Title: Defiance

Author: Baliansword

Rating: PG-13

Chapter: 1 of ?

Summary: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

Warnings: There will be heavy sexual content, mild language, mild violence. I warn you now, because I might forget to later.

A/N: This is for Jessica, because she's been my advisor as of late, picking her favorite of my ideas. However, this is also for Mary, because without you I would probably stop writing –and he's my attempt at being better.

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340 BC….Meiza, Macedonia…

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, rays of orange and yellows that could not be outdone by the pure gold striking the ground, the same rays then reflecting off of the treaded dirt ground, creating an illuminating effect. Already a slow breeze was gathering the small pebbles of dirt on the ground, pushing them across fields and into the tall grasses, their blades varying from darkened-yellow to vivid olives and jades. As the sun was rising those in Meiza were beginning to wake, stretching stiffened muscles from their uncomfortable pallets, yawning, pouring cups of goat milk and water, urging children to rise as well. This, however, was life outside of the great palace, outside of the fortress meant to keep him in. Brooding, the prince ran a hand through his hair, scratching sand away from his scalp. While others were waking, his morning had already come and gone. Before the sun had risen, before the first cock had thought of crowing, he had woken, without help, and had laced his grieves, tightened his chiton, prepared for a day of relentless training that would be just as the last had. For three years it had been the same, waking up, training, eating breakfast, having a few sheltered moments alone, and then it was off to Aristotle, who spoke more and more of a world that Alexander feared he would never see. Greece even seemed far away now, and it was practically out their backdoor. How would he reach Persia if he was not trusted to leave a palace? Sighing, he stepped away, forgetting the sight of the sun outside. As he turned, he kept himself from starting, even though Hephaestion had made no sound approaching, given no sign that he watched him. Then again, Hephaestion was as predictable as his days; they were one in the same. Waking up, he would meet Hephaestion in the hall, exchanging secret glances as they were approached by Alexander's other companions. Then, in training, they would be paired together, and day after day, no matter what it seemed to be, Hephaestion would best Alexander. It was unfair, but it made Alexander want to better himself, to compete against Hephaestion. They would then spend these secret moments together, eat lunch in some secluded area, under a tree who's trunk would hide them from on looking eyes, and when it came time to meet with Aristotle, they would walk hand in hand together. Approaching danger, their hands would fall away, and throughout lectures Hephaestion would be the brilliant one, the true scholar amongst them all. As night came, they would dine, Alexander would sadly watch him go, but there was always a reason to hope. From time to time they would find a way to sneak into the other's room, past guards that should have kept them apart, and through the night they would hold one another in secret embraces. Yet, just as today, Hephaestion would always be gone before the cock thought of crowing, and the day would come, driving them apart until Fate once more handed them the gift of Time.

"I am glad you are not some foreign emissary," Alexander exhaled, immediately glad to be in Hephaestion's presence. There was something about his being that calmed his spirit. Hephaestion was striking, he could not deny, especially when the sunlight glinted against his bronzed skin, his chest rippling with muscles endowed through their training. His thighs, which Alexander could not help but glance at, were much the same, toned over the years, and perfectly chiseled, powerful. Cascading hair fell below his shoulders, several shades of chocolate, auburn, nutmeg, foreign coffee beans, and dark bronzes and gold swirling about his strong shoulders, and framing his perfectly sculpted face. Soft crimson lips, slightly plump for a male, laid against his defined chin and muscular jaw, set now in a straight line as he watched Alexander. However, it was his eyes moreover that captivated the young prince, cerulean, the color of the Mediterranean Sea, and the fortune tellers of Hephaestion's very soul. Yes, had he not fallen in love with his mind first, he truly would have eventually ravished his body as well. Hephaestion, as always, seemed to know what he was thinking and blushed, casting his eyes to the ground before shyly looking up. How strange, to be so shy around the only one who loved him, but still, he was. Had he stood before a room of orators he would have commanded attention, here, on the contrary, he allowed Alexander to command the attention, placing him on a pedestal he did not truly deserve.

