The Man Who Sits

Title: "The Man Who Sits" (1/1)
Author: Brian Gamble (brn_gamble)
Email address: brn_gamble_at_yahoo.com (brn_gamble@yahoo.com)
Feedback: Appreciated. On list is preferred, whether good or bad.
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Pairing: Hephaistion/Alexander (sort of) -- as portrayed by Jared Leto and Colin Farrell (in the 2004 movie "Alexander")
Date: April 20, 2005
Disclaimer: Whether RP (real people) or characters, this is totally based on my own daydreams and fantasies. I don't claim to own anything, nor do I profit from writing and sharing fanfic.
Beta: Jim (author name: Jimbo)
Warnings: Some angst, slashy references. Very mild stuff.
Summary: Hephaistion, renowned as a frequent letter-writer, sends a missive to friend, sharing his thoughts and concerns about his king...
Dedication: To my friend Kyra (koisunset), who has offered me both warmth and support. (Many thanks, Kyra, for your treasured friendship.)

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My Dearest Friend,

I pensively put pen to parchment this day, anxious to share observations that so often seem to prey heavily on my mind. I have spent many wakeful hours in worries and silent remonstrations, my personal concerns for Alexander leading to anger at myself -- anger that I lack the fervent passion to change what is clearly unchangeable.

You, dear reader, know only our king as the man of action many agree resembles a joyous boy when he leads his troops to war; just so as you have seen him stride in front of his army and watched him tramp his camps by night. My friend, you have seen the inspired leader -- one who all must admit is truly driven to exalted movement -- in those moments when he vibrantly stretches his limbs and unleashes his physical being.

But I? I have seen the Man Who Sits.

Day upon day I have watched Alexander in his tent, chaired behind a table well cluttered with maps, sketches, scrolls and endless correspondence. Perhaps I alone have viewed his despondence as he leans across this eternal pile to pour through the unavoidable work of his kingship. Still, it is not only I who have seen him fight the desire to squirm as he sits on his throne for hour upon hour, wearily listening to concerns and complaints of soldiers and civilians, friends and the conquered! Is it any wonder he prefers to stand and move about when meeting with his generals prior to battle? Could it truly be surprising to know how often I have found him reluctant to lie quietly -- or even to close his eyes in much-needed sleep?

I say plainly that Alexander will ever be a man driven by his physical side! Though none deny he is a king -- and the greatest of leaders -- he is yet but a man, like any of us. Would he be as precious to us were he without flaws? And can we truly fault him for such youthful vigor? I recall when we were young that Alexander seemed compelled to leap up during many a lesson -- truly as if he could not restrain himself. Even then he made his point best while standing! Now I see a man grown who excels when he both stands and paces -- who catches our fancy with gestures and pointing! Alexander is no statue -- he cannot stand still and imperious in some vain attempt to appear majestic. He is ever fluid, ever fluctuating -- like running water that sparkles under the sun.

I cannot help smiling when I see the muscles of his legs working so beautifully as he strides across a room, hands moving as he speaks. He tilts his head without artifice -- and captures my heart!

I ask you, dare any wonder at his love of the mighty mount Bucephalas? One need only see him happily galloping across a plain to know his joy in the saddle! How often have I stared at the riding Alexander, legs pressed firmly into the massive sides of his black stallion. I cannot help thinking we will one day find the finest paintings, mosaics and statuary of our king will portray him thus, astride his beloved steed! Then the illusion of movement will remind us of the Alexander we know best, a man barely able to pause or halt as he follows his endless quest...

'Yet he must sit to ride' you might say, questioning my logic. But I would never think to compare the saddled Alexander with the ruler who struggles through the passive hours of throne and chair! The living flesh of Bucephalas is kin to Alexander's active nature, and lends him wings. I tell you this: I believe he truly despises the unseen chains that bind him when seated.

One must admire the irksome sense of duty Alexander will not deny; though I suspect it chafes his very soul. For in spite of his impatience, he will sit when called to it. Dear reader, there are many less dynamic men who might call my worries a foolish extreme. Many have said it is my judicious nature that helps me guide the king away from impetuous behavior, so it is not strange that friends would scoff at this obsession. But I ask you, would it not enlighten those who are skeptics were they to stand at Alexander's side as I do day in and out? For surely even the least observant person would take notice of the king's discomfort and disgust at inactivity.

