Days went by with no further news from Alexander's camp. Morale had sunk to an all time low and the men were barely keeping it together.
Hephaestion was exhausted. He tried his best to keep everyone from thinking the worst, but he was fighting a losing battle…one that was especially hard when even some of the other generals believed that Alexander was most likely dead.
It was incredibly hard, but Hephaestion had to put his own emotions aside since he still had a job to do. There were still Malians out there, and his orders had not changed. They were to capture any natives that tried to escape, and kill any that fought them.
He had managed to avoid further conflict with Craterus, mostly because he made sure to stay away from him. He hated the man, to be honest, and he knew that if Alexander truly did die, he was going to have a major battle on his hands since Craterus felt like he should be the one to lead them in Alexander's absence.
Hephaestion was still in a state of shock, but he did not have the luxury of allowing his feelings to show in any way. Other than his anger, that is. He was quick to shout at his men, quick to argue, and as nasty tempered as he used to accuse Cassander of being. He did not care. Anger was better than the anguish and depression that he fought against every day. At least anger was something tangible he could feel and express.
Consequently, most of the men left him alone unless absolutely necessary.
He had ridden out alone a couple times, though it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do considering where they were, but again he didn't care. He had ridden far away from camp, far from prying eyes and ears, and shouted at the top of his lungs…cursing the gods one moment and begging for their help the next.
He pleaded with them, offering his own life if Alexander's would just be spared. He sacrificed to Asclepius and bargained with Father Zeus, anything he could think of. Yet more days went by with no word.
Hephaestion had, at first, refused to even consider that Alexander may have been killed, but the more time that went by, the more he started to have doubts. He didn't eat and barely slept, his mind in denial one moment, consumed with anger the next. He had too many responsibilities to have time to indulge his feelings. He had to bury them deep, pretend things were as normal. The men depended on him. If Alexander truly was dead, it fell to him to lead them home, despite what Craterus thought.
He rode out each morning before dawn to offer his prayers to the gods, not convinced they were going to do any good, but afraid not to at least try.
After returning from his morning sacrifices one day, he was met by a group of his men.
"Commander! We have captured a group of Malians that were trying to escape. They tried to fight us, but we captured them. What would you have us do with them?"
Hephaestion's heart was hardened, and for the first time in his life he understood what it was like to be ruthless. He would make them pay for what they had done to Alexander.
"Kill them" he stated.
The men looked shocked. Hephaestion normally wanted prisoners interrogated and enslaved unless they continued to fight. These men had finally given themselves up.
"Sir?"
Hephaestion glared at the men and spoke, his voice low and deadly. "You heard me. Kill them. Kill them all."
At that, he turned and rode away, leaving an astonished group of men in his wake.