Who I Am

Ptolemy had heard his teacher Aristotle on more than one occasion refer to Hephaestion and Alexander as one soul inhabiting two bodies. And he could honestly say he would agree. The General had seen too many examples of their uncanny similarities to deny it.

But it is not only their similarities that make them well-suited, in many ways it is their differences that do the most. They compliment each other and bring out the best in the other in so many ways it cannot be counted.

The only way he could think of it is that one is like a spark, the other like oil. Though each has its exemplary attributes, they are two opposites that on their own would never make it. For oil by itself is easily overlooked, while a spark left solitary easily and quickly dies.

But when the two are brought together they create a fire that burns so bright and so hot, that it casts its heat and glow onto all that surrounds it. Not a single person is left unaffected by it or is able to ignore it.

Ptolemy and most anyone really, could easily see that this fire has faltered recently. Its light and warmth has been very obviously absent in recent weeks. And each day it fails more and more.

He, unlike most, did not gossip or speculate about the recent riff between General and King, nor about what caused it. But he could only imagine.

His King's recent debauchery has not gone unnoticed.

Each passing day brought on more dark and more cold.

He watched the steady decline of both of his friends.

Alexander was a spark that was swiftly dieing.

He barely spoke, or ate. Ptolemy wondered how much time he spent at night actually sleeping, and how much he spent tossing about in bed. The ragged look of sleeplessness was consuming his body. Red eyes and dark circles were now features that Alexander wore everyday. He lost attention easily and could hardly sit still for any length of time without fidgeting or getting up and pacing anxiously.

Ptolemy had a horrible feeling that he was watching Alexander's heart wither before his very eyes. He even once found himself thinking, 'So this is what a man who lost a piece of his soul looks like.'

Hephaestion was no better off. Ptolemy watched his fellow General grow cold and unfeeling with every passing day. He had always admired Hephaestion's natural ability to get along with others, his skills in diplomacy, and his general friendliness and approachability.

But as of late, Hephaestion was recoiling from all human contact. He had acquired the short, fiery temper that his blond counterpart was more famous for. He had let his pain and anger sit inside his soul and freeze his heart. In recent days, the men had learned quickly to only approach Hephaestion when absolutely necessary.

This dispute was tearing the two men apart.

He and the other generals had talked about this problem. They knew that if two of the army's leaders, especially its King, remained like this the army would surely suffer.

And they had watched their comrades, their friends, suffer long enough. They knew something had to be done.

And so Ptolemy volunteered to take on the daunting task of trying to talk sense into the two stubborn men. Though he did not know how he could try and mend the hearts of two men, one whose heart is dieing and another whose heart was frozen in ice.

He had headed to Hephaestion quarters first. The General having always been the more sensible of the two, this seemed most logical.

But Hephaestion took one look at his comrade and fixed an icy stare on him.

"Go whisper hints of reconciliation in his ear. Your breath is wasted here. I did not break this; I cannot put it back together."

Ptolemy had left the room without uttering a word. How could he speak under such a hard glare and frigid words?

And so now he knock lightly on the King's door, waiting anxiously for an answer.

After a few seconds, he heard the muffled sound of clumsy movements from beyond the door. Then he jumped, as a loud crash was emitted from within, followed by a string a slurred curses.

Ptolemy sighed as he slowly pushed open the heavy door, preparing himself for the sight of his King and friend at his very worse.

And sure enough, he was greeted by the sight of Alexander sprawled out on the floor, completely disheveled. He must have stumbled on the way to the door and pulled a table down on top of himself, because a sea of scrolls and maps were strewn around him, the wooden table pulled down on top of him. The cup of wine he had in his hand had spilled its contents all over, soaking him thoroughly in alcohol.

Alexander tried to push himself up with a low groan. Ptolemy quickly hurried to his side, grabbed him and heaved him to his feet.

As the General supported Alexander and lead him to a chair, where he could do no more bodily harm to himself, his eyebrows raised as the overwhelming stench of alcohol and an unwashed body stung his nostrils.

