Thanks so much to Aebbe, S0phea, deelove1, nessa, Zophiel Lagace, and delos13 for your lovely reviews, thank so much for your support, and now that it's coming close to Christmas, I have the bribe of mince pies, apple pies and muffins to hopefully tempt some more reviews…
Also, a special thanks to Gif, a fan of this story, who I promise to think of with all my heart ;)
Okay, this chapter is definitely pushing the boundaries of historical fact, I don't even know if Alexander and Hephaestion had the same confidant, but this was the obvious choice for someone to advise Alexander, and we'll see Hephaestion's point of view in the next chapter :)
Reviews would be lovely, and remember, mince pies, apple pies and muffins for all reviewers!
Part Four
The road was not long, but it seemed to take an age to reach the home of his old tutor, and Alexander was breathless with worry and overexertion by the time he dismounted Bucephalus, hair windswept and face raw with the wind and dust that had whipped his face as he rode.
"Ahh, young Alexander, how good it is to see you again!"
"My dear Aristotle," Alexander replied with a grateful and not altogether untrue smile. "How have you been?"
"Oh, I have been well, though somewhat missing some of my older pupils, I daresay. Though that is not the question, is it, Alexander? The question is what are you doing here?" Alexander met the older man's wise gaze, and knew better than to dance around the subject. Aristotle was not one for small talk, he never had been, and avoiding the matter at hand had only ever infuriated the scholar in the past. They sat together, and Alexander began,
"I wanted to talk to you about…well the thing is," he stalled, wondering how best to word his scrambled thoughts, but he fell silent again.
"Yes?" Aristotle prompted, brows raised, and Alexander spoke quickly, deciding it would be better to simply say it.
"Do you still speak with Hephaestion?"
Aristotle's curious expression softened a little more, brow puckering, and he sighed, clasping his hands in his lap as he did so. His eyes widened a little as he nodded, and Alexander smiled in relief. Hephaestion had always had great respect for their tutor, and had always looked to him for advice in the past.
"Can I speak plainly?" Alexander asked, and Aristotle smiled a little condescendingly.
"I very much hope so," he replied.
"Then in that case, has Hephaestion…has he ever spoken to you about me?"
Aristotle leant back in his seat, expression pensive and lips pressed together tightly in thought. Alexander observed, feeling a little unnerved, it was very much like the sensation of having his soul examined. The wise face surveyed him was kindness, and smiled after a few moments.
"In what context do you mean?" he asked slowly.
"Any," Alexander said desperately. "Has he even mentioned me?"
"Alexander," Aristotle sighed, and he sounded tired, though also a little exasperated as well. "I can foresee without the powers of the Gods, where this conversation will lead to, and I shall tell you naught but this. Hephaestion is a good boy, always was, even as a child, but now he has grown into something more; something that allows him to the truly respected person he is. He has grown to be a proud man."
Aristotle stopped speaking, though to Alexander it sounded as though the speech was barely half finished. He leaned over, silently asking for more, but when Aristotle still did not speak, he rolled his eyes with impatience.
"And? What does that mean?" he asked.
"What it means," Aristotle explained in and wearied voice, "is that he, like all other proud men, is not built to live purely in the shadows. That is what makes him who he is. He outshone you often as children, did he not, Alexander? Granted, you broke Bucephalus, but was his own horse not stubborn also? Who was it that won all those wrestling matches, who outperformed in your studies more often than not?"
"Hephaestion," Alexander breathed with a fond smile, eyes distant with nostalgia. He was still yet to beat Hephaestion at wrestling, but at least he could say he caught up in his lessons.
"And yet he shall never grow to your heights, Alexander, he may only ever follow three steps behind. You're a Prince, Alexander. You can tell the rest of the world otherwise, but the rest of the world will not listen to you."
"I tried to tell him I am no different to him though!" Alexander said desperately. "It doesn't matter to me what our status is in the eyes of others."
"Of course it does not matter to you, Alexander!" Aristotle cried, "You are one step away from Kingship! Such matters would not seem important to you. But to a man like Hephaestion, someone who has to work for his title…it is everything. You can't talk someone out of it, or reassure them otherwise with just a few words." Aristotle smiled sympathetically when Alexander's shoulders slumped, as if his words had thrown heavy weights upon the young man's back, breaking him.
"Then what am I to do?" he asked weakly, eyes downcast.
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you, but I know you, Alexander, and I know what you will do. And I tell you now, executing every person who treats Hephaestion differently to how they treat you, is not the way to go about it. That will do nothing. Let Hephaestion earn himself a respectable title, without the aid of your affections, and then you will see."
"See what?" Alexander asked despairingly.
"You'll see how much happier a man he'll be, knowing everything he has, he has earned; his position, his friends, and even your love."
The two men sat in silence for a while, and Aristotle surveyed the young man at his side with wonder. He could recall the frisky young boy who had argued so fiercely in political debates with his fellow classmates. The boy so in love with common tales, the stories meant for amusement, the stories that he took so seriously. Now, a young man, it seemed he was as naïve as ever.
"What of my mother?" Alexander asked after a short while, and the old man shook himself slightly, the heat confusing his orientation for a moment.
"What was that, your mother?" he asked, bewildered, "Oh, yes, I see. Well, I am not getting involved in that, Alexander. Too close to matters of the throne, that is. I shan't risk involvement."
"But I fear she's driven Hephaestion away from me with poisonous words." Alexander said softly, his feet tracing circles in the dust.
"Would you let such a thing dismiss your feelings for him?" Aristotle asked, and Alexander looked horrified.
"Of course not!"
"And are your affections any deeper than Hephaestion's?"
"No!"
"Then do no worry over such foolish things. Let the boy deal with his own worries in his own way. I have known Hephaestion a long time, the same as you, and he's stronger than he looks, that one. No doubt he'll be a bit shaken up, but it would take more than a few words to drive him away completely. Surely you know that?" Aristotle asked, a smile widening on his face until he was chuckling. "By the Gods, boy, and I told your father I thought you to be intelligent!"
Alexander laughed, and shook the older man's hand firmly.
"I thank you, Aristotle, my good friend, you are a fine counsel." Aristotle merely waved the young Prince away with the shake of his hand, and kindly asking not to be pestered with such trivial matters in the future. Bucephalus was stood waiting, and with a better idea of what to do, Alexander mounted his steed and began to make for the palace once more.