"Do not be bashful," Alexander insisted, reaching out and placing a hand in Hephaestion's, closing the excruciating space between them, uncaring if eyes caught them. He needed him, more than he had on previous days, needed not only to be near him, but to touch him, to take in the smell of musky sandalwood that tainted his hair, to touch his ever-smooth skin, whereas his was calloused and hardened from labors. Hephaestion complied, twining his fingers in Alexander's, carefully leaning in to place a wanted kiss against his forehead. He did not pull away, but instead pressed his forehead to Alexander's, allowing his breath to lightly linger against Alexander's sensitive skin. No, how could such a treasure ever be so coy when it came to others admiring him? Alexander lifted his head, staring into Hephaestion's depths before kissing him, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of not only the sun on his skin, but the warmth of flooding desire.

"You are restless," Hephaestion whispered against Alexander's shoulder as the kiss broke, due to Hephaestion's objections. Yes, Hephaestion, who was the watchful eye, keeping them from stares of those that would very much like to remove them both from power, doing whatever became necessary to do so. He placed his palm against Hephaestion's cheek, his thumb grazing over Alexander's bruising lips. All the while he continued to gaze at the young prince, searching slowly through his mind, pulling away the tangles, finding what he needed, stilling Alexander while doing so. Smiling slightly, passing his confidence on to his friend, he drifted away, but his words were still those of a confidant, of a lover far beyond his years, trapped in the body of a seventeen year old.

"They cannot keep you here forever," he persisted, taking a moment to glance out the balcony, to the day laid out before Meiza, but closed to them. He felt the same agitation, as Alexander did, but he did not yearn to be free of the confines of the palace so that he could venture the world. He yearned to be free to love Alexander, something that here was not only dismissed as common practice, but was actually frowned upon. Had Aristotle not explained that it was immoral for a man to lie with another man, unless it was to share knowledge? It sounded pretty, his wording, but Hephaestion understood what it meant. He could not be Alexander's. Besides, to gain knowledge Aristotle expected both men to be clothed, something that was also not immediately stated, but was a boundary in the sand. Impatience came from both parties, but it was two very different feelings of discomfort.

"We see that city everyday," Alexander replied, placing both hands on the balcony, his eyes following Hephaestion's line of sight, "but how often have we stepped into it?"

"Once," the other laughed stoically. He remembered the occasion well enough, having it been the only time he blatantly defied Aristotle, or any other adult. They were just barely fifteen, and to be locked away in a palace was not their idea of fun. Having decided this, they then created a plan to enter the city, slipping away during the lunch hour. Anyone could recount the ending, both youths being pulled back behind the walls by their respective tutors. It had not ended well, but the excitement was enough to last a lifetime.

"Philosophers can teach us of the world, but they cannot give it to us. They cannot show is what lies beyond the mountains, what the seas look like. Tell me again, Hephaestion, what Athenian seas look like."

Hephaestion appeased him, even though he had enlightened him to his memory of the shores a thousand times before. Still, he never grew tired of hearing, and hence, Hephaestion never tired of giving him the images he asked for. "The coast is lined with crystalline water, slowly flowing up and down, rubbing the white sands down until they are softer than the finest of silk. You can walk for hours, and seemingly get nowhere, your footprints quickly washed away by the cool waters. Even the jagged rocks, jutting out from the coast and into the tides, seem to be Poseidon's perfection. Spray wafts up, smelling of salt and sand, I swear Alexander, it is lovely. I know you would love it."

"We'll go there someday," Alexander vowed, "back to your Athens. I would trade my crown for you, Hephaestion, to be in your arms without worry. We would be alone in Athens, no one watching our every move, no one to care, our parents far away. They could not reach us. We would be invincible, immortal, we would be one, Hephaestion."

"We are together now." Hephaestion heard footsteps in the hall and glanced over his shoulder, watching as a servant walked past, seemingly unaware of their presence. However, he knew well enough that nothing was coincidence here, this palace being just as dangerous as Pella. In Pella, Olympias was the watchful eye, but here, Philip kept constant attention on them. Servants were spies, spies were tutors, it was all the same. No one could be trusted. She left though, and Hephaestion turned back to Alexander, who had already cocked his head.

