Title: Diplomacy
Author: Qaddafi the Ripper
Summary: The battle of Gaugamela and what happened after.
Blood spurted into the air and splashed over his corselet, dying it red. The man across form him gurgled, grabbing at his wreaked chest, and toppled from his horse, dead before he hit the ground. Hephaistion saw none of it, already intent on his next opponent. A javelin flew through the sky; the Companion next to him cried out as it struck his thigh.
He could see the plumes on Alexander's helmet. He was charging further ahead than was safe, intent on catching Darius's chariot before the Persian king could escape a second time. Predictable. Hephaistion gritted his teeth. If only Alexander would take a care for his own skin sometime. But wishing it would not make it so, and Hephaistion lowered his eyes and his heart back to the part of the battle immediately in front of him.
A Persian fled past on foot, darting frantically between horses. Hephaistion raised his sword, then lowered it instead of attacking. There was no honor in cutting down a man intent only on retreat. He turned and saw two Persians advancing on one of his friends. He kicked his horse into a gallop and bellowed a war cry. One Persian continued to aim for his friend, but the other turned to him.
They met with a clash of swords that rocked Hephaistion where he sat. The other man was taller even than he was, and he rode a larger horse. Hephaistion wasn't used to looking up at his opponent during battle. The man grinned darkly and said something Hephaistion didn't understand. He got the gist of it though. With a scowl, he disengaged his sword, looped it once around, and struck again.
His opponent met this attack too. Suddenly, the Persian horse was butting its head into Hephaistion's horse's neck, pushing him sideways. The Persian swung his shield out, brushing Hephaistion's sword away, then executed his own deadly attack.
It was chance rather than planning that caused Hephaistion to twist his arm and raise it some. He moved so to try to free his sword from under the other's shield. He wasn't able to free his sword, but the move did cause his opponent's sword to merely gaze his arm, instead of chopping it clean off, as the man had intended.
He gasped at the sudden pain and his sword nearly dropped from numb fingers. Only years of training allowed him to hold on desperately. The tendons in his arm screamed and his fingers clenched tightly around his weapon.
His horse reared angrily, pushing the Persian's horse away. The other man cursed as they were pulled apart. Hephaistion pressed his heels into his horse's flanks, turning the animal and sending it forward. This time he butted into the Persian, causing the man to sway for balance. He raised his aching, blood covered arm and swung clumsily at his opponent. More by luck than through planning, his stroke took the man through the neck.
The Persian gaped and slid slowly from his horse, making gasping sounds as he tried desperately to take another breath. It was a breath he would never manage. Hephaistion saw none of it, having already turned aside. To his side, the friend he'd come to help had just finished killing the other Persian. He looked away, his eyes, as always, seeking one person in particular. He had no wish to stay here longer than he had to. The longer he lingered in one place, the further he would be from Alexander. Alexander, who was always on the front line, always dashing head first into danger. After a few desperate moments of searching, he caught sight of the plumes in Alexander's helmet. He breathed a sigh of relief and spurred his horse after his king.
Considering that everyone was riding or running the same direction he was, it should have been easier to go quickly. But the Persian army had abandoned all pretense at formation and was fleeing madly every which way. A beaten man doesn't think of fighting back against his enemy, only of running as far and fast as possible.
A scythed chariot rumbled past Hephaistion, the driver whipping the horses madly, the other man staring around him in fear. One of the horses tripped on a body sprawled in the path, and the entire chariot tipped over, throwing the men violently. Hephaistion directed his horse around the carnage.
Ahead, Alexander had been forced to slow down by a small group of Persian nobles, all hungry for the honor of being the one to kill him. Hephaistion managed to catch up just as Cleitus, standing again as Alexander's bodyguard, dispatched the last of them. Alexander wasted no time; as soon as the way was free again, he was urging his horse forward, determined to catch Darius before he could flee again.
They never managed to catch the Persian king. One of the few Persian divisions that hadn't retreated was well on its way to overwhelming Parmenion and they had to turn back to help him. Alexander's face was twisted in frustration and anger as he went back over the same ground he'd just covered. Hephaistion rode next to him, throwing him concerned looks.
His body ached as they rode, and he noticed anew how his arm hurt. In the rush of battle and the chase to catch Darius, he'd stopped noticing it. But now as they covered ground to reach Parmenion, the pain struck him again. He adjusted his grip on his sword and tried to ignore it.
