Another character study. Again, these aren’t going into the book, just working out some characterizations. I envision Philip having said something unnecessarily cruel to Arrhidaeus during the evening meal and people laughed. Hephaestion then having to keep Alexander calm or he would have went off. Everyone is aching for Arrhidaeus, because he just sat there and endured. Ugh, I want to punch Philip sometimes. Anyway. Please enjoy.
**
Alexander’s rooms were quiet, the noise from the court dulled to a distant murmur beyond the walls. Lamplight pooled low and warm across the couches and the rug, softening the edges of everything.
Arrhidaeus lay stretched along one of the couches, staring up at the ceiling beams. One arm hung loose over the side, fingers brushing the rug in slow, absent movements.
No one had wanted to go back into the hall after what happened.
Hephaestion sat on the floor nearby with a dagger across his knees, turning it idly in his hands. Leonnatus had been pacing for a while now, restless energy with nowhere to go. Harpalus lay across the opposite couch with a scroll open, though he hadn’t unrolled it further in some time.
Alexander stood leaning against the wall. Then, as if he’d run out of patience with the distance, he crossed the room and dropped onto the edge of Arrhidaeus’s couch. He didn’t look at him right away.
“Don’t listen to him,” he said.
Arrhidaeus didn’t move. “He’s the king,” he said quietly.
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “He was being cruel.”
That sat between them. Arrhidaeus’s fingers shifted against the rug. For a moment it seemed like that was all he would say.
“Why do you choose me?”
Leonnatus stopped mid-step, and Harpalus lowered the scroll just enough to look over it. Alexander blinked, thrown. Not by the words, but by the fact that Arrhidaeus had said them out loud.
“What kind of question is that?”
Arrhidaeus let out a small breath, almost a shrug, but he didn’t look at him. “I mean it,” he said. “You don’t have to.”
Alexander frowned. “Don’t have to what?”
Arrhidaeus’s hand flattened against the rug, grounding himself. “Choose me.”
The room shifted around that.
“You could choose anyone,” Arrhidaeus went on, voice still quiet but steadier now. “In the hall. In lessons. When we train. You could stand with whoever you wanted.” He paused. “People would rather you didn’t choose me.”
No one spoke.
“They look at you,” he said. “They listen. They follow you.” His fingers curled slightly into the weave. “They don’t do that with me.”
Leonnatus shifted his weight, uncomfortable, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find where to start.
Arrhidaeus didn’t look at any of them.“I don’t understand things the way you do,” he said. “I know that. I can see it.” He took a breath. “So why” He stopped, then corrected himself, quieter. “Why me?”
Silence settled in after that.
Alexