Thank you very much to Aebbe, S0phea and Gif for your reviews, hope you enjoyed your virtual Christmas goodies ;) As ever, reviews would be lovely, and rewarded with what's left of the Christmas baking marathon I've been having over the past week.
And I hope everyone had a good Christmas :) I'm thinking possibly two more chapters for this story, unless some sudden spark of inspiration finds me quickly. We return to Hephaestion's point of view, and see his side of the tale…
Part Five
Hephaestion liked being stubborn. Sometimes it was the only way he could stand the looks he received from staring women and men: adoring, or envious, though often lustful. Though sometimes, such as at a time like this, he knew deep inside that he was only being pig-headed to be awkward. He could have swallowed his pride as he had done at fourteen, but he didn't want to.
He was fed up of being the submissive wretch that followed the golden boy like a lost pup.
His solitude among the trees had almost been invaded by a figure galloping towards the caves, beyond which the river widened into a series of rushing rapids. For one moment he had panicked, thinking it to be Alexander following him.
But it wasn't. The horse had been pale, not dark, and much stockier that Bucephalus; and the rider's hair had been ebony black, not golden, and of a much larger build than the prince.
So Hephaestion had returned to his brooding, eyes boring into ground far below as he sat amongst the branches of his favourite tree, his chiton frayed at the hem where it had caught on the roughened bark of his not so very comfortable seat.
He had known things were going to change for over a year now – ever since Alexander had been declared Regent. As Regent he had been granted his private tent, but had still expected to share it with Hephaestion for the most part, as if oblivious to the opinionated superiors around them. As Prince, nothing was going to be said to his face – especially not now Alexander had managed to fall into his father's favour at last – but there was nothing to stop snide remarks reaching Hephaestion's ears.
They hated him; Hephaestion knew it was down to jealousy, to envy, to embitterment because of his success alongside the prince. That didn't stop him from feeling hurt at their accusing glares as he walked boldly into Alexander's tent without being questioned by the guards.
Not even dutiful servants or generals such as Antipatros were so honoured as to have free access to the prince's quarters.
And it didn't matter how many times Hephaestion told himself what other's thought didn't matter.
Because it always seemed to anyway.
"Hephaestion!"
The young man nearly fell out of the tree as he flinched at the loud voice calling up to him from the ground.
It was the rider who had passed him by earlier. The sandy horse was tied loosely to a branch and the man stood directly beneath Hephaestion, who smiled a little at the familiar and friendly face he found himself confronted by.
"What on earth are you doing up there your little sulking tree, boy?" the man asked, and Hephaestion sighed deeply, making no move to vacate his position. "I'd have thought you'd be cheering up the prince. I saw him pass on his horse earlier today; very serious, he looked, like a man deeply troubled. You'd do well to go distract him from his worries."
Normally, Perdiccas would have had his light-hearted remark received with a rueful grin and a gentle kick, but today Hephaestion did not want to hear of his 'duties' to Alexander, and presently turned away from his friend to stare westward towards the village ahead, which seemed to buzz with life even from this great distance.
"Oh Hephaestion, learn to take a joke. Now, do I have to climb up there and drag you down myself, or will you just get out of that tree like a good boy?" Perdiccas asked condescendingly, smirking when he saw the young man shift uncomfortably. Had anyone else threatened this – Alexander excluded, of course – Hephaestion would have waved them away, knowing it to be mere empty words. But Perdiccas was different. He would climb the tree if need arose.
"Hephaestion…" Perdiccas clucked, reaching up to place a firm hand on the lowest branch.
"Alright, alright!" Hephaestion said quickly, seeing the man make ready to climb. "I'm coming down," he grumbled, glowering at the dark haired man once he was on solid ground once more.
"Now, sit," Perdiccas ordered, and Hephaestion thought about refusing, but then decided against it. He didn't need or want the humiliation of being wrestled to the ground, even if there was no-one to see it.
"Eat," the man also commanded, handing his young friend some fruit from the bag attached to his horse's saddle. Hephaestion ate reluctantly, and there was silence for a short while as the two companions munched, leaning against the thick trunk of Hephaestion's 'brooding tree', and Perdiccas had dubbed it years ago.