* * * * *
He reported to the physicians of his own volition. It was either that or risk Alexander discovering his injury and making a fuss over it. Better to get it treated before the king knew about it. He was given a foul-tasting drink and lost consciousness somewhere after the third stitch. He didn't wake up again until it was pitch black out. He looked down to see his arm neatly splinted, wrapped up in bandages, and held steady to his chest by a cloth sling. The physician came over to his bed as he struggled to sit up.
"Go easy for a while yet," the man said sternly. "You're in no danger of dying, but that was a nasty wound. If you don't treat it gently, you may never regain full use of that arm."
Hephaistion froze. "Is it really that bad?" He hadn't thought it was.
"Yes," the physician answered firmly. "And I'll need to check it regularly to make sure it doesn't get worse."
To live the rest of his life with only one good arm... "I'll be careful," Hephaistion promised weakly. He thought again of Alexander and wondered if he knew. If he didn't, he'd certainly be wanting to know where Hephaistion was at the moment. "May I get up?" he asked.
To his relief, the physician nodded. "Yes, you may, but don't walk around too much. Your body's under a lot of stress at the moment and you don't want to push too hard."
Hephaistion gratefully got to his feet and the world tilted drunkenly even though he'd moved slowly. He gritted his teeth and stood fixed until his surroundings stood still again. The physician, who'd watched him stand, nodded firmly, deciding that now he really did know better than to push himself too hard.
He made his way laboriously out of the hospital tent, pausing at the entrance to catch his breath. Alexander's tent should be that way. He ought to be able to get that far on his own.
After walking less than half-way and having to lean against a tent pole twice, he began to worry that he wouldn't make it that far. Never before had the camp seemed so large. But he refused to give up or to ask for help, so he started walking again as soon as he was able, distantly wondering what the physician would consider being up for long.
He stopped before the large tent, acquired from Darius after Issos, breathing heavily. Philotas and his father Parmenion walked out together, both grinning broadly and sporting a number of minor injuries. Hephaistion straightened and tried not to think of how much pain he was in as they caught sight of him.
"Hephaistion!" Philotas greeted him cheerfully. "We were wondering where you were." He caught sight of the sling. "Are you alright?"
"Of course," Hephaistion assured him quickly. "It's just a scratch." He didn't want Philotas, who'd become increasingly more arrogant these past few years, to know how bad it really was.
"Good, good," Philotas agreed, already moving past Hephaistion.
Parmenion, whose eyes age had only sharpened, said, "That's hardly a scratch."
"I'll be fine. Really." Hephaistion smiled at him, touched that the old general was worried about him. Parmenion gave him a searching look before nodding and following his son. Hephaistion watched them go for a moment before ducking inside the tent. He caught Alexander's gaze immediately, though Alexander turned back to Coenus and his report right away.
There was a couch just off to the side. Hephaistion sank into it with relief, listening to Coenus ramble on about how many men had been lost or injured but not really hearing any of it. It was only when the drone stopped that he opened his eyes again. Coenus threw him a worried look as he left the tent and then he was alone with Alexander.
His friend was beside him almost before he noticed. He ran feather-light fingers over the bandage. "How bad is it?" he asked softly.
Hephaistion forced his eyes the rest of the way open to see Alexander's concerned expression. "It could have been worse," he admitted. "I've been told to take it easy for a while and get it checked regularly." He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed by a sudden tiredness. Vaguely, he felt Alexander moving him around on the couch to make him more comfortable and loosening his clothes before he fell asleep.
When he woke next, he could barely make out dim light outside the tent. It must be very early in the morning. He tried to stretch, but a sharp pang from his arm forced him to lie still. On his other side was Alexander, curled awkwardly into what little space the couch allowed. "Is it worse?" Alexander asked.
"You didn't have to sleep with me last night," Hephaistion protested. He didn't mind - there was no more pleasant sight than waking up to Alexander - but the couch was hardly made for two.
"I wanted to," Alexander casually overrode his objections. "The arm?" he persisted.
Hephaistion tried to wiggle his fingers experimentally and winced. "Bad, but not any worse. It doesn't hurt as much as it did yesterday."
Alexander stood up. "I'll call Philippos and ask him to have a look at it."
"You don't have to. I'm sure he has other patients to look after." Hephaistion felt it was his duty to the other men injured to put up a token resistance at least.
