Title: Shadow Boxing

Author: Rothalion

E-mail: Unknown

Universe: Alexander the movie

Pairing: Alexander and Hephaistion

Rating: PG-17 for safety. Rape and violence

Summary: An extension of the scene in the movie during the pre-wedding banquet where Cleitus punches Hephaistion. Begins with Alexander thinking about Hephaistion and feeling trapped by his duty. Still tackling their voices so this is a bit rough.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them. Just borrowing them for a bit.

Rating: PG-17 for safety

Disclaimer: Don’t own him. After all besides Hephaistion who could?

Chapter One The Punch

Often when this wild and gone rampant dream of ours to rule all of Asia leaves me feeling alone, I turn my thoughts aside instead, and grieve for my poor Hephaiston. Hephaiston. My beautiful and ever loyal Hephaistion. He is by and far the loneliest man in our new and growing kingdom. Yes, Hephaistion.

No longer do we dally in Pella two youths drunk on the dreams of kingships and conquering. Dreams of, not just following, but of out pacing the footsteps of our heroes. No, we are, sadly enough, men now. Men hurtling along on this unfettered chariot ride called conquering Asia. It is this blind and unstoppable passion to succeed that ultimately, and far more often than either of us would like, forces us apart. At Pella we were seldom separate for long. Days maybe, but for eight or so years it was always ‘Alexander and Hephaistion’ together.

I recall, with an ache still fresh in my chest the first time, as his King, I’d sent him away. It had to be so, he would not willingly leave me for so long otherwise. When I tried to send him away as simply his ‘friend’ he refused, thinking I mistrusted ‘him’. He worried for me; he pleaded that I send another. He feared my mother’s words, that I’d succumbed to them. So I had to ‘order’ him away from me on that lengthy and dangerous mission. The look in his sky-blue eyes held fear and longing, despair; maybe hurt and yet also, in the end, they showed courage to do what I’d asked of him, to fulfill his duty despite the pain and fear our parting inflicted. Thinking of that moment still threatens to bring tears to my now far too often dry eyes. Am I becoming a desert? Have we indeed traveled too far from Aristotle’s “frog pond”? Ah, how we’d clung to each other that last night together. Like two fools scaling the heights of Mt. Olympus. Our fingers clinging to any and every hand-hold we could find in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable plummet into the bloody bowels of kingship my father had so stridently warned me about. I was, for the first time, hurting someone I loved. Not just anyone but Hephaistion.

I push the troubling thought aside and smile when I see one of the many beautiful dancers sidle up to Hephaistion and rub her tall, lithe, naked body sinuously around his in time to the throbbing music. Her hands slipping into places that only I know and probably giving him, shy one that he is, a fright more complete than that which he might feel in the throng of battle. Ah, Hephaistion, ever so true. Ever so true. I shake my head as he finally manages to gently push her away, his eyes darting slyly around like a man who has tripped up a step then wonders if anyone saw him falter. To my right, not unexpectedly, I notice Ptolemy pointing at the poor dazed man and laughing so hard that he’s spilling his wine. It is apparent that he’d put the girl up to it. Oh, why do they try my poor, lonely Hephaistion so? He is not weak, he is not afraid. He simply exists. He knows and stoically keeps his place. He is like my shadow and like Bucephalus was, these foolish comrades of ours are so frightened of this shadow that they continue to rear up against its presence. But being that they are ignorant men nothing Hephaistion, or I, do or say can turn them from the sun, and they remain afraid and blinded to our love. Hephaistion is always, and will always, be at my side. Although very often voiceless and quite alone, and so isolated in a place that none of the other core Companions can ever know, enter, or presume to understand - my heart, he is with me. He shares my heart.

The scene ends bringing me back again to our loneliness when we are parted. I often wonder if he seeks comfort in another when he is away. I do not. While I’ve been close to indulging myself I stayed strong and loyal to Hephaistion. It’s odd that despite being King of this new Asia and after so many long years together I’ve never actually asked him. I do not possess the courage to pose the question, though to his credit he has asked me. In most things between us he is the initiator, the aggressor, so sure of himself; yet he is also so tragically insecure. He is a person of absolutes, my Hephaistion is. Hephaistion, get me supplies and he does. Build me a bridge and he does. Find me a pass and he does. Hold me Phai, I’m so lost in my dream, our dream, and he does. Love me… And yes, he of course does in a way that, regardless of my limited experience, I know that no other could. That ‘is’ Hephaistion and I think I’ve simply always felt that I was his absolute and only source of comfort, all comfort. Warmth in a cold bed, soothing hands on battered, battle weary muscles, the quelling of desires drawn from the depths of our souls. Comfort. Love. Only us. Only this comfort between ‘us’. A vain thought but none the less true. We both know that like the sun that faithfully rises, I will have to provide an heir, lest that sun, so threateningly overlooking my kingdom sets; thrusting all we’ve struggled for, leaderless into absolute and chaotic darkness. We both know this and we avoid the pain of scratching and picking, with sorrowful chatter, at the thick scab we’ve very carefully knitted over a wound already so cruelly inflicted upon us by simply knowing that the day, like the morrow, ‘will’ come. Has come, and in only a few days time he will have to share me with another.

