TITLE: Dionysian Dreams
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
BASIS: ‘Alexander’ (Directed by Oliver Stone)
CATEGORY: Alternate Universe, Romance, Drama
TIMEFRAME: In Carmania, post
PAIRING: Alexander/Hephaistion
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Serious AU, plot contrivance :)
SUMMARY: ‘Run, dance, delirious, possessed!’ – Euripides ‘The Bacchae’
DISCLAIMER: Whilst I rely heavily on Oliver Stone, Colin Farrell and Jared Leto for my Alexander interpretation, I mean them no disrespect with my writings and make no money from this pleasure.
Literary inspiration taken from ‘The Bacchae’ by Euripides (translated by Philip Vellacott) and sources from Quintus Curtius Rufus (translated by John Yardley)
NOTES: Let me now disclaim myself – I know nothing! I am useless! My primary sources are the movie, the internet and tragedy, so I’m a little scuppered with two out of three. I’m pretty certain Carmania wasn’t in the film, but I put my basis as the film, as most of my characterisations are taken from it.
There are a number of strange reasons for this story. One – it is a response to the Everday Superheroes Challenge, which for some reason sent huge flashing Hephaistion lights off in my head. Two – when my friend Amie mentioned that Aristophanes had written a comedy where Dionysus was a middle-aged man, I immediately countered that my image of Dionysus was Jared Leto – it just strikes me for some reason. Three – Alexander and wine, Alexander and Dionysus, enough said.
‘The son of Semele, who when the gay-crowned feast is set
Is named among gods the chief;
Whose gifts are joy and union of soul in dancing,
Joy in music of flutes,
Joy when sparkling wine at feasts of the gods
Soothes the sore regret,
Banishes every grief,
When the reveller rests, enfolded deep
In the cool shade of ivy-shoots,
On wine’s soft pillow of sleep.’
--The Bacchae
“More wine!”
The slurred shout was greeted with a tumultuous cheer and Hephaistion grimaced. By some miracle, his half-sobriety had gone unnoticed by his inebriated king and he was not being enticed to further indulgence.
In some ways, he would like to drown his sorrows in the wine vat, putting pay to those horrific Gedrosian memories; in others, he wanted perfect clarity to absorb the magnificent sight of Alexander – and to stop the man doing anything he’d regret.
The memory of Cleitus’ death still stung and haunted Alexander some nights – Hephaistion knew well enough the darkness in his heart at those times. Yet there had been many such nightmare-worthy trials in their shared history and this was a feast to celebrate their survival of one of the greatest – the damning Gedrosian desert.
Hephaistion had not set out with the rest,
having been left with a band of clerks and administrators to build the great
city of
He remembered vividly the half-waking march of the past few days, strange visions in the night and the desperate hunt for shade during the day. Alexander’s troops had already scavenged the land, so his men had no hope of finding food. There was enough water to keep them alive, but even those sources dried up for those last days.
His dignity had once more suffered as he’d staggered into the Royal tent to deliver his report and promptly collapsed to the ground. Even now, hours since, Alexander shot him concerned looks across the fire and Hephaistion knew he had to prove once more worthy of the title Companion – the king would not suffer such weakness.
Still, he was tired and whilst good food and wine were to be relished, he had no desire to see the fawning sycophants plague his Alexander that night. He had so much to think on – the desert had changed him in so many ways and it would take time to accept them.
Keeping his hands carefully tucked inside his cloak, he rose and departed the feast.
~
Alexander laughed with his generals, reaching for another morsel of meat. It was so good to be full again, his wasted stomach filling out as it should and his vision clear. Well, not so clear at the moment, but that was by his own choosing. The Son of Zeus Ammon, kin of Dionysus, had nothing to fear from a little wine!
He was glad, however, that Hephaistion was watching him. His dear friend had shadowed him at his own bidding for such feasts ever since…the incident with Cleitus. Alexander shook off the memory, taking another draught of wine and holding up his goblet to be filled.
It was then that he noticed Hephaistion was no longer present.
Alexander scanned the crowd again but he did not find him. Craning his neck, he could not see him laid out on the ground or carousing with any of the circling whores. Not that he would – at least not in Alexander’s presence. He knew his king had a remarkable strength of jealousy.
“What troubles you, Alexander?” Crateros leant over, pushing a plate of sweetmeats towards him. “This is a great celebration! And you, Dionysus, leader of the feast!”