Alexander gave him a flat look. "I'm not going to let you make your injury worse. It's bad enough that you continued fighting with it."
Hephaistion scowled back. "You're the last one who can talk to me about fighting with injuries, Alexander. Have you forgotten Gaza?"
Alexander refused to back down. "I'm the king, I have to fight, but you don't. I'm getting Philippos, so don't get up." And with that he left the tent. Hephaistion glared after him for a moment, but his friend didn't come back inside. He sighed and stared at the silken ceiling of the tent. He wondered how the army had fared in the aftermath of the battle. They'd won, he knew that already, but he hadn't heard what their losses or the Persians' losses were yet. Nor had he heard what Alexander planned to do next. Go chasing off after Darius to wherever he had fled, or take another route and gobble up more of Darius's empire.
When Alexander came back with Philippos in tow, Hephaistion tried to sit up, but the physician stopped him. Hephaistion lay on the couch as his arm was poked, prodded, twisted, unbandaged, and eventually rebandanged. He managed not to cry out but couldn't hold back a few hisses of pain. Alexander hovered over the two of them, watching intently.
Finished, Philippos leaned back. "Don't go running around again," he said severely. "The cut hit an artery and you don't want to mess with that. If you take care, you should be fine. And if you aren't careful," he seemed to loom darkly in Hephaistion's vision, "I will know. So don't." And with that he was off again, muttering about all the patients he had to look after.
There was a long silence after he left, though not an uncomfortable one. "Do you need anything?" Alexander asked, sitting down next to him, careful not to jar him.
"Yes. I need you to stop nurse-maiding me, Alexander. I'm fine, or I will be. Isn't there something you should be doing other than fussing over me?" He stared evenly at Alexander. There must be a million other things Alexander should be doing right now.
"Are you sure you don't need anything else?" Alexander persisted. "I'm just worried about you."
"Yes, I'm sure, now go," Hephaistion sighed.
Alexander stood again. "Very well. But I'll have one of my squires wait in here in case you do need anything." Hephaistion groaned. He didn't need some boy hovering over him. It would just annoy him. But when Alexander was in one of his stubborn moods, nothing would shake him, and so Hephaistion was stuck with the boy while Alexander discussed the army's next move with his generals.
As soon as the king was gone, the squire started, "Sir, is there anything you need--"
Hephaistion glowered at him fiercely and the boy shut up. "Yes. For you to go away and leave me in peace." The boy baulked and skidded away. He didn't actually leave the tent, but he stayed quiet and out of the way so Hephaistion ignored him. The hours dragged by slowly with the ache in his arm his only company. When Alexander finally returned, Hephaistion was willing to put up with a little mothering if it gave him something to do.
"Go fetch something to eat," Alexander asked the boy, and sat next to Hephaistion after he left. "We'll be going to Babylon," he stated, correctly predicting Hephaistion's first question. "Mazaeus is still satrap there, and he might just hand the city to us without a fight, after the way Darius deserted him in the battle and after the talks you had with him."
Strange, to think a few brief conversations could prevent another battle. "He seemed like a reasonable man. I agree that he'll give us the city if we leave him some authority. It might be better if I'm there if he comes to meet us. These Persians can get nervous if they're surrounded by barbarians without a friendly face in sight." Hephaistion grinned. Mazaeus would be able to pull it off. From his experience, the man was graciousness incarnate.
Alexander laughed and leaned over to give him a swift kiss. "Then we shall hope you're better in a few days, or the mighty satrap's only barbarian friend will be lying down during the meeting."
Hephaistion reached up slowly with his good arm, and pulled Alexander into another, longer kiss. Alexander responded willingly, wrapping his arms around Hephaistion, being careful not to jostle his bad arm. Hephaistion nibbled on Alexander's lower lip before slipping his tongue into Alexander's month. Alexander's hands traveled down his chest, caressing him through the cloth. Hephaistion shifted, trying to get closer, and accidentally tugged his arm. He pulled back with a wince.
Alexander slipped out of his embrace with a murmured, "Later." Hephaistion tried not to be disappointed, though he thought it might be better for his arm if they waited. Another part of him had no interest in waiting, and he tried to ignore it.