Alexander is a bold man -- truly there is passion stamped on every step he takes.

I cannot argue when others say that most men are not cast into illness or decline from minor restraints of their physicality. Still I cannot help believing Alexander suffers pains no less real than those he has known on the battlefield, for to him such impassivity is a great wound...

Though Alexander was reared in a royal household -- taught to lead since youth -- let me note I found it rare enough to see emphasis placed on the quiet skills of kingship. King Philip, too, was an active man -- and one who best valued the manly skills of sword and saddle. He was no easy father for a sensitive youth, our Philip! How I cringe to recall Philip as he belittled his son's interest in singing. What a shame that Philip forever stilled the music of Alexander's sweet voice...

Do not blame me if I cast back to these early memories, my friend. For who else can worry as I do for our brave king -- a man who learned to fight almost before he learned to walk? We have been together long; I was there as he was schooled in wrestling and riding, and in the use of sword and spear. Such strenuous lessons were not suited to encourage Alexander's restful side...

Look not to Olympias or Aristotle, dear friend. For Alexander's very nature directed his path then, as now. I wonder: did King Philip ever realize how much his son reflected his own disposition? A shame how often we cannot see the features of ourselves in those who so mirror us best...

Worry not, dear friend, and think I spend time too much in looking backward. I can fight off my foolish melancholy thoughts, knowing how Alexander absorbs knowledge like a sponge from the sea. He is no gray-bearded man, mulishly set in his ways. He gains in skills and patience daily, and is -- as ever -- determined to be the best in all he does.

Nor do not believe I forget gratitude for the help of Alexander's Persian boy, who tells the king of the regal ways of this foreign land. Bagoas' soft words gently guide Alexander -- far better, I think, than any gruff remonstrations others might speak. While I might wish to lend my own counsel, I must admit I often share Alexander's impatience at the necessity of inactivity! For, after all, who among our company was trained as are the Persian nobility and monarchs? Can any of us imagine Alexander standing immobile, lips pressed silent, as he stared straight in front him while fighting began to rage? Yet have we not heard King Darius did precisely so at Gaugamela?

Would that I might be the one to teach Alexander calmer ways! But I, too, must admit a lack of knowledge in enduring the administrative aspects of leadership. Still, it's true that I respond more kindly to such pursuits than many of my peers. I tell you in all honesty that I am sometimes galled when I find myself less competent on the battlefield than other of Alexander's leaders. Yet my skills lie in diplomacy -- and in organization -- and the king has many uses for me. I remain happy to assist in any way that serves his needs...

Dear friend, you know the deep feelings I bear Alexander, so I need not make a pretense here. Many people love him well, yet I take pride that none love him more truly than I. Would that I could sit in his place and relieve the strain on Alexander's dynamic spirit...

Let him be a Bold Man, say I -- for it is his Nature, and surely the best of him. To me Alexander seems much like the sun -- for he burns brightly and hot. I do not let myself worry to think how quickly the hottest fires expire. The future must tend itself, for we can but live fully in this golden sliver of time.

It's true I would gladly welcome Alexander to my arms, allowing him to grapple body to body as he struggles to quench the fire of his body and soul. No, there is nothing I would deny him -- day or night -- that might give him peace or joy. How many times have I stood nearby watching the tilt of his golden cheek as he pores over some document, wishing I could run my fingers across his downy flesh, soothing the restlessness that I know lurks just beneath that smooth surface -- as Bucephalas' glossy hide barely conceals the nervous twitching of his muscled flanks when Alexander rubs him there...

In my embrace he could truly find release from the prison of his inactivity! In my strong arms he could struggle against the confines of his kinghood!

Yet how might I tell him I await his summons? How can I let him know I am his alone? Would not lying by my side ease the curse of He who Sits? Perhaps when next I write, my missive will reveal some glad solution. I promise, as ever, to keep you well informed...

Your Friend,

Hephaistion