The last brought another cheer before the men returned to their own revelries and Alexander kept the frown from his face. “Have you seen Hephaistion? I was sure he was here but a moment ago.”
Crateros snorted. “Oh, he was here, but left for the tents. The desert has obviously taken more than his pretty face.”
Alexander scowled but held his tongue. He would not be seen fighting Hephaistion’s battles for him – he knew his friend feared for his reputation as it was, particularly after his body’s betrayal but scarce hours ago. From what Ptolemy had told him, Hephaistion had swayed and stumbled on his way to the tent, refusing all aid – it was the least his friend could do to prevent him landing flat on his face.
When he’d entered the tent, Alexander had faced him in shock. His body was painfully thin beneath the armour, strong muscles wasted from lack of food, and his face was burnt scarlet, florid where he’d formerly been bronzed. He had barely stuttered through two words of the formal greeting before his eyes had rolled back into his head and he’d fainted dead away.
Dragging him to his bed, Alexander had
roused him and forced water and bread past his lips before permitting him to
speak again. Hephaistion had resented the coddling, Alexander knew, but he
would have no general of his unfit for duty because of his pride.
Still, he felt a surge of anger – Crateros had not faced the desert as Hephaistion had, or indeed Alexander. What right had he to taunt, to deride? Alexander was suddenly sick of his feast, his company and the prevalent overflowing goblets of wine. Rising swiftly, he departed for the tents, ignoring the shouts of Crateros and the rest. Let them shout – he had no need of them now.
He knew Hephaistion would never presume and so headed for the general’s own tent, conspicuously placed some distance from his own. As if the whole camp was not aware of what Hephaistion meant to him! He supposed that Hephaistion needed respite for his battered pride and could not take their disdain and childish jealousy this day. Damnable politics.
Alexander paused at the tent flap, noting it locked by three tied knots and frowning. Hephaistion never barred anyone entry to his tent – what was so wrong that night? Alexander drew his knife and hacked at the restricting rope: surely no one could deny him entry within his own camp, especially not Hephaistion.
However, he still moved with caution, drawing back the flap with care and hesitating on the threshold. Hephaistion stood in the centre of the tent, with his back to Alexander. He shrugged his tunic off his shoulders, revealing scarred, tan skin, and let the material drop to the floor. Alexander took a moment to appreciate the sight of Hephaistion clad only in his war kilt, before taking a step into the tent, ready to confront Hephaistion about his disappearance from the feast.
The wind whistled through the tent, guttering the candles that stood by his bedding. By the silvery light of the moon, Alexander saw Hephaistion sigh and raise both hands to shoulder height, as if in supplication. With sudden brilliance, balls of fire arced from his friend’s palms and ignited the wicks of the candles, throwing the tent once more into shadowy half-light.
Alexander stumbled backwards out of the tent and stood in shock, attempting to control his fear. He moved away quickly, hurrying back across the camp to his own tent. Collapsing onto his bed, his breath coming in gasps, he closed his eyes and wondered at what he’d just seen. Hephaistion – his Hephaistion – standing in his ordinary camp tent, half-dressed in Macedonian battle attire, and casting fire like some Persian conjuror!
Except this was no trick to please the crowds or impress wide-eyed girls – this was something done as reflex, as simple an act as blinking at the sun’s light or swatting away an irksome fly. Hephaistion had shot fire from his hands! How was this accomplished? What madness was seizing his wine-addled brain?
However, though he had spent his life with Hephaistion, not every waking moment had he kept his eyes upon him. Perhaps he had always had such ability, such command of the elements and concealed it from Alexander. But why, why would Hephaistion wield such power, unless…
The thought dawned across Alexander’s mind like a wave breaking upon the shore – could his Hephaistion, quiet unassuming Hephaistion, be a God? Beautifully divine, as Alexander supposed himself to be? Surely only one of the immortal Olympus-dwellers could produce fire from their body with such ease. Which one then of their number chose to dwell with him, counselling his every thought, acting as his support in times of need, filling his cup at every feast…
Alexander froze. It was Hephaistion who always filled his cup first, insisting on a duty that should belong to a servant alone. It was his closest friend who insisted on removing the same cup when humour turned to bitterness, allowing him only the pleasure of the fruit of the gods. And yes, it was his wise Hephaistion who had advised him to appease Dionysus’ wrath after Cleitus’ demise, absolving his soul of that terrible deed.