Ah, gods Hephaistion! A part of me, the part of me that loves him hopes he can find some comfort when away from me. It is though, the wish of an incorrigible pretender because before that spark-like hope for his happiness can even begin to flicker and be brought to full flame, juvenile jealousy extinguishes it with a blast, like one from the bellows of Hephaestus’ sacred forge. It shames me to feel this way, this jealousy. Oh, Hephaistion, forgive me. I shudder. My jealousy made even more shameful knowing that tomorrow I will marry. A marriage that for all its intent will not provide a legitimate heir. A union that will not insure the one and only reason that we do not tear at our scab. Ah Hera, he is, tonight, so far from me. Yet still I feel his pain so acutely. So closely bound are our souls.

So I sit here watching him standing off on the periphery just as always. He’s never really been a part of the inner circle of us, of my Companions. Lesser by birth alone and even farther distanced by his relationship with me. Only Ptolemy and maybe Craterus really treat him as a friend, the others to a man, blind with their childish jealousies work hard even after so many years to keep him on the outside; not letting him, or me, forget what we are to one another. May they, for all that I love them like brothers, rot in Hades for their foolish disdain. Can’t they see how hard he works for everything?! Fools! Sighing, I note how striking he is in his eastern pants and longish tunic. Like me he retains the thirst that Aristotle instilled in us, the thirst for learning and trying new and foreign things. Anything from clothes to philosophy to well… he is a bit reticent about strange foods. Always on the edge of things is my Hephaistion. Watching. watching with that open, glad face, blue eyes bright and his lips slightly curled in a small bit of a smile. He stands tall and straight despite the fact that he knows many of these men present at this banquet tonight are telling jokes and passing vile remarks at his expense.

I have even caught wind of some of their cruel gossip, so careless are these narrow minded fools in their contempt and jealousy of our love and commitment to one another, that their tongues wag too loosely. One of the kinder remarks stated that Hephaistion would now, after having been tossed from my bed by a native, have to sleep on the floor with my hound. Little do they know and though I would never ask it, that he would if I did as would I for him. Such is our love. I asked him to come tonight, but allowed him the option of refusing. Typical of Hephaistion he appeared, for me, despite the pain I knew that pretending to celebrate my coming wedding would cause him.

So there he stands so straight and tall and I’m afraid quite alone. His cup clenched in his right fist; still full I’m sure. Hephaistion’s never been one to indulge in drink. Now and again I can shame him into letting go and allowing himself a good drunk but not often. I wish that tonight this vile duty did not bind my hands and that I could rush to him and do just that. Pushing aside a drunken soldier trying to congratulate me on my nuptials, I recalled with a grim smile the last time Hephaistion had gotten drunk. Really drunk. My gut stirred restlessly, wantonly, at the memory.

It had begun as a simple round up of bothersome dissidents on a rain and fog shrouded morning. He’d begged me to stay behind because he’d had an ominous dream, a nightmare actually, the night before and the foray after all was quite basic. I truly was not needed. Find them and kill them. Ironically, breaking our normal pre-battle routine he’d stayed with me that night and I awoke to his terrified screams. Hephaiston for all his strengths and the logical, sensible man that he is, reverts to being a frightened child when asleep. I might pace the land like a starved and tormented lion by day but at night I sleep as though I’ve died. How many times has he awakened me, in a panic, just to be sure that my sleeping heart still beats within my chest, so still do I become in bed. Not Hephaistion. Where he is still and quiet, like a hungry frog waiting for the fly to come near, by day; he is twice tormented in his sleep by night. Plagued since boyhood by his terrors and nightmares. How many bruises have I suffered because of his senseless dream driven thrashings? True to my nature the more he insisted that I remain in camp the more I demanded that I go along.