"Thank you." Alexander said gruffly as he was lowered into the seat.

He promptly reached out to grasp at the bottle of wine sitting on the table next to him. But Ptolemy's hand shot out and snatched it from his grasp.

The General wondered if, had Alexander been more certain on his feet, he would have attempted to physically fight him for the bottle.

Instead he was left to squirm uncomfortably under Alexander's fierce gaze.

"Give me the bottle, General." He commanded in a hard, angry voice that was suddenly very steady for his state of intoxication.

Ptolemy summed up all of his courage; he knew he would need it to deal with an angry, drunk Alexander.

"Why don't you stop running from this and face it like a man?" he finally said harshly.

A slow, stupid grin spread over Alexander's face, "I am obviously not running anywhere tonight, my friend."

Ptolemy raised the clay bottle and thrust it suddenly to the ground in anger. It shattered and cast the liquid all over their feet.

After the initial crash, the room was silent.

Ptolemy was surprised at his own act. But he had had enough of Alexander and his childishness.

"Stop!" he yelled at his King. "Stop hiding! Stop avoiding it! Admit to yourself why you have crawled into that bottle, and go fix it!"

He was happy to see that Alexander looked suddenly very sober.

"Look at yourself!" he continued his tirade. "You look like death warmed over. You're so drunk you can't walk, you obviously haven't slept for days, and you smell like an animal. If this is the result of two weeks without him, do you really believe you will survive much longer? So stop being a child and go make this right!"

Alexander certainly did look like a child in that moment, one that had just been caught doing something very shameful.

He looked anywhere but at Ptolemy.

"I'm not sure I can fix this." He mumbled sadly, gazing at the wine splattered floor a bit longingly.

Ptolemy reached out and tapped his King, a bit roughly, under his chin to pull his gaze away from the alcohol and back up to his face.

"You are going to try." He commanded.
Alexander slumped back dismally and sighed deeply. His face was a mask of utter despair.

As he slowly shook his head, he said, "You didn't see his face, Ptolemy. You weren't there to hear his words and see the way I treated him. He has no reason to forgive me."

"Does that mean you shouldn't even try? Don't you think he deserves at least your effort? And I have seen the way you treat him, and you are right, he has no reason to even acknowledge you. But he put up with it for so long, why is this so different? What did you do?"

The King looked away. Ptolemy noted the slight quiver of his chin as he held back a wave of emotions that he had been trained from a very early age never to show.

With a tremor in his voice he spoke, "He came into my room. I was in bed…with the Persian. He saw us."

Ptolemy sighed heavily. He could practically see the pain on Hephaestion's face and feel the anger in his heart when confronted by that scene.

He shook his head and sat heavily down in a chair.

"For such a brilliant man, Alexander, you are so completely…stupid" he said for lack of a better word, "and I don't mean about being caught in the act, I mean for committing the act in the first place. I could never understand how you would need anything more than Hephaestion. Or, if you cared for him half as much as you seem to, how you could treat him in that way."

Ptolemy looked up to a sight that thoroughly shook him to the core.

Alexander had tears of shame and sorrow flowing down his face.

Ptolemy had never seen his King cry. He could not even recall a time when they were children that Alexander had wept.

Even when Philip had been murdered Alexander maintained control. Though thinking of it now, he was sure that later tears had been shed for the loss of a father, no matter what kind of father he was. But that was probably done in private with Hephaestion as the sole witness and comforter.

Did this now make him the only person besides the King's lover to witness his tears?

"Sadly, that is not all that has created this divide between us. Though I have to say, I am slightly afraid to tell you for fear that you will think even less of me." Alexander said in a thick voice through the tears.

The General waited patiently to hear the rest of his story.

"I was very drunk, but I do not pretend to use that as an excuse to plead innocence from my actions. That night was the one time I could not win him back over and convince him to forgive me. We exchanged words, and I was…so angry. The alcohol only fueled my anger. I grabbed him." Alexander's voice seemed almost be failing him as he faltered over the last words, "And then I…I tried to force myself on him."

