Behold, a mighty tower...
May. 31st, 2003 10:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arysteiaI swear, it took me longer to write these thousand words than the ten thousand I got done on my thesis in the last fortnight. Every single word is so important when every single word counts. I made it though, ten chapters of exactly one hundred words each, and I'm just squeaking in under the deadline too. At 3am this morning I didn't think I would... Ah, time management.
Oh, if it wasn't obvious, this is of course for TimIan's Tower of Drabbleon Challenge. Bless you Ian, what a brilliant idea.
This piece was inspired by the drabble I wrote for the Wednesday 100 Alternate Universe challenge. A rose by any other name, and I think it's fairly clear who's who. The original drabble was the last one.
The heat is stifling, even here, away from town, and the school-master takes pity, remembering what it is to be young. Dismissed, the students flee before he can change his mind.
The prince is last to leave, gathering scattered texts and straightening the desks.
“You too,” he says gently. The boy spends too much time alone. Too quick for the younger boys, too quiet for the older ones.
There’s movement in the doorway.
“Alexander!”
The prince laughs, lets himself be dragged outside into the sun.
Smiling, the master rights the last chair himself. The boy has finally found his match.
The sunlight reflecting off the lake is blinding, but Hephaistion can’t look away. The water is the exact colour of Alexander’s eyes, and if he finds the right words this moment will shape the rest of their lives. He considers Homer, but he doesn’t have Alexander’s memory, and besides, that ended badly. Alexander’s hand moves, and without thinking he covers it with his own. Their fingers twine, clasp tightly together. Alexander sighs, and his head falls onto Hephaistion’s shoulder. It’s a terribly easy thing, in the end, to press a kiss to red-gold curls, and not say anything at all.
The king arrives unannounced. Surprise serves him well with enemies, and he sees no reason not to apply it to his son. Still, he doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting. The look on Alexander’s face when he finally returns is one he’s never seen before, and a curious jealousy stabs his heart. The boy looks happy.
His anger, kindled elsewhere, flares anew.
“You shouldn’t wear that colour,” he snaps. “You look like a woman.”
Once, the boy would have shattered under the insult. Today, he just smiles.
“We’d better not be seen together then, people will think I’m your latest whore.”
Philip’s hand flies out, and the boy’s lip splits under the impact of Zeus Enthroned, seal of the royal house.
The other boys have the rare grace to look away.
All but one.
The tallest, broadest, handsomest of the lot, the kind of son he could have had if he’d married a local girl, and not some wild, foreign beauty.
He’d forgotten how much his son looked like his mother.
The boy doesn’t move, but the fury in his green eyes is unmistakeable.
And in that moment the king finds what he’s long been looking for - his son’s weakness.
The bed dipping wakes him, and he mumbles sleepily, “Alexander?”
Short bark of laughter.
He swallows, clutching at tangled sheets.
The king catches his wrist. “Let me see what he sees in you.”
Philip’s gaze makes him shiver. He’s not really afraid, he knows his own strength, but it’s the king.
“Get. Away. From him.”
Philip laughs again. “This is my kingdom, son. You breathe by my leave.”
Alexander crosses the room, sits at his father’s feet.
“I’ll meet you on any battlefield you choose. But he’s not part of the game. Touch him again, and I will kill you.”
Alexander stands awkwardly by the bed, grace flown, eyes begging a question he cannot bring himself to ask. At last he draws a ragged breath, but Hephaistion lunges forward, seizing his head in a grip at once brutal and unspeakably gentle. Noses bump, teeth clash, but the apology is stifled. Alexander’s lip breaks open again, blood running unheeded down his chin, the sacrifice to seal their unspoken vow. Hephaistion’s hands are strong on him, pulling him hard against his own body, and as their lips meet again, softly this time, sweetly, he thinks together they might just be strong enough.
The women have barely retired when the pledges start. Crude. Bawdy. Time-honoured.
The king’s new bride is younger than his son, and beautiful.
Alexander is pale, uncomfortable, but he’s at his father’s side. This is a day for family.
One voice sounds over the clamour.
“To a new heir. A true heir.”
Alexander’s shaking, but Philip looks away. Hephaistion hates him more in that moment than ever, but he pities him too. The king looks old, and he’s completely misread the situation. Alexander’s presence was an olive branch, the last that will be offered.
The time for family is over.
“They think I arranged it. They think I killed my own father.”
Whispered words, barely breathed against the back of Hephaistion’s neck.
At night, in the dark, in their bed, truths are spoken which noone else will ever hear.
“I don’t blame them. I had everything to gain. A kingdom, an army. A chance to make my own destiny.”
Eternity passes in silence.
“Everyone knows how much I hated him.”
Hephaistion turns, drags the slim body impossibly closer, arms tight around him as the dam breaks and the tears flow, hot and silent.
“I know how much you loved him.”
Alexander breaks with tradition, and swears his oath in the Assembly, in front of the soldiers. Grizzled veterans of his father’s wars, they listen sceptically at first, but as he speaks of the future, and the great things they will accomplish, they begin to come around. The cheer when he dons his father’s ring is deafening, and the ground shakes as ten thousand men stamp their feet.
Hephaistion can barely hear, but it doesn’t matter. The only promise he needs was made a long time ago.
They have a destiny together, and nothing is going to stand in their way.
Heat haze shimmering, Hephaistion breathes out dust and looks to the horizon. Tries to remember what Home looks like.
Footsteps. He doesn't turn.
Arms snake around his waist anyway.
"Aren't you curious? Don't you want to see the edge of the world?"
"I want to see my parents before they die. My sister's pregnant. I'd like to see her child."
"How can you still miss Macedon? You've seen so much more."
