistened in the thin silver, but he soon looked away, unable to see any more. Draining the rest of the vile, spreading liquid across his shoulders and chest, he tossed it into a woven basket on the floor. He then selected a crème, opening the jar and again smelling an odd creation, this one smelling mostly of weeds and salt. He then rubbed the crème into the back of his hands, which were reddened and bruised, but overall were not in the worst of conditions. Sighing, he twisted the top back onto the jar and then caught a glimpse of himself again. Hephaestion had never been vain, but to see himself in such a state did cause him some pain. He noted the dark circles around his light eyes, the torn flesh on the bridge of his nose and eyebrow. Catching himself, he looked away again, and began to rifle through the various jars on the desk before him. Selecting another, he warmed it in his hands, then pulled the lid away. As he did, his door opened, and Alexander entered, quietly pushing it closed. He wondered how Alexander could still look at him, but he supposed it was the same reason that he had allowed Philip to beat him so thoroughly. Love. Setting the jar down he carefully turned, wincing and reaching for a rib, but tried not to appear too pained. Alexander had crossed the room swiftly, dropping to his knees before Hephaestion, reaching up to help him reposition himself. It was odd, to be treated as if he were a child, but again, Alexander only did such out of love.

"You should not be up," Alexander instructed, taking Hephaestion's hand in his own and helping him to rise. Hephaestion leaned slightly against him, but was not willing to be completely dependent upon him. Alexander pulled a downy blanket away from the bed and then let Hephaestion sit. Reaching down, he helped push his legs underneath the blankets, and then lay the blanket back over Hephaestion. Hephaestion exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering closed, but when he opened his eyes again the pain was gone. Alexander envied his ability to push distress out of his mind. He envied that Hephaestion was able to love him so selflessly, and never do anything wrong, or even near it. He was too brave, yes, too loyal, yes, too good for him, yes, but he selfishly loved him nonetheless.

"My mother is set to arrive today," Alexander told Hephaestion, who had missed every waking moment of life outside of his room. He'd wanted to come to the trainings, despite the fact that Cleitus would be there, but the physicians had advised against it. Alexander had as well, but under different reasoning. Hephaestion listened casually, as if Alexander was weaving a tale of wonders. Alexander wondered what he was thinking, if he was truly as content as he appeared. Alexander smiled down at him and then leaned down, kissing Hephaestion's forehead softly. His skin was rugged against his lips, warmer than it should have been, but not terribly so. Oh, his dear Hephaestion. He could not forget finding him, lying on the floor, a trail of blood following him. The shock of it all had almost caused him to lose his mind to madness, but something had kept him from being rash. Now, he was on a road to recovery, and looked more beautiful than ever. It was not the bruising, but instead, it was the glow that surrounded him. Removing his lips, drawing backwards, he again looked into Hephaestion's cerulean eyes, and let his lips turn up in a smile.

"You should return to Pella with her," Hephaestion said in good spirits as Alexander toyed with his battered fingers, carefully examining him. His index finger on his right hand was not broken, though he held it in an awkward position, bent at the middle knuckle and tucked against his palm. His hands were no longer swollen, but still the veins beneath their thin layers of skin seemed to jump, and as Alexander ran the pad of his thumb over one, it jerked. Alexander drew his thumb away, hoping he had not pained Hephaestion more. "It would make her happy, I think, to have you at her side. She must be lonely, trapped in a world where no one speaks to her."

"Such a peace maker," Alexander uttered, placing a hand on Hephaestion's forehead to check his temperature one more. His fever from the previous days had subsided, but Alexander still worried about it coming back. He then continued, his mind not having stopped when his words did. "I vow it, we will both return to Pella, away from this secluded place. We'll visit the storyteller's, first thing, and then we'll be able to walk amongst the orchards, the fields, we'll do it all Hephaestion, everything that we were accustomed to until we were banished here."

"I do not need to go to the storytellers," Hephaestion laughed, curling his fingers around Alexander's just to show that he was not as injured as his friend believed. How he loved it when Alexander began to speak, planning their future together. It was not the words, not necessarily, but the fact that he was so passionate about his subject. He had long ago convinced him that one day they would see Persia, and then go beyond. While it seemed improbably, especially with Philip growing older but no weaker, he still believed him. He would follow him too, to the ends of the world, and back again. "I have you to tell me stories. Your lore is better than that of Homer. Compared to you, he knows nothing of the world, nothing of Achilles' great desire. He should have met you, Alexander. You would have inspired him like no other Hellenic hero. But I still wonder, why is it that you blame yourself? I see it in your eyes when you look at me, the way you touch my hands, it gives it away."

"You read me too well."

"It could become a problem," he agreed. He then pushed himself into a sitting position, and though it ached, it felt good to sit instead of lie. The physicians thought that his body would recover best if he did not move, however, he felt much better flexing his muscles, trying his body's patience with him. "Still, you should know that I regret nothing, Alexander. You are not to be blamed for your father's actions."