We could not see. The foul mist was like a damp smothering veil draped across the valley. A tiresome drizzle pelted us within the gray fog and as dank, cold wetness has a want to do it clouded our judgment. We were ambushed by a force twice as large as we’d expected and our line was broken and divided. The short of it is this. My white feather plumed helmet had been knocked from my head and I was knocked from my horse. We’d planned the plumes early on he and I. Great white ones for me and black for him. Beacons to guide us to one another in battle. My helmet gone, Hephaistion quickly lost sight of me in the fog locked skirmish. After subduing the enemy I returned to our camp only to find that Hephaistion had not. I was merely worried until one of his officers finally came dragging in late that night with the company and said that they had become lost in the fog after getting again ambushed and that Hephaistion, alone, was still trying to find me before coming in. The man was adamant that he’d begged Hephaistion to just return to camp but the stubborn fool, somehow out of his head from wounds and worry stayed to search the fog cloaked battle field trying to find me before racing home. Only Ptolemy and Cleitus’ calming words kept me from rushing into the black of night in search of him.

After a sleepless night, the sound of drumming hooves brought me from my tent around mid day. Hephaiston. He loved his horses, probably too much, and he’d ridden this one - a beautiful gray – to death, in search of me. The animal was lathered in white foamy sweat and shaking. He jumped from its back, my lost helm in his shaking hands, as the poor beast collapsed, and to my dismay Hephaistion collapsed in a bloody heap at my knees along with it. That night, despite his exhaustion, he drank himself blind. Whether from joy or relief at finding me safely in camp, or just simply being glad to be alive himself I’m not sure. All I know is that I had a very drunk, very aggressive, and very affectionate Hephaistion on my hands and I swore to never again allow him to get so far gone with drink. He was Dionysos and Aphrodite and Eros combined driven mad by Phoebus himself. His fear of losing me, of losing us was, I think, the main source of the energy driving his passion, pushing him beyond his pain and exhaustion. My back, and shoulders two long years later, still bear the scars of his uncontrolled passion on that night and I can still feel the terrifying, great strength of his long arms clamping me in an embrace so tight that my breath was choked off. So much so that while I felt his love and need for me I also feared for my life. Which isn’t to say he’s not capable of strong emotions without wine, only that on that night he was simply lost in his emotions and thrust frighteningly far beyond sense and reason. I guess that is the way with those who seldom allow themselves the release of wine. When they do it is like opening the door during a wind storm. All forms of reason, like the papers on a desk, fly about wildly.

My attention was drawn away from Hephaistion for a bit as I fielded questions and congratulations from a group of Persian nobles. How tedious this whole diplomacy bit was becoming. Fighting was one thing but this continual smiling and nodding in appreciation to kind words was enough to cause a man like me to envy Prometheus’ fate. My only thoughts were for Hephaistion. After tomorrow I would be busy with the sorrowful task of making an heir and I wanted to steal as much time as I could watching him, soaking up a picture of him. Drinking him in like a blossom thirsty for fresh raindrops after a dry spell. I managed to rid myself of the lice-like creatures in time to see Cleitus step into the hall through a door just behind Hephaistion. The man was very drunk and even at this distance I could tell he was still, hours after the council meeting, very angry. It worried me because I had learned as a small boy that an angry, drunk Cleitus was a fearsome thing. He’d not taken the news of my upcoming wedding happily and his dark demeanor during the council meeting had not been lost to me. Neither had the black threatening glances he’d thrown toward Hephaistion. I’d questioned Ptolemy about Cleitus’ focus on Hephaistion but the man had no more of a clue than I did as to its cause. The two did not get along as a rule but the anger in Cleitus’ eyes earlier in the day was more than the normal anger and it troubled me. It somehow reminded me of my mother.

As I craned my neck to the left to peer around yet another well wisher, Cleitus bumped into Hephaiston as he walked by. The bump was obviously intentional. Hephaistion, still smiling, had very uncharacteristically let his guard down and playfully shoved Cleitus back. I leaned to my right to again get a clear view just in time to see Cleitus punch Hephaistion squarely in the face. Hephaistion is tall and strong yet thin and lean like a willow tree. Cleitus though is thick and gnarled like an old oak that has survived years and years of raging storms, and his punch is like that of an oxen’s kick. Hephaistion, hit unexpectedly, didn’t stand a chance. I jumped to my feet and watched incredulously as Phai stood up doggedly only to be driven back down by a second vicious punch before he could gain his senses. I saw Ptolemy moving quickly toward them and forced myself to stay put even as I watched Cleitus kick Hephaistion wickedly in the stomach and face over and over again before Ptolemy reached them. I wanted to rush to his aid but I knew that I could not. Yes, Hephaistion could aid me in a confrontation with a fellow Companion but were I to help him…it would tip the already unbalanced scales and feed the always carefully stoked fire fueled by the resentment surrounding our relationship and his standing in my court. Besides he would lose face before his unfriendly power-starved peers, who in reality were his superiors in class. When it came to this, no matter how much it tore at my heart, Hephaistion had to stand alone. We both knew and understood the reason behind it but that didn’t take the pain away. Ptolemy managed to send Cleitus away and a couple of guards helped him remove a barely conscious Hephaistion from the hall.