Snow. Crisp mountain air.
"How far is far enough?"
Almost imperceptible shudder.
"This far."
The arms crush him against a firm chest.
He turns, looks into liquid crystal. Home.
Oh, if it wasn't obvious, this is of course for TimIan's Tower of Drabbleon Challenge. Bless you Ian, what a brilliant idea.
This piece was inspired by the drabble I wrote for the Wednesday 100 Alternate Universe challenge. A rose by any other name, and I think it's fairly clear who's who. The original drabble was the last one.
The heat is stifling, even here, away from town, and the school-master takes pity, remembering what it is to be young. Dismissed, the students flee before he can change his mind.
The prince is last to leave, gathering scattered texts and straightening the desks.
“You too,” he says gently. The boy spends too much time alone. Too quick for the younger boys, too quiet for the older ones.
There’s movement in the doorway.
“Alexander!”
The prince laughs, lets himself be dragged outside into the sun.
Smiling, the master rights the last chair himself. The boy has finally found his match.
The sunlight reflecting off the lake is blinding, but Hephaistion can’t look away. The water is the exact colour of Alexander’s eyes, and if he finds the right words this moment will shape the rest of their lives. He considers Homer, but he doesn’t have Alexander’s memory, and besides, that ended badly. Alexander’s hand moves, and without thinking he covers it with his own. Their fingers twine, clasp tightly together. Alexander sighs, and his head falls onto Hephaistion’s shoulder. It’s a terribly easy thing, in the end, to press a kiss to red-gold curls, and not say anything at all.
The king arrives unannounced. Surprise serves him well with enemies, and he sees no reason not to apply it to his son. Still, he doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting. The look on Alexander’s face when he finally returns is one he’s never seen before, and a curious jealousy stabs his heart. The boy looks happy.
His anger, kindled elsewhere, flares anew.
“You shouldn’t wear that colour,” he snaps. “You look like a woman.”
Once, the boy would have shattered under the insult. Today, he just smiles.
“We’d better not be seen together then, people will think I’m your latest whore.”
Philip’s hand flies out, and the boy’s lip splits under the impact of Zeus Enthroned, seal of the royal house.
The other boys have the rare grace to look away.
All but one.
The tallest, broadest, handsomest of the lot, the kind of son he could have had if he’d married a local girl, and not some wild, foreign beauty.
He’d forgotten how much his son looked like his mother.
The boy doesn’t move, but the fury in his green eyes is unmistakeable.
And in that moment the king finds what he’s long been looking for - his son’s weakness.
The bed dipping wakes him, and he mumbles sleepily, “Alexander?”
Short bark of laughter.
He swallows, clutching at tangled sheets.
The king catches his wrist. “Let me see what he sees in you.”
Philip’s gaze makes him shiver. He’s not really afraid, he knows his own strength, but it’s the king.
“Get. Away. From him.”
Philip laughs again. “This is my kingdom, son. You breathe by my leave.”
Alexander crosses the room, sits at his father’s feet.
“I’ll meet you on any battlefield you choose. But he’s not part of the game. Touch him again, and I will kill you.”
Alexander stands awkwardly by the bed, grace flown, eyes begging a question he cannot bring himself to ask. At last he draws a ragged breath, but Hephaistion lunges forward, seizing his head in a grip at once brutal and unspeakably gentle. Noses bump, teeth clash, but the apology is stifled. Alexander’s lip breaks open again, blood running unheeded down his chin, the sacrifice to seal their unspoken vow. Hephaistion’s hands are strong on him, pulling him hard against his own body, and as their lips meet again, softly this time, sweetly, he thinks together they might just be strong enough.
The women have barely retired when the pledges start. Crude. Bawdy. Time-honoured.
The king’s new bride is younger than his son, and beautiful.
Alexander is pale, uncomfortable, but he’s at his father’s side. This is a day for family.
One voice sounds over the clamour.
“To a new heir. A true heir.”
Alexander’s shaking, but Philip looks away. Hephaistion hates him more in that moment than ever, but he pities him too. The king looks old, and he’s completely misread the situation. Alexander’s presence was an olive branch, the last that will be offered.
The time for family is over.
“They think I arranged it. They think I killed my own father.”
Whispered words, barely breathed against the back of Hephaistion’s neck.
At night, in the dark, in their bed, truths are spoken which noone else will ever hear.
“I don’t blame them. I had everything to gain. A kingdom, an army. A chance to make my own destiny.”
Eternity passes in silence.
“Everyone knows how much I hated him.”
Hephaistion turns, drags the slim body impossibly closer, arms tight around him as the dam breaks and the tears flow, hot and silent.
“I know how much you loved him.”
Alexander breaks with tradition, and swears his oath in the Assembly, in front of the soldiers. Grizzled veterans of his father’s wars, they listen sceptically at first, but as he speaks of the future, and the great things they will accomplish, they begin to come around. The cheer when he dons his father’s ring is deafening, and the ground shakes as ten thousand men stamp their feet.
Hephaistion can barely hear, but it doesn’t matter. The only promise he needs was made a long time ago.
They have a destiny together, and nothing is going to stand in their way.
Heat haze shimmering, Hephaistion breathes out dust and looks to the horizon. Tries to remember what Home looks like.
Footsteps. He doesn't turn.
Arms snake around his waist anyway.
"Aren't you curious? Don't you want to see the edge of the world?"
"I want to see my parents before they die. My sister's pregnant. I'd like to see her child."
"How can you still miss Macedon? You've seen so much more."
Snow. Crisp mountain air.
"How far is far enough?"
Almost imperceptible shudder.
"This far."
The arms crush him against a firm chest.
He turns, looks into liquid crystal. Home.
