Guaranteed Victory
Author: Qaddafi the Ripper
Summary: The massacre before Issos, and the morning before the battle. For ainoakki, who requested the latter.

The Macedonian army blazed across the land in a fury of righteous wrath that had lasted them for days. The earlier calm to wait until the Persians were within striking distance was gone. The memory from mere days ago was still fresh in their minds, and the rage provoked by it would be long in pacifying.

Hephaistion remembered the day as clearly as any of the other men. A warning from the perimeter guards, followed upon by outcries of horror and sadness. It had brought the whole of the army running in dread anticipation. Hephaistion himself had run as fast as he could, though his stride felt bogged down with an imminence of something he hadn't been able to define. Fast as he did run, though, Alexander had beat him to source of the commotion.

As the army had headed in mountainous terrain, they'd been forced to leave the slower units behind. The women, children, laborers, artisans, and hangers-on had been among them, but also the badly wounded. And as Hephaistion saw who had found their camp, he knew that every claim that Persians were barbarians was true.

Darius had somehow gotten past Alexander and his army, but had managed to find the wounded. Having no where else to spend his ire with Alexander out of reach, Darius took his frustrations out on the wounded. Some few had managed to escape and find their way back to Alexander.

The sight of them churned Hephaistion's stomach.

A man got used to horrors in war, or a man died. Even torture was not something unknown to Hephaistion. This though, he could never countenance. If the Macedonians had run across Persian wounded, two things might have happened. Alexander might have held them captive, to trade with Darius for prisoners, or perhaps to be generous with them; Alexander could be surprising like that. At worst, he would have the enemy wounded killed, but quickly unless there were officers to torture for information.

According to the men who had successfully escaped, Darius had not been looking for information and appeared to have no interest in trading. He'd ordered their hands cut off, laming them for life but leaving them alive.

Thinking back to that, Hephaistion felt fury well up within him and his fatigue seep away. War was never a pretty thing, but no fair man should ever do that to his enemies. There was no reason for it, just mindless cruelty. Persians had been called cruel in Greece for as long as Hephaistion was alive, but he'd thought most of the horror stories exaggerations. Now he was ready to believe those tales.

Of all the things from that day, perhaps the worst had been Alexander's face when he heard. Hephaistion had been looking at him, no longer able to see the ruin of good men he knew.

Their original intension in invading Asia had been to liberate the Greek cities there. After finishing that, Philip would have been content to go back home. Alexander might have too, but after this massacre there was no chance of that.

Hephaistion leaned down and stroked his horse's neck. A cloud of dust interspersed with hints of lights that had been glinting in and out of sight all day was now within seeing distance. It was Darius and his army: they'd finally caught up to him. A narrow area connected the two armies, and mountains trapped them in. The only way to avoid the other was to turn and flee, a thought that wouldn't cross any of the Macedonians minds. Hephaistion wondered if Darius thought to flee.

He thought of all the battles they'd already fought, the Persian commanders they'd defeated, the advances they'd gained over their ill-prepared enemies. Darius should have confronted them long before this, but he hadn't. And now that he had choosen to face them, he'd given them -- perhaps unknowingly -- a greater impetus to fight and win.

Darius was no military man, or at least not a commander who could plan out strategies, of that Hephaistion felt sure. But surely the Great Kind did have such men to advise him. Maybe he didn't listen to them often enough. Maybe no Persian could understand the impact the injured men had made on the Macedonians. Maybe they just hadn't thought any of them could make it back to Alexander alive, the more cynical part of Hephaistion added.

"We caught him!" Philotas cheered as he pulled his horse alongside Hephaistion's. "Took long enough," he added with a scowl.

Parmenion pulled up on his son's other side. "And we couldn't have caught him at a better place," he said. "In this narrow place, he can't dispatch his troops as well as he could on a plain. Alexander was right to rush." He nodded his approval.

Philotas frowned. "Father, you wanted to wait? Even after what that barbarian did to our wounded?" he demanded incredulously.

"Rash decisions only lead to defeat," Parmenion replied calmly. "We would not be able to avenge our friends if we ran into a battle we would inevitably lose. Go into battle angry if you must, but plan your battles calmly," he lectured.