"Now," Perdiccas began once they had finished their food. "Judging by your dislike of Alexander being mentioned, I gather you two have had a little argument?" he asked delicately.
"No…" Hephaestion said moodily. "Not exactly," he corrected.
"Then what?"
Hephaestion did not answer.
"If I could force you to talk to me when you where thirteen, Hephaestion, then there's not much to say I couldn't force something out of you now. I don't care if four years have passed, or forty."
"I just don't like anything about the situation at all." Hephaestion said slowly after a brief pause.
"The situation…?" Perdiccas asked, a little confused. Hephaestion turned to him, eyes dark, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, the situation." He said. "Well I think you're a fool," he commented with a tremor of amusement in his voice.
"A fool? What fool am I to have some sort of self-respect; to want to know I've earned what I get, and am not being rewarded for keeping the Prince happy?" He spoke Alexander's title with a bitter edge that only made Perdiccas' grin more prominent. "What?" the younger man asked suspiciously.
"You should really hear yourself; do you not know the honour you have?" Perdiccas said, "Hephaestion…you have what others would kill for – the love of the king's son, of Alexander!"
"I. Don't. Want. His. Love!" Hephaestion snapped, as close to throttling his friend as Perdiccas was to laughing. "Since when have you cared about special attention from Alexander or his father?" he asked shrewdly.
"You're not listening to me," Perdiccas said gently, reaching over to rustle Hephaestion's hair, only to have his hand batted away impatiently. "I'm not talking about the privileges that come along with being under the attention of a prince. Alexander is one of the most admired people in all of Greece. All who meet him seem to want his attention. They clamour for it, fight for it, even. Alexander isn't even king yet, and already he's under the eye of as many people as his father. But you don't need to clamour for it, or fight for it, or even ask for it. You are handed it freely."
"I don't just want to be given things for free."
"Oh, you can't have everything in life, Hephaestion! Look, you took your first man at fourteen; I didn't until I was sixteen, and I was very nearly killed in the struggle myself. You've proven yourself worthy in battle, and one day you'll prove yourself worthy in politics. Until that day comes, yes, people are going to make assumptions about you. People are going to criticise you. People are going to dislike you, and envy you. Learn some patience," he advised. "And as difficult as it is, keep your chin held high, don't let them know they're words affect you. And for the love of the gods, don't let the opinions of others come between you and that foolish prince. He's going to need you before the end."
"And what about his…family?" Hephaestion asked. If there was one person he could trust to talk to about anything, it was Perdiccas, so Hephaestion felt a little less shame talking about such matters with the older man.
"I take it you mean his mother? It must be, because his father values you in his army…Hephaestion, I'll only say this: I'd be more worried if she liked you, than if she didn't."
Hephaestion did not know whether or not he felt comforted, but Perdiccas meant well by his words, and the reassuring – though somewhat patronising – clap on the back he received was warm and friendly, and he smiled as he stood beside his friend, who began to remove the tether that held his horse to its post.
"Perdiccas," Hephaestion said as the man mounted.
"Yes?"
"How did you…know? I never strictly told you about my feelings."
Perdiccas only grinned toothily, "Hephaestion, your infatuation is about as easy to read in your face, as the king's hatred is to read whenever the queen is mentioned."
And with that, followed by a half hearted wink, Perdiccas bade the young man farewell, and headed to the beaten path that ran alongside the trees, leaving Hephaestion disconcerted, and even a little paranoid.
He considered climbing back up his tree, but decided that was a little too immature, even for him. Instead he went in search of his horse, which had wandered off as he hadn't thought to tie the beast down, and contemplated how long he could wait before confronting Alexander again.
Aristotle had not expected a second visitor. After his conversation with Alexander, he had resumed his reading, and prepared himself for an undisturbed evening alone to his thoughts.
The sound of horse hoofs beating against the track, drawing ever closer, caused him to sigh. Probably Alexander, come to ask more questions.
But it wasn't Alexander, it was Hephaestion.
The night was descending, and the air had chilled suddenly, so Aristotle invited his old pupil inside and had him seat near the fire, as the young man's face was flushed from the cold. Once his guest had accepted a cup of wine and was seated comfortably, Aristotle decided to speak, but was interrupted by Hephaestion's eager voice.
