Alexander's Lover [Alexander the Great + Hephaestion | mxm]

I

Alexander first saw him in the Macedonian court. It was a balmy dusk, the stone and marble cool beneath his fingertips. The adolescent boys, no older than him, respectfully acknowledged their prince as he passed them. They were on their way to their beds, but he was feeling restless, after a full day of conflict between his parents, King Philip and his fourth and principal wife, Olympias of Epirus. Alexander's father, a no-nonesense militaristic man, clashed frequently with Alexander's wild mother, who was known to engage in supernatural rites and orgiastic ceremonies. The unrest was exhausting for the thirteen-year-old prince. Alexander wished his father wouldn't take a new bride with every campaign. But this practice, Philip believed, was what made him diplomatically safe.

Lanike urged him to bed, reminding him that he had spent all day riding, learning to fight and hunt - but he wasn't tired.

Dismissing the fussing of his childhood nurse, he left his bedroom and took off down a side-passage. He passed servants cleaning, the pacing sentry with their clicking armour buckles and long spears, the brightly painted trees and birds on the walls, the bronze statues of Apollo and lions on marble plinths. The slaps of his feet against the pebble mosaic floor echoed in the cavernous space. He drew back the ring handle from the lion's mouth and pulled open the heavy, polished doors. Entering the Hall, he stole into a semi-secluded alcove framed by sheer curtains that fluttered in the breeze.

He sat down on the stone bench and began to play his lyre. He had learned to play under the tutelage of Leonidas and Lysimachus, who also taught him to read and write.

As he was gracefully plucking the strings to a slow, lulling melody, his eyes caught a flickering movement. He thought he saw someone, behind the sheer curtains. Daylight had faded, and the only light came from the flickering glow of the olive oil lamps. He didn't pause his playing. When he next looked up, a boy was lingering, just behind the curtains. The firelight played across the planes and angles of his face, smooth and boyish and young. No older than him. Alexander's hands faltered and he locked eyes with the boy. They were bright in the firelight, and mesmerizingly blue. The boy peered at him with an inscrutable expression, a cross between apprehension and admiration. For several seconds they stared at each other. Then the boy turned on his heel and left before Alexander could call, wait.

***

Frantic neighing, snorting, and stamping of hooves resounded loud and clear throughout the clearing.

Alexander watched as his father and his men tried to tame a black stallion, brought to them by a Thessalonian trader.

Only Alexander could ride the stubborn animal. Unlike the others, he managed to intuit the skittish horse's fear of his own shadow, turn him toward the sun, and thereby tame him.