He dropped his face into his hands as the last words left his mouth.

Ptolemy's jaw dropped slightly, "Alexander, did you-"

"No!" he quickly interjected, head shooting up. "He overpowered me. But I am absolutely terrified of what would have happened had he not."

Ptolemy was too, though he said nothing. He no longer doubted in what Alexander's infamous drunken anger could drive him to.

But he could see now what this separation has driven him to. He was an empty shell of a man, filled only with wine. Ptolemy was determined to change that though.

Abruptly, he stood and moved quickly about the room. He searched in cupboards and on shelves, under the bed, everywhere, and located every bottle that Alexander had stashed. He then proceeded to empty them out one by one off the edge of the balcony. He listened to the wine splash onto the ground below.

Alexander's face was a mask of disbelief as he did this.

Ptolemy lined the bottles up on the table in front of the King.

"This is the first thing that must stop." He said, gesturing to the empty containers. "You can try to replace him with all the wine and harem boys in the world, but you will never succeed. You must get sober and go talk with him or I am sure that you will continue to slowly plunge into despair and hopelessness. And then you must actually change. You have to stop treating him this way. He deserves better. You of all people should know that. Make this right, Alexander, or at least try to. It's the only way you will find peace."

Alexander stared bleakly at the row of bottles, "How do I-? What do I even say to him?"

The General placed a comforting hand on the broken man's shoulder, "Whatever is in your heart."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The King watched his own hand visibly shake as it reached out to push open the door of General Hephaestion's rooms.

He exhaled slowly as the door swung open. He wondered if the rapid beating of his heart was audible enough to announce his presence to the man within.

His feet felt heavy as he lifted them to take the steps propelling him into the room. They wanted desperately to flee in the opposite direction, but his heart forced him to continue onward.

He stepped forward into the warm light that filled the room, and was greeted with the coldest of glares.

If his heart had beat any harder he was sure it would burst, and he would drop dead right there under Hephaestion's gaze.

It was not an unusual thing for Alexander's heart to drum vigorously in the presence of the General. But before it had pounded from excitement, passion, love, and desire. This, this was from pure anxiety and fear.

Hephaestion had been sitting across the room at a desk with maps and scrolls spilled out before him. But after noticing the new presence in his room and fixing his icy stare on the man, he rose and stood threateningly before him.

Hephaestion's lips quivered into a disgusted sneer as he said "Get out."

Alexander took a step forward and held out a hand pleadingly, "Please, just let me say something."

"Give me one reason why I should. One reason that you deserve that much." Hephaestion shook his head.

Alexander spoke softly and carefully, "Whatever animosity is between us now, please don't deny what was once between us. All I ask is that you allow me to speak. And then, you can throw me from the room if you wish."

Hephaestion did not move, nor did his hard expression change in anyway. He didn't necessarily consent to Alexander's request, but he hadn't denied it either. So, the King continued.

He took another deep breath as he made to begin the speech that he had run through his head more than a dozen times now. He thought it was perfect. Alexander had always been able to find the right words to get what he wanted. But now, when faced with the look of hate covering the face that he loved, he was very unsure of himself.

His speech was a long drawn out apology. It was full of promises and guarantees. Sure, it was nice enough, but he knew that his Phai deserved so much more.

Alexander made a sudden change of plans and took Ptolemy's advice. He didn't think about the words before he said them. He spoke straight from his heart and let the words pour from his very soul.

"You asked me who I thought I was, that night." He began. "But when I answered…I honestly had no idea who I actually was. And my mind was so twisted and altered from alcohol that my answer was exactly that, twisted and altered. Then I proceeded to act like a…I can't even find words to describe my horrible actions. But I won't even ask your forgiveness for them, because I know I don't deserve it."