Was it then possible that Hephaistion of
Macedon was in fact Dionysus, son of Semele and immortal Zeus? Freer of souls
and leader of the feast? Having taken a mortal form, as he had in
This very real and frightening possibility exploded through Alexander’s mind until he was shaking on the tent floor. His Hephaistion could be Dionysus!
Oh Zeus, he had *lain* with an immortal god!
Staring at the tent flap with mounting awe, Alexander’s mind thrummed with possibilities. He would get no sleep that night.
~
Hephaistion woke early, his troubled sleep at an end. Unfolding his weary limbs, he rose from his bed and splashed precious water on his face. Ah, such blissful relief! He savoured the feel of the liquid trickling down his face, pooling in the hollow of his throat and falling in rivulets over his chest. Gods, that felt good!
He wiped his face clean and took the time to comb out his matted hair, wincing at the knots and wondering if Alexander would object to him hacking off the length of it. He might be willing to risk loss of strength if it meant he could be free of the mess next time battle found them. Pulling the front parts up and away from his face, as Alexander favoured it, and securing it with a thong, Hephaistion dressed in the looser Persian-styled clothing he now wore at rest. Alexander said the company would halt a few days to allow his men time to recover and that meant feasting and revelry. He would dress the part even if he avoided most of the festivities.
Enfolding his hands in the front of his tunic, Hephaistion left his tent and drifted towards the Royal tent. There were still men lying in stupor around the glowing embers of the fire and most others were still sleeping off the effects of last night’s drinking. A few servants milled around the camp, with a few soldiers blearily regarding their food with distaste. Hephaistion allowed himself a brief smile before approaching the tent.
He noted that it had been left open to all visitors and nodded to the guard outside, before raising the edge of the material to enter. Alexander was curled up at the end of his bedding, clutching his token of Zeus, a gift from Ptolemy after the oracle’s pronouncement. Hephaistion frowned – Alexander only took refuge in it when his mind was especially troubled.
Hephaistion had been slightly stung when Alexander had not followed him the previous night, but then why should he? He was a king with his army – why should he hunt down an anti-social lover who had disgraced him that day? No, Hephaistion could accept that, but if Alexander was ill at ease, that made even greater sense.
Alexander was often known to complain that although his advice was sound, Hephaistion’s presence served only to muddle his mind when serious thought was required. It was usually after such a pronouncement that Hephaistion would prove exactly how distracting he could be – perhaps such a diversion was in order now.
Crouching down beside his king’s huddled form, Hephaistion ran gentle, careful fingers through his hair, smiling at just how much he’d missed this. Alexander stirred and sleepily opened his eyes, blinking at Hephaistion once, twice, before bolting away from him like he’d been stung.
Hephaistion stood, hands held out in placation, but that only caused Alexander to scramble to his feet, apparently torn between bowing his head and running for the door.
“My…I mean…no…*Hephaistion*,” Alexander breathed, eyes wild. This was most strange.
“Alexander? Is something wrong?”
Alexander shook his head vigorously no, before wincing as that hurt his head. Hephaistion moved forward to lead him back to the bed, but Alexander stepped back, eyes wide. Hephaistion bowed his head.
“I see that I have shamed you. I will leave immediately.”
As he made to leave the tent, Alexander stepped between him and the flap, abruptly falling to his knees. “No my Lord, please don’t go!”
Hephaistion stared at him in horror and pulled him up to his feet. “Are you unwell, Alexander? It is I, Hephaistion. I am no Lord!”
Not accepting argument, Hephaistion shepherded Alexander back to bed and sought out the sleeping herbs Alexander carried. “Rest, sleep off this madness. We can talk later.”
He watched Alexander take them obediently and lie down. Where was the ritual of protests, the bright defiance that characterised Alexander as the Divine King? Something was very much awry here.
Lying beside the slumbering Alexander, Hephaistion frowned at his king and worried for another sickness, another setback even in their retreat. Could Fate not leave them alone just this once?
Hephaistion sighed and closed his eyes.
~
Alexander woke again at around
So that could be a minor problem.
He had been afraid he was hallucinating, wine-induced dreams clouding his mind. But then seeing Hephaistion’s eyes, and the strange power lurking within, drove him to madness, torn between worship and running for his life. Still, Dionysus or not, Hephaistion had still been with him all these years. He thought that he knew him, and so he could attempt to treat him as he’d always done.
A shadow fell across the doorway and Alexander’s eyes snapped to the intruder. Hephaistion stood there, slightly wary, and Alexander hurried to his feet, standing in the god’s presence. He could still offer respect, surely. Hephaistion regarded him as if he were mad, or some wild animal that he was trying to tame. This would not be easy.