Philotas and Hephaistion both thought before nodding in agreement with his advise. Hephaistion pulled his horse away from the other two, calling as he left, "I'll make sure Alexander's calm tomorrow."

Or at least as calm as Alexander ever is, he added to himself. It was already dark out and the camp sprang up quickly, most of the men wanting to get in some rest -- or some last chance at diversion -- before dawn. Alexander's tent had been set up too, and Hephaistion let himself in.

Alexander was pacing the tent's small perimeter, scowling hard enough to send his squires into a huddle in the corner. Hephaistion surveyed the scene and waved the boys out, an order they obeyed in quick relief. He seated himself, watching Alexander pace for a while before he spoke.

"You're still upset at what he did to our wounded," he said calmly.

Alexander turned and frowned. "Of course I am," he replied impatiently. His face twisted and he turned away from Hephaistion and returned to his pacing.

Hephaistion gave him time to work out more of his aggressions. "There wasn't anything you could have done to prevent it," he said finally.

Alexander whirled back to face him. His expression was the same as it had been the day those poor men made it back to them. "Yes there was," he argued. "I shouldn't have left the wounded behind. I should have kept closer track on Darius's movements so he couldn't get behind us. I--"

"No one can plan for everything," Hephaistion interrupted him. "Not even you. It's the gods' way of reminding us we don't know everything. You did everything you could."

Alexander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly walked over and sat on the couch besides Hephaistion. "They want to fight tomorrow." There was no need to ask who he meant by 'they.'

Hephaistion placed a comforting hand on Alexander's arm. "And what did you say?"

"I said yes," Alexander breathed. He leaned into Hephaistion's touch. "I gave them the chance to die avenging their loss."

And die they would, Hephaistion expected. Men without hands had no place in battle. "It's what they want," he murmured. If only there was a way to take it all back so none of it would ever happen. "We have to win," he hissed fiercely.

"We will," Alexander agreed. Firm and unbending, confident in victory as always, but driven beyond his normal fire. "Darius will never be able to defeat us. Not tomorrow of all days."

Hephaistion closed his eyes and buried his face in Alexander's hair. "Yes," he agreed. And he said no more that night; for years he and Alexander hadn't needed spoken words to understand each other. In the peace before the battle, there was no need to speak when quiet actions said so much more.

* * *

In the early morning, Alexander's generals gathered in his tent to review the strategy for the day, as they usually did just before a battle. The dawn light might inspire a few last minute adjustments to their strategy that they would need to discuss. "Joy to you," they greeted Alexander as they entered. Before this, probably the largest battle they'd yet faced, most did not appear nervous. If any tension infused the air, it was the burning for vengence and victory. The generals too had heard that the men who had escaped from Darius would be fighting today. And thus losing was not an option.

Among the generals was a man from among the injured. He walked slowing with a limp, the stumps of his arms hanging uselessly by his sides. His face was sour, but determined. Everyone, Alexander included, greeted him with the utmost respect. That man would surely die today, but it was for him and his companions that they all fought.

Hephaistion entered too, and hailed Alexander, "Health to you." The generals turned of him in surprise and even horror. Some quickly made signs to avert evil. Confident though they might be of victory today, one should avoid hubris at all costs, lest the gods curse the overly confident.

"Are you mad, saying that?" Leonnatus asked in a choked voice. "Do you want Alexander to die today?" He pointedly did not look at the injured man, for fear Hephaistion's greeting had really been meant for him. One generally only said 'health to you' as a means of saying farewell. To hear Hephaistion of all people speak to their king that way was rather disquieting.

"Hephaistion isn't jinxing me, or our army," Alexander said calmly. Today, he too had no doubt for their victory. He was placid before the heat of battle overtook him. Glancing briefly towards the injured man, he added, "He was here with me last night."

The generals visibly relaxed, Philotas breathing an explosive sigh of relief and Leonnatus scrubbing his brow. The injured man's expression stayed fixed; the only thing on his mind was the coming battle, and superstitions be damned. Alexander grinned at their superstition. "The gods are with us today," he assured them. "We will avenge the wrong done too our friends by this so-called 'Great King.' We are guaranteed victory today. There is no need to fear."

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