* * * * *
Although Hephaistion had hopes that Mazaeus would surrender Babylon to them, there were no guarantees. The man was an excellent soldier and commander; if he chose to resist, it was his right and one they understood. They might face an even mightier foe upon reaching Babylon than the one they'd just defeated.
The Macedonian army marched swiftly as only it could do, quickly covering more ground than any army had the right to. If there was to be a prolonged siege at Babylon, Alexander meant to get there soon, before Babylon could prepare for it.
Hephaistion was forced to travel in the wagon with the other injured men. It rankled him to be there, but the physicians had sternly forbade him from riding and Alexander overheard it, so here he was. He leaned against the side on the wagon with his good side, wincing when it hit a large bump in the rough track. To distract himself, he started up conversations with many of the other injured men. He found, to some embarrassment, that as Alexander's close friend, he was held in awe by many men. It made him wish they could travel faster, or at least that he could heal up faster.
Maybe three days before reaching Babylon, a large body of men from the city rode out to meet them. The army had formed up, wary of attacks, but the men came in peace. At their head rode Mazaeus. The Persian commander bore some scars he'd not had when Hephaistion saw him last, won, no doubt, during the recent battle. He stood stiffly as he was surrounded by Greeks, uncomfortable with those who'd just been his enemies. The entire group carried flowers and expensive gifts that they laid out in front of Alexander when they arrived. They were ready for hostility and contempt, but Alexander greeted them warmly, and Mazaeus was instantly entranced by the bright young king of Macedon.
He was invited to sit down with Alexander, and Hephaistion, who had momentarily been able to escape his prison, smiled at him warmly when he caught his gaze. He made a regretful gesture at his sling, hoping the satrap wouldn't be upset that he hadn't risen to greet him. Mazaeus nodded back to him with a wry smile; his message had been understood and accepted.
Without bothering with any small talk, Mazaeus said through his interpreter, "I will give you Babylon." He stared at Alexander intently. Hephaistion wondered if he was remembering when he had talked with Hephaistion about Alexander. They been staring each other down for some time, neither willing to make a hostile move. The men under their two commands had been friendly to each other, or at least as friendly as they could be with the language barrier. After some time, he'd received a note from Mazaeus politely requesting a meeting between the two of them. He'd been taken aback and unsure how to reply. Eventually, he'd agreed to it, and they met about half way between their forces. Mazaeus had heard he was a close friend of Alexander's and had been intensely curious. Instead of strategy or diplomacy, he'd been more interested in picking Hephaistion's brain about Alexander.
"I hear he treats his captives well, and has a light rule over the places he's already conquered," Mazaeus had said. His gaze had been sharp; Hephaistion had thought there was nothing this man missed.
"You heard the truth," Hephaistion had replied calmly. "Yes, there have been a few instances when Alexander was hard on those he conquered. But if you fight well and don't mindlessly resist him, he will go easy on you. Alexander likes to be generous, even to enemies he's defeated."
Mazaeus had nodded. "I will have to fight him at some point. The Great King is coming. He means to face your king again and this time he means to win any way he can. I will be fighting along side him." Before Hephaistion could comment on this, he had continued, "If Darius loses, and I still live, perhaps I will consider allying myself with your king. If Darius shows himself a coward a second time, I will no longer feel loyalty towards him. But until such a time, if it ever comes, I will not turn traitor." He had lifted his chin proudly and gazed at Hephaistion, as if willing him to disagree.
Hephaistion had smiled. He and Alexander had both hoped there would be men of honor among the Persians. So far, they hadn't met many. It warmed him to learn here was a man of caliber among the enemy. "I would not ask you to betray your king if he does not betray you first," he had answered solemnly. He had lifted his cup and toasted Mazaeus wordlessly. The satrap had paused before he too drank.
And now Darius had betrayed Mazaeus, turning to run from the battle while Mazaeus fought on. Hephaistion wondered if the satrap had expected it. From the way he had spoken, Hephaistion thought he might have. He certainly couldn't be surprised that Darius had run a second time.
Alexander watched his visitor as intently as he himself was watched. "You don't have to," he said. "Babylon has strong walls. If you wanted to resist, you could hold against us for a long time, and maybe even win." His face said he didn't really think Babylon could stand against him.
The same thought was in Mazaeus's face. "Perhaps I could," he agreed. "But I would rather go with a surer option. A choice that won't have more of my people dying. I have heard that you are a benevolent and generous ruler. I will gamble on that reputation." Hephaistion studied the foreigner's face intently, but if there was any reluctance there, he couldn't see it.