"You remind me of a deer when you do that," Hephaestion smirked. It was true, the resemblance was uncanny. He let out a soft breath, and let his eyes roam over Alexander's body. Sculpted, perfect, he was everything to be desired. His golden hair wisped upward against his ear, and Hephaestion reached out, tucking a strand behind his ear. He was growing it out, which Hephaestion was enjoying, but it was in an awkward state, somewhere between short and long. His eyes were dark, like a tempest, but were always thoughtful, always planning some strategy, which he would later share. Now he thought as well, but Hephaestion did not feel like interrupting.

"My father's ambassadors will arrive tomorrow, he arrives tonight. Tell me, do you think he would miss me terribly if you and I were to sneak out tonight, spend the night outside? We could spend the morning in Meiza, return for the dinner feast before he realized we were gone."

"You are too bold," Hephaestion smirked. "I knew when you cocked your head like that, that you were thinking of something I would have to convince you out of. Alexander, while your father might not notice, I guarantee you that someone will, likely Cleitus. I want to be able to sit down at the festival, thank you, unlike the last time Cleitus belted us for our defiance."

Perhaps Hephaestion was right, Alexander decided. He should not drag Hephaestion into all of his schemes, it was unfair. It was always Hephaestion who took the worst of the punishments as well, because he was not a prince. It was one thing to belt a prince, three hardened lashes would do. However, Hephaestion was never so lucky. Alexander had not known this until the last time they had been defiant –when he'd first seen Hephaestion lashed. Cleitus had slammed the whip against his buttocks harder than he had his own, and far more many times, his strokes quick and deliberate. The welts were worse, and while Hephaestion had clenched his jaw and looked away from Alexander, the prince had still been able to see the burning tears he held back.

"I take your companionship for granted," Alexander said, stepping away from the balcony and entering the hall. Hephaestion followed, keeping a distance between them, but only out of caution.

"You cannot take what is freely given to you."

"You know what I mean. We both know Cleitus has it in for you, wishes he could beat you himself, constantly. Cassander is not much better. His father has filled his head with madness. He would take your place at my side if he could, I see how jealously looms in his eyes. He hates you because he knows that I love you, and he is unloved. He is a pawn, as I am."

"Pawns do not know their master's moves," Hephaestion corrected. "You know what your mother tries to do, what your father tries to counter. As long as you know how they work, both for you and against you, the next move is truly in your hand."

"I would go to Athens," Alexander said, stopping in the center of the hallway. He did not mind that servants were still passing them, and that Cleitus was approaching, and that behind him was his father, Philip. Pleadingly, he repeated his words, "I would go to Athens."

"I know," Hephaestion agreed in a muted whisper. He could ask nothing of Alexander, because he knew Alexander would give it to him. He longed to return to Athens, where things seemed so much simpler. But he had been a boy then. Perhaps it was the same everywhere, and nothing changed. Yes, he would die a thousand deaths in order to spend one lifetime with Alexander, alone, at peace. He knew Alexander though, knew that he longed to be king. He would deny it, perhaps, but it was his vision, to unite the world, and he would be king to do it. Athens was a dream, one which would never be grasped. However, Hephaestion was content to follow Alexander wherever his dreams took him, uncomplaining. Was that not what love was?

"Alexander," Philip greeted, his voice still too hard for that of a father. No, Hephaestion knew better. He was a king and a king alone, unable to separate the two. It had been his own father's downfall. Amyntor had been unable to distinguish the difference between the life of a consultant and that of a man, cheating one too many times at games, and finally, after loosing one too many bets, his life was used as payment.

"Philip."

"How many times have I asked you to call me father?"

"Roughly the same number as I have asked you to leave Meiza, to stop being treated like a child."

"Hephaestion," Philip said, ignoring Alexander and clapping Hephaestion on the shoulder, "my how you have grown. You have the physique of your father, the looks of your mother. May the gods watch over them both. I see you have not left Alexander's side. A true companion."

"I am in your debt," Hephaestion replied, the perfect response. It could not have been better were he trained. "It is the least I can do, to watch over Alexander in your absences."

"Watch him from his Harpy of a mother too," Philip mocked, stepping past the two and continuing on with his entourage. "She is the one to fear boy. She is your enemy, not I!"

