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The room was dark when Alexander woke. The air held the quiet warmth of sleep, bodies at rest, breath even in the deep shadow.
He did not move at first. Hephaestion was wrapped around him, solid, one arm drawn firmly across Alexander’s waist, his hand resting low against his side as if he had pulled him in sometime during the night. Their legs were tangled beneath the blanket, the length of him pressed warm along Alexander’s back. Alexander lay there, tracking the weight of Hephaestion’s arm and the slow rise of his breathing.
He shifted slightly, and Hephaestion’s arm tightened on instinct, his face pressing into the back of Alexander’s shoulder.
“I’m getting up,” Alexander murmured.
A low sound answered him, immediate. Hephaestion did not let go. Alexander turned his head and caught his mouth in a slow kiss, meant to wake him gently. Hephaestion stirred properly this time, his breath changing, his hand flexing against Alexander’s side before loosening enough to let him turn.
“I’ll meet you,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Later,” Alexander said softly.
Hephaestion’s eyes opened a fraction, dark in the dimness. “Don’t forget the figures.”
“I won’t.”
Hephaestion pulled him back once more, awake enough to chase the kiss properly before letting him go.
Alexander rose quietly from the bedding. Arrhidaeus still slept nearby, sprawled without care, one arm thrown wide, his blanket twisted around one leg. He did not stir as Alexander took the wrapped bundle from beside the bed, set it into his satchel, and slipped out.
Down in the kitchens, he gathered what he needed without hesitation. Milk, honey, and wine, each chosen with care and settled securely into the bag before he stepped outside. The morning air met him damp, heavy with the scent of river water before sunrise. The sky had begun to pale behind the trees, but everything remained hushed.
He took the path downhill where the stone gave way to packed earth, leading toward the sanctuary. The sound of water reached him first, constant. Below, the Nymphaeum opened into a dark rock face where the stream ran clear, gathering in shallow basins that caught the dim early light. He stopped at a laurel, cutting a branch cleanly with his blade. He stripped several leaves free to hold in his hand, tucked the rest away, and went down to the water.
He crouched at the edge, rinsing his face in the chill to wake himself fully. He unstoppered the milk and poured a slow cloud into the basin, watching the white thin out into the current. He dipped two fingers to let the honey trail into the flow, laid the laurel leaves against the wet stone, and poured a splash of wine along the rock above.
“Be well,” he said quietly to the dark of the cave.
He gathered his satchel and moved on, pushing through low branches into the main clearing. The altar stood where he had left it, a low olive stump worn smooth by use, its wood darkened by old offerings dried into the grain over time. The carved names had deepened with weather.
Alexander knelt, brushing away the debris with his hands, clearing the shallow cracks before wiping the top with a cloth. He reset the small dish and the stone, putting each back where it belonged. Only then did he begin.
He unwrapped the miniature amphora first. The clay was smooth, the painted figures clear despite its size. Achilles and Patroclus were close in motion, both turned toward the same fight. He had stood over the potter in town while it was painted, correcting the line of a shoulder and the set of a shield until the distance between them was exact. He set it at the back of the stump, angled to face outward.
Next came the two bronze figures from his mother. He unwrapped them one by one, warriors with round shields, crested helmets, and close jawguards. One bore a radiating star worked into the face; the other was left plain. He placed the first, pressing it lightly until it held, then set the second opposite, adjusting them in small increments until the balance settled exactly as he intended.
A branch shifted behind him.
Hephaestion stepped into the clearing, his cloak thrown on hastily over his tunic, his hair loose from sleep. In one hand he carried a small bronze spearhead.
Alexander turned and smiled. “Meli. You’re right on time.”
Hephaestion came forward, his gaze moving over the cleaned surface, the miniature amphora, and the bronze figures. “How were the nymphs?”
“Sleepy,” Alexander replied.
“I brought something,” Hephaestion said, holding out the spearhead. Alexander took it from him, setting it carefully between the bronze shields. “Good.”
Hephaestion crouched opposite him across the stump. “You started without me.”
“I set it,” Alexander said. “I didn’t finish.”
Alexander took up the wine, pouring it slow over the carved names, letting it run into the grooves and darken the wood. Then he reached for the jar of honey. He dipped his finger into the thick sweetness, reached across the altar, and traced it lightly over Hephaestion’s lower lip.
“Sweet,” he told him softly. “Just like you.”
Then he kissed him. It began gently, but the contact deepened quickly, sharpened by the taste of the honey between them. Alexander leaned into it, one hand braced against the wood of the altar, the other catching at Hephaestion’s shoulder as the momentum threatened to pull him off balance.
“Mm. My Patroclus,” Alexander hummed against his mouth, kissing him again, slower, holding him there.
Hephaestion made a small sound, then took a breath and pressed lightly at Alexander’s chest. “Alex,” he said, his lips still warm. “Achilles,” he repeated firmly when Alexander didn’t release him. “The offering.”
“What? This is part of it,” Alexander insisted, though he sat back on his heels.
Hephaestion’s mouth twitched, pushing him back all the same. “Finish it.”
Alexander exhaled through his nose with a playful heat, turning back to the stump. He poured the wine again, filling the carved lines fully, and set the last laurel leaves beside the names. His voice went steady, focusing as he spoke into the quiet of the trees.
“Achilles, best of the Achaeans. Patroclus, most beloved. I give you wine, and honey, and what I have brought with my own hands. Receive them.”
Hephaestion stepped closer, resting his hand against the edge of the wood.
“See me,” Alexander said, his gaze fixed on the miniature shields. “Know me when I come to you again. Grant me strength that does not fail. A name that does not fade. Kleos that endures.”
Hephaestion spoke then, his voice low beside him. “As you are remembered together, let us be remembered the same.”
Alexander pressed his palm once against the dark wood. “It is given.”
“Remember it,” Hephaestion said.
They knelt there a moment in the silence, then stood and stepped back from the altar together. As they turned to leave, Hephaestion reached out in passing and straightened one of the bronze figures.
Alexander saw it. He said nothing until they reached the path, the stream finding them again in flashes through the trees as the first light hit the higher branches.
“He chose it,” Alexander said, his pace steady over the roots. “The short life. Long and forgotten, or short and remembered forever.”
Hephaestion glanced at him. “You think it was really a choice?”
“Does it matter?” Alexander didn’t look down. “He knew what he was, what he could be. That is what matters. Not the years. The kleos.”
The path narrowed, the sound of the water returning somewhere ahead.
“And Patroclus?” Hephaestion asked.
Alexander didn’t answer at once. His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze fixed forward on the trail as if the answer required the effort of the climb.
“He made it worth it,” Alexander said, his voice dropping quieter. “You. You make it worth it.”
Hephaestion slowed half a step, searching his face. “And that is enough?”
Alexander’s mouth curved, but there was nothing light in the expression. “It is the only thing that is.”
They walked on, closer now, their shoulders rubbing as the trail steepened. It was only when the clearing was well behind them that Alexander said flatly, “It was not off.”
Hephaestion didn't even look at him. “It was.”
“It wasn’t!”
“Well, I guess it is now.”
Alexander stopped dead on the path, turning on him. “You always do that.”
Hephaestion looked entirely untroubled, his mouth twitching at the corner. “Because you set them crooked.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Alexander stared at him, his jaw tight and his mouth pursed in a hard line. “If you’re trying to rile me, it’s working.”
He turned sharply, throwing his cloak over his shoulder, and started uphill again in a huff. Hephaestion followed a pace behind, a steady smile on his face.