Moments later Ptolemy was at my side still seething in anger telling me that a very stubborn Hephaistion had waved them off and was returning to his room, and that although he was dazed, bloodied and sore he was alright. I was glad that he was not inclined to go after Cleitus; there were times that I felt as though I had not one but two Bucephaluses. Phai could be quite difficult when he had his mind set upon something. Stubborn didn’t due justice to his bullheadedness. It was beyond that. I read the pity in Ptolemy’s eyes though he tried to keep it hidden. Ptolemy was the only one of our Mieza group who truly understood Hephaistion and me. He’d never questioned our bond. He took it as a given, as some sort of gift…like Prometheus’ gift to man, of fire. Without fire man would have been lost, as would I have been lost and useless without Hephaistion. Ptolemy knew this to be true, and supported us. He grasped my shaking shoulder and stilled me with a calming smile. Cleitus glared angrily at me from not far away. As the young but ever wise Ptolemy told me, he was certain that Cleitus had hoped that I’d jump in to help Hephaistion causing a huge brawl, and he reassured me that I’d made the correct decision in holding back. Once again, hurting the one I love in order to sit a throne.

The night grew old and trapped again in mindless platitudes I never noticed Cleitus and his cronies slipping away. I normally welcomed conversation but this night seemed only full of thank you’s spoken in various languages. I wanted only to go to Hephaistion, this was our last night…and not being able to I drank to kill the pain in my heart. He was hurt, and I could sense it, even through the fog of wine induced numbness I could sense his agony and sadness. Duty. What a slave it makes us. Ah, father, ah, mother how right you were. If this is indeed my fate then already the price is far, far too high. How could I have been so blinded by base ambition and childhood dreams? He needs me! Yet here I sit drunk, with a naked dancing girl across my lap, wine dripping down my smile stretched face and a nearly uncontrollable urge to quench the unbidden fire burning in my loins within her welcoming body. I felt ill when I rationalized this urge with the reason that before tomorrow’s consummation of my marriage, perhaps I should have a bit of practice with this other sex. Oh, Father I suppose that you are loving me now!

I see a sort of vision then. Maybe I am dozing off, simply dreaming and yet…I see myself and Philp combined as one, like, like an abomination, a mutation. My body with his head, taking this dancing girl violently and brutally. Raping her. I then watch helplessly as he drives my body forward and desecrates my temple. ‘My’ temple that is Hephaistion. His head joining his own twisted body; joining with my mother who is wrapped round his neck and round his torso as a snake culminating at the end of his penis, her face leering at me from there, still they are controlling me, and they hold me frozen as together they rape my Hephaistion again and again and again as I stand mute and impotent unable to stop it. I feel like a statue once snow white but now painted red in my love’s blood. I am like that. Bloodied. Yes, that is what I now am… a blood stained statue of Achilles, who ‘was’ once so powerful yet now he is ‘only’ a statue. I’m stuck stock still, trapped in this marble tomb of my ambition leaving me unable to go to Hephaistion’s side. Unable to love only him. Shattered now by the truth of kingship into a spray of shards by the very hammer of my egotistical dream. I heard myself scream. Hephaistion!

Ptolemy was before me now and the girl was gone. I heard him tell me the night was over; to go to bed and let the curse of Philip’s indiscretions stay buried, that it was a bad omen to dream them. I felt slick with my own sweat and weak with fear and confusion. I could tell by the way he looked at me that I was showing my weakness, so I jutted out my chin, tossed my damp golden hair from my face and grinned a drunken grin before rising to head to my chambers. Philip? What had I babbled in my drunken stupor? I recalled the dream completely with all its unpleasantness. Ah, my poor Hephaistion if that is what a nightmare is then my heart is heavy for you. I’d never understood how a dream could cause you such terror. I will pray that the gods allow you a far more gentle sleep. Shaken, I stood, and still too drunk to go and care for my beloved friend I allowed myself to be carted off to bed.