As Philip turned around the corner, Cleitus glared at Alexander. Hephaestion understood that this man held Philip in high respects, perhaps loved him even, but he could not help but hope that he did not end up like Cleitus. He was bitter. He was hard. He was…a man. There was nothing deeper. He woke, he ate, he slept, he pissed, he moaned, and sometimes he fought. Nothing else.

"I would watch what you say to your father," Cleitus warned. "He has taken great care of you, boy. Spite him, and one day you will be thrown to the wolves, as he wished."

Hephaestion chewed his lower lip as the general followed the king away. Once more he prayed not to end up so calloused by life. Alexander smirked, as if proud of himself, though Hephaestion could not see why. Cleitus had brought up a perfect point. Philip had not treated him so badly. He sent him to the best trainers, best tutors, and he had always received the best of gifts. While things were not perfect between father and son, it was better than having no father. Or, at least, he assumed it could be. Philip was rigid, so perhaps his thoughts were too utopian.

"He hates me."

"He wants your respect," Hephaestion corrected. "I am your friend, and I tell you this because I hope you will pretend, at least, to listen. To go against your father is to go against everything. He controls you, yes, tells you where to live, yes, but you are alive. You are not in exile. Your father is not dead."

"Easy for you to say, your father loved you."

"Philip loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Come," Alexander sighed, watching as the trainers, along with many of the companions, strode down the hall. "It looks as if they want us for training."

Minutes later they were in the training rooms, wrestling about in a pit of sand. It was not so tedious when Alexander was allowed the opportunity to test his strength against Hephaestion. It was grueling work otherwise. Today, he thanked the gods, was a blessing. Hephaestion stood before him and placed a hand out, and then lunged forward. He almost never lunged forward, and this caught Alexander by surprise. Knocking him into the sand, Hephaestion pushed himself hard against Alexander, making the trials look real. In truth, he was going easy on the prince. Alexander jerked upward, pushing his shoulder into Hephaestion's chest, prying him momentarily off of him. But it was over before it began. Hephaestion snaked an arm around Alexander's neck and pulled him backward, successfully flipping him to the side. Landing hard, Alexander let out a burst of air as Hephaestion startled him. Had it been another, he would have complained, but to look up and into the eyes of Hephaestion was no punishment. Grinning, like a stupid schoolboy, Hephaestion patted Alexander's chest lightly and then stood to meet his congratulations from Cleitus' second. Rolling his eyes, Hephaestion reached down, helping Alexander up, though he was always advised not to.

"One more time," Alexander insisted. Hephaestion wiped sand off of an arm, and nodded, saying nothing. He repositioned himself. This time, it was Alexander who lunged. Hephaestion did not seem to feel the impact as Alexander knocked him to the ground. As he looked up at the prince, his eyes gave his plan away.

"Do not let me win," Alexander ordered. Hephaestion instantly grabbed his wrist, pulling hard, toppling Alexander. Once again, his side struck the ground, and Hephaestion quickly flung a leg over Alexander. Bucking, Alexander rolled, forcing Hephaestion from his higher position. Hephaestion thudded against the sand, but as Alexander went to grab his arm, he slid to the side, pushing Alexander's back with a single hand, forcing his face into the sand. Latching on to his wrists, Hephaestion pushed Alexander's arms to his back, successfully pinning him on his stomach.

"You should have my moves memorized by now," Hephaestion laughed, releasing Alexander. Alexander rolled onto his back, chest heaving, and shook his head.

"No, you change them each time."

"Not much."

"What king falls in battle, and is beaten by the most beautiful of the enemy?"

"Stop," Hephaestion laughed, once more helping Alexander off of the ground. They then heard horns sounding, a sign that the ambassadors from Egypt had arrived. Hephaestion tossed a glance to Alexander as the training room seemed to empty.

"I wish you would have broken my arm," Alexander retorted.

"The day is young," Hephaestion replied, rather matter of fact. "Just tell me you're not going to be too rash."

"You know me, Hephaestion."

"Yes," the second replied as he chased after Alexander, who had taken off at a dead run. "That's the problem!"

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A/N: Well, what do you think? Read and review. Thanks! Love you all, but not as much as I love Jessica and Jami.