"Has Alexander been here?" he asked, and Aristotle wondered whether to smile or roll his eyes. In the end, he chose both.
"Yes, he has indeed," he admitted, as the prince had given no instructions to conceal his visit.
Hephaestion had not expected the answer to be so blunt and readily given; he paused before speaking again.
"Did he…" he began. He realised that speaking to Perdiccas had been far easier than speaking to Aristotle when it came to Alexander and their feelings for one another, probably because he had spent a great deal of time with Perdiccas. Aristotle had advised him on many issues, and had even spoken to him of Alexander often, but his true feelings for the prince, though according to Perdiccas were not much of a secret, he had never openly admitted to his old tutor.
"Yes," Aristotle said, assuming this conversation was going to follow very much along the same lines as his previous conversation with Alexander. "And to avoid a great deal of small talk before we get to the real problem, Hephaestion, your affections for one another have been known to me possibly before they were to you. I watched you grow as you studied, before you became a man, and I knew where your heart would finally rest."
Hephaestion felt his face blush and he glanced meekly at the floor. It disturbed him how very much an open book he seemed to be.
"And I also know that you want to make your own way in the world, as you have told me before. You wish to fight and be rewarded with honour, not simply rewarded, as Alexander would sometimes wish you to be."
Hephaestion nodded. This was very true; Alexander often had no qualms about exaggerating Hephaestion's importance in battle, if it gave him recognition.
"Perdiccas…" Hephaestion said timidly, not sure whether or not he wanted to talk to Aristotle about it, but forcing himself to anyway. "Perdiccas told me that I should be…should be, well, grateful for Alexander's freely given love, and not worry about people's opinions."
Aristotle did not know the man Perdiccas, save for through his discussions with Hephaestion. From what he had gathered, the man was older than the boys he had taught – even the oldest of them – but young enough to gain a friendship with Hephaestion in which each saw the other as an equal. A man to be trusted, no doubt, but perhaps not the best man to be giving advice on matters of the heart, when according to rumours his own heart was so easily swayed.
"Perhaps he is right," Aristotle said lightly, gauging by Hephaestion's reaction how good an effect Perdiccas' advice had had on the young man.
"You think?" Hephaestion asked incredulously.
"You're in an impossible situation, Hephaestion; we all have our trials through life. Granted, yours are coming a little early in life, such worries did not burden me until I had seen thirty summers, but it is inevitable that we should face hard decisions. Now, you can reject the love offered to you, if you so wish, condemning both yourself and Alexander to hurt and upset, but ultimately keeping your pride intact." He said frankly, and Hephaestion grimaced, opening his mouth to comment, but Aristotle kept speaking firmly.
"Or, you can accept this love, and view the hard road that awaits you, should you choose this option, as the tests of the gods, and know that you and Alexander will be able to help one another see this life through, perhaps even extending into the next life that the gods have prepared for us."
"Well I think it's pretty obvious which one you'd rather I chose," Hephaestion said with a small smile. Aristotle shrugged quietly.
"It's not my place to tell you what to do with your life, Hephaestion. But I would always advise you to choose whichever will make you happiest."
"And if I don't know which will make me happier?" he asked.
"Then you're a fool who does not know his own heart half as well as he should," Aristotle replied, and Hephaestion let out a loud and true laugh that seemed to last an age, before he drained the last of his wine. "Another cup full?" Aristotle proposed, and Hephaestion was tempted, but shook his head.
"I suppose I had better return to my own bed, or I'll find myself sleeping on your floor, or by the side of the road."
"Well, good luck to you, and your decision. Come and visit me again before you have to leave for battle. I miss our talks whenever you are away."
"I shall," Hephaestion promised, one foot already out of the door, "And if I miss the opportunity, I shall write to you," he added, before strolling to the stable and mounting his horse, causing it to snort and shiver a little.
"Until then," Aristotle hailed at the door, and raised his hand in a small wave as the young man took off into the darkness, his mind refusing to think of anything but sleep, and pushing aside any excitement he thought at the idea of seeing Alexander tomorrow.