Alexander gave Mazaeus his broad, brilliant smile, the one no man could resist. Mazaeus was visibly moved. "Then I will accept Babylon from you. And I swear by Zeus that I will treat you and your city well."
Mazaeus nodded in approval. His eyes upon Alexander held a light of worship. He stepped forward and performed the Persian proskynesis, bowing as he would before the Great King. He rose and said, "You should reach Babylon within three days. When you do, please take your troops inside. We of Babylon love grand parades." It was an invitation for far more than just walking through the city.
Alexander nodded. "I will, and with thanks to you. Will you ride beside me?"
Mazaeus froze, shocked. He stared in amazement, but Alexander's offer was genuine. "I... would be honored, sire," he finally said. His face was that of a man who has finally found the king he had thought did not exist, but was discovered in the last place expected.
* * * * *
They reached Babylon early in the morning three days later. People thronged right outside the city gates and cheered as they approached. Alexander had already arranged what order they should march through the city in, and the men gladly fell in place, glowing under the cheers they received. Hephaistion had finally been pronounced better the day before, and so he took his place with the Companions and rode proudly through the city. His horse actually jostled his arm less than the wagon had. He patted the animal's neck gratefully.
Citizens of Babylon crowded so close they were forced to move at a snail's pace. Children were lifted up on shoulders for a better view. Flowers littered the road or were handed to passing warriors. A wreath of white flowers he didn't know the name of was pushed into his good hand, and Hephaistion slipped it onto his head, where it hung at a rakish angle. He grinned broadly; this was what a great victory should be like.
From where he rode, he could barely see Alexander ahead of him. Mazaeus rode at his side, as promised. The crowds nearly fell over themselves trying to get closer to Alexander. Even from this distance, Hephaistion could see Alexander glowing under the acclamations.
It took a long time to parade through the streets of Babylon. He wondered if they'd just walked in a circle through the city, or if they'd taken a longer, more complicated route. It had taken long enough that he suspected the latter. By the time they left the city just before dusk, Hephaistion's arm was aching again and he longed to lie down. They would probably move into the city for a stay tomorrow or the day after, but tonight they'd camp outside Babylon. When Hephaistion dismounted carefully, the camp was already busier and noisier than usual. Merchants from Babylon had come, bearing strange but interesting wares. Whores too had come, and the men were in an excellent mood. Hephaistion doubted any but the very exhausted or drunk would get any sleep tonight. He retired to his own tent, glad to be judged well enough that he didn't have to stay with the wounded any longer.
The entrance flap of his tent was pushed aside, and Hephaistion looked up. Alexander let himself in, smiling. He glowed so brightly, Hephaistion could almost feel the fire burning from inside him. Standing next to his bed with belt half-undone, Hephaistion paused. "Shouldn't you be celebrating?" he asked.
"Philippos told me you were kicked out of the sick tent. You're a lousy patient, and he says you must get it from me," Alexander said. "I thought we could celebrate together." He covered the space between them in a few quick steps and reached to help Hephaistion out of his belt.
Hephaistion tangled his fingers with Alexander's. "Celebrating sounds like a wonderful idea," he murmured huskily. "I'll have to tell Philippos I'm nowhere near as bad as you are." He kissed Alexander briefly and pulled back tauntingly, slowly sitting down on his bed. He turned to Alexander, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
Gray eyes burning with hunger stared back at him. Alexander came and joined Hephaistion on the bed. Wasting no time, he started pulling off Hephaistion's clothes, careful of Hephaistion's arm. When he was fully nude, Hephaistion lay back on the bed and watched Alexander tug off his own clothes. Alexander's skin almost burned under his touch as he ran his good hand down his friend's back. Alexander ran his fingers down Hephaistion's torso and followed with his mouth. He too began to burn under Alexander's ministrations. His loins pulsed with need when Alexander took him into himself and he gripped Alexander clumsily as his lover rode him. He came with a gasp which was immediately echoed by Alexander.
Hephaistion fell asleep immediately afterwards, exhausted from a long day and his injury, but content in the way he could only be after having Alexander, not hearing the carousing just outside his tent. Alexander lay down beside him, still wrapped in Hephaistion's embrace. He was still worked up form his victory and the celebration and didn't sleep that night.
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