"And if I end up just like him?" Alexander had pondered this more than once. His father had told him that Olympias was just like her mother, and her mother before her. It was a line of Harpies, at least, in Philip's demented mind. Alexander had asked Aristotle about lineage, when Hephaestion was debating phrases with Ptolemy, and the old man had smirked. Lineage, he said, is just blood in your veins. It does not make a man, but if the man believes it does, if he gives it power, then it surely will overtake him. He did not wish to be like Philip, never like Philip, and he would kill himself before he became like Cleitus, who preyed on youth and found his pleasure in watching beatings. Oh, he'd known, they had all known, but never before had Hephaestion been the center of his intentions.

"Never," he quickly interjected. He placed his hand on Alexander's cheek, but the contrast of his reddened skin caused him to drop his hand. "You are so much more, Alexander, much more than Philip could ever be. I see it, your strength, flowing through you like a river. The current just becomes faster and faster, with nothing to slow it down. You are not him. You'll never be a tyrant, never."

"Not with you by my side."

"And if, as you say, we are Achilles and Patroclus, what then? Will we fight side by side in battle until I fall? And then, will you avenge me, my noble Alexander? For let me tell you now, when I die, do not avenge me. I want you to mourn me in your heart, but only for a moment, only when alone. But then, forget I ever was."

"We make our own future, Hephaestion. We'll die together, staring out at the Athenian seas. No one will know where we have gone; king and chiliarch, and our bones will be all that remains, until the Western winds blow them out with the tide. Our children will have a story to tell their children, how we rolled the dice and won against Fate herself."

"There you go again," Hephaestion smiled, causing his healing lip to crack again at the edges. He did not seem to mind, but he was again becoming tired. Alexander could not fault him, for he tried so hard to remain awake throughout the day, but he needed his rest now.

"Sleep, Hephaestion. You're growing stronger each day. By tomorrow, you'll be as you were."

"You should not look at me like this," Hephaestion whispered, his eyes closing. Still, his mind fought his body, but Alexander knew well enough that his body was winning. Adding a few drops of a draught that soaked into his skin and caused him to sleep into his crèmes only worsened him. Alexander leaned forward, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

"You are always beautiful," the prince whispered against his skin. He then kissed his cheek, his eyelids, and as he did he heard Hephaestion exhale a breath. His chest slowed, his breathing falling into sleep. Leaning back, Alexander looked down at him. How, even now, could he look away?

The doors to the great hall swung open, and as they did she entered, dark curls spiraling around her face, cascading down her back. Her jade eyes scanned the room, her face set in stone, and as she approached the king she clenched her jaw. She stopped just short of him, and with a sudden ferocity slapped him, causing his head to turn. Philip straightened, and then went to strike her in return, but she stepped back, avoiding his hand.

"Touch either of them again," she hissed, her eyes darting to Philip like a snake's, "and I swear by all that is decent, all that is within me, I will have you killed."

"Make no threats to me, Harpy!"

"You confuse threats with promises," the Queen said, turning on her heel and making her way back across the room. As she reached the door, it opened unexpectedly, revealing Cleitus, who stared at her as she did him –hatred and suspicion overtaking them both. Yet it was Olympias who reached out, placing a delicate, but powerful, hand on Cleitus' shoulder.

"Lie with men, if you wish," her lower voice forewarned, reaching only his ears, "but these are not for you. Philip is king, but to kill you would take not a moment of my energy. Do you understand me?"

"I would have your son already," Cleitus jeered back, his voice taunting her, though inside he trembled from her words, "were it not for that Athenian whelp he takes to his bed. I wonder, is the prince's mother as good from behind as her son is?"

"Too good for filth like you," Olympias answered, pulling away from him. She then brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder, but leaving him gaping. Cleitus watched her go, but then continued into the room, approaching his king. Philip signed another document before turning it over, and when he looked up he pointed to the door.

"She is going to be the death of me, not by her hand, but by her constant annoyances," he concluded.

"I told you not to wed her," Cleitus laughed. "Did I not take one look at her and tell you to turn away? She surely is a torturer of men. Think of your poor son, the lies she must fill his head with. You should not let him return to Pella."

"They go to Pella, all of the Companions. They are done here Cleitus. Alexander is sixteen, ready for battle. If he defies me again I'll send him, and him alone, to fight the Thebans. If he comes back, he can go against my orders all he wants, but if he does not, it solves our problems."

"Then you have decided to let his power grow?"

"He is a boy. How powerful could he truly be when compared to a king?"

A/N: That is not a cliff hanger. However…I might not be able to update again until Tuesday night. I'll do my best to slide a few chapters in over the weekend –but I'm slammed this weekend, and might not have time. We'll see. Until then, drop me a review, because I love you (but not as much as Jared Leto, Jessica, or Jami).