On the Brink

Summary: Hephaestion on the brink of death. Slash.
Rated: G
AN: For Bunny, my beta. loves

He is a King. He is the greatest of Kings. He rules. He defeats. He conquers. And he captivates. Nearly all the men and women who've met him love him. Adore him for his unearthly charm and tenuous beauty.

And he loves me.

I defeated him in the wrestling practice. I pinned him down to the ground, twisted his right arm, pressed his face down, forced him to swallow dirt. I knew he was just about to break back there; I could hear him sob and splutter as I compelled him to submit. But it was training, not a real battle. I did not get the chance to make him concede; yet I knew it humiliated him so to admit defeat. King's son or no, I wanted to hear him say the words. I could see it in his eyes, in the stubborn set of his jaw, how the knowledge of his loss burned his great pride. I merely laughed at him, offering to let him defeat me in the next class. I did not know that I had made a big mistake by saying that. I sparked his deepest feelings by opening myself to him, showing him the real me, offering to protect him from his fears, all as yet unknown to me. He fell for me, and has surrendered himself to me ever since.

I cannot help but love him back.

Never in my life have I ever regretted my decision. I know he would never betray my love, our love. Not when he eyed other men under his command. Not when he decided to marry, not one, but three women. I know that he did it because he needs heirs, not for any lack of love for me. His heart belongs to me – that is for certain.
He will love me as long as he lives, just as the legend of those he adores, Achilles and Patroclus. He is such a helpless romantic, this dearest of mine. He often told me about how the two men in that legend promised not to be separated even by death, and that even if death came to one of them, the other would wait at the gate of death until the one remaining faded away. He promised me that he would wait for me, and I swore my vow, as well.

… It seems so hard for him to let me pass, when the time finally arrives. I'm dying first, like Patroclus. Yes, death is coming; I can feel it. My chest tightens and my throat clutches, struggling at every labored breath. Each is a small, meaningless victory. My parched lips make every effort to say words that never seem to want to escape my mouth. My eyes strain to see the tears running down my lover's cheeks as he pleads for me to stay, refusing to accept the inevitable. I am fighting, my love, can you not see that? But the surge of the poison in my blood is over-powering me. I can feel myself fading, yet he still refutes it.

I need him to sit here beside me, to lie at my side and comfort me with his words and arms. I am afraid, and hurt so very badly. Instead he rises to stand by the window, looking out to the city, most dear to him of all the lands he has conquered. I listen to him as he tells me his plans for Babylon, for his people. He is a great dreamer, my Alexander. He wants the glory still, though he knows that there is little that is not within his control. Poor my King. He is still under his mother's wicked, manipulative shadow and his father's restless spirit. They hover over him, making him look forward.

But I want him here, in the present, not lost in a future where I will have no place. I want his face to be the last thing I see in my last moments in this mortal world. I want him to repeat his promise to come to me soon.

Come here, Alexander, do not let me pass alone.

Still your voice carries in the air. You are not with me, not now. You're hiding in your dream world, the one where I do not die, but live at your side.

My throat is closing. I – can – not – breathe.

They freeze, Alexander, the cold claws of death are clutching at my heart.

I shall not linger any longer. Do not make me wait at the gate for you forever. Keep your promise.

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