“Are you feeling better, Alexander?”
“Uh…yes, thank you, He…Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion nodded slowly and took a step forward – Alexander just managed to stop himself stepping back. He was a great man! He could have a conversation with his best friend!
“I think we need to talk, Alexander.”
“What…what about, Hephaistion?” Curse this infernal stutter! It was doing nothing for his fears of offence, or apparently Hephaistion’s ease.
“These strange behaviours, Alexander. Have I…done something to offend you? Do you wish me to stay away?” His voice conveyed hurt and Alexander rushed to allay his fears.
“Oh no, not at all! Stay, welcome, you are always welcome here!”
Alexander winced as Hephaistion just looked more confused.
“Has someone made slander against me? Tell me, Alexander, I will not be sheltered from the truth like a child!” He was nearing anger now, and his hands were clenched in his tunic. Alexander could not help staring at them, thinking on the fire he had seen blossoming from that reddened skin like a flower of flame, moving across his tent like it had wings.
Hephaistion noted his gaze and pulled his hands behind his back, watching. “What is it, Alexander? You have never been dishonest with me before.”
That much was true. Hephaistion was his confidant and his best friend – he could never lie to him. Even if the truth was unwanted, they could not continue like this.
“I came to your tent last night,” he began, meeting Hephaistion’s eyes with trepidation. “I…cut the ties to the door and stepped inside. You stood there, removing your tunic. Suddenly, the candles were extinguished and you…you raised your hands. There was fire, Hephaistion, rising from your palms – and the candles were relit.”
Alexander bowed his head then and took a deep breath. “So, though you may not wish it, I can deny it no longer. You may not have revealed yourself to me, but I shall worship you as Almighty Dionysus, son of Zeus.”
There was a deafening silence for a few long painful moments before Alexander dared raise his head. Hephaistion was staring at him, mouth agape and shaking.
Then, he began to laugh.
The rich deep sound echoed around the tent and Hephaistion couldn’t seem to stop, his whole body shaking as he laughed, leaving Alexander in utter confusion. His friend tried to explain, but could not control his amusement, shaking so hard that he overbalanced and landed on his backside in the middle of the tent.
He swiped at the tears coasting down his cheeks and beckoned Alexander over, waiting until he was crouched down before kissing him soundly, putting an end to his hysteria.
“Oh, Alexander, you are without equal! I am no more Dionysus than I am Patroclus resurrected upon the earth! Sweet beautiful Alexander – I am no god.”
Alexander stared at his friend a moment before bursting into laughter, both relief and mortification flooding his soul. Hephaistion was just Hephaistion – there were no gods at work here, just his friend on his tent floor, sharing his amusement and another reassuring kiss.
“A vision! A strange trick of the night! How ridiculous I have been!”
Alexander continued to laugh, whilst Hephaistion grew quiet, pulling away and standing, his back to Alexander. “Not quite a vision,” he said softly, and Alexander’s laughter died in his throat.
“What are you saying, Hephaistion?”
Now it was his friend’s turn to take breaths and consider his words, before he turned once more to his king. “You did indeed see me cast fire last night.” At Alexander’s shocked expression, Hephaistion simply barrelled on. “It first happened in the desert. I thought at first I was delusional with fever, but the tent flap was singed and the fringe of my cloak was ash. It is some strange plague of the gods, and I do not know how to make it stop.”
He began to pace, but still keeping his hands concealed within his tunic. “I am so afraid, Alexander. Afraid to touch you in case I burn you, scared of the men seeing such a sight and fleeing – as you were prepared to do. I would not blame you if you cast me from the camp now, and left me to die in this forsaken desert. I am dangerous, and I cannot see a way forward without us parting ways.”
Another gnawing silence and Alexander rose slowly to his feet, moving towards his defeated Hephaistion, slumped shoulders screaming his despair.
“I could never fear you, my Hephaistion,” he said, hand settling on his shoulder. He reached around his lover’s body and took one of Hephaistion’s hands in his, holding it up to the sunlight. “You have been given a gift, a powerful gift. But together,” he pulled Hephaistion closer to him, “we can master it. I could never leave you.”
Alexander turned Hephaistion in his arms and drew him in for a chaste kiss, all his feelings of confusion, fear and relief washing away in that simple gesture.
“Together,” Hephaistion echoed with wonder, and worshipped the sun.