He had had his gazed fixed on a spot on the floor about three feet in front of him. But now he slowly raised his eyes to lock with the intense blue ones staring straight at him. Alexander noted that the tension between Hephaestion's eyebrows and lessened somewhat.

"Your words haunted me," he went on. "I couldn't figure out who I was. It tortured me. Until it hit me one night. What I had spewed at you, about Alexander, King of the Macedonian Empire, that was my title, not who I was. But I think I have figured it out…who I am."

He took a slow step forward. And then just one more, taking a deep breath with each one.

"I am Alexander. I am your best friend. I am the one person in this world that knows you through and through. I am completely dependent on you. I am nothing without you. I am the man who's every breath; every heart beat is dedicated to you. I am the person who will follow you to the ends of the earth. I am bound to you in ways that I can't even begin to comprehend. I am your Xander. I am simply yours.

Two more steps, two more deep breaths.

They were now only a few feet apart. Though his Phai's face was not angry anymore, it was completely unreadable; which did not comfort Alexander any.

"Then, the more I thought on the subject the more I realized, it is not really important who I am, but who you are." The King continued. "You, Hephaestion are my soul. You are the blood that flows in my veins and the air that fills my lungs. You are my center, my axis; my support and my friend. You are everything in my life that is good and pure. You are the one person I could never get tired of, never get enough of. You are the voice I constantly hear, the face I constantly see, the thought I constantly think. You are my life. You are everything."

Two more steps. At this point Alexander was breathing hard and his heart threatened to surge from his chest. They stood close now, only one step between them. Alexander wondered if Hephaestion could see the tears clouding his eyes, see how overwhelmed he was.

"I could go on, and on if you wanted." The King stared intently into those blue eyes as he spoke the truest words he had ever spoken, "For you are all those things and so much more. And I am ashamed that it took me so long to realize it. But no matter the horrible mistakes, the atrocious crimes I have committed against you, the fact still remains that you are the one who holds my heart in your hands. And whether you cast it away, throw it to the ground, crush it in your grasp; it remains that forever. It remains yours."

He had finished. He could say no more. All he could do was wait. He dared not close the gap between him and Hephaestion. That would be for the General to do, or not do.

Alexander remained frozen as he was considered under that powerful blue gaze. Hephaestion tilted his head slightly and his lips parted as if to speak. But instead, he reached out and grasped Alexander's shaking hand in his warm one. He laced their fingers together. Alexander audibly sighed at the comforting feeling of the familiar calluses and warmth.

Hephaestion took a tiny step forward.

"You forgot to mention in you're very long list," He almost whispered, "that I am also yours."

A small grin pulled at the corners of the General's mouth as he fully closed the gap between their bodies and lips.

Alexander held his Phai as if he was the only thing anchoring him to this world, and kissed him as if he would never get the chance to again.

He could feel Hephaestion's heart beat in perfect sync with his own.

He breathed in the scent that he knew so well, yet was almost lost to him.

His fingers found their way into the soft, flowing locks that he almost never touched again.

He shuddered at the lovely warmth of the body that he nearly never pressed himself to again.

Nothing was taken for granted.

They say that coming close to death changed men, caused them to look at the world differently.

Alexander agreed.

He had experienced it first hand.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Ptolemy could not help the wide, silly smile that spread over his face as he watched Alexander and Hephaestion's hearts reunite through the crack between the partly closed door and the door frame.

Next to him Cleitus slowly shook his head with a similar smile covering his features.

"That boy has a tongue from the gods. It can spin words into gold." The old General spoke.

"No," Ptolemy disagreed, "That wasn't his tongue creating those words, it was the deepest, most sacred part of his heart."

~Fin~

wow, that took me alot longer to write than it should have. this was a sequel to my story "Not Anymore". If you haven't read it, head over and check it out. It would probably make things clearer if you did.

Thanks so much for reading. Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! It breaks my heart when I see that a story has thousands of views and a pitiful amout of reviews. :( Seriously, a simple "I loved it." or "I hated it. " is appreciated! :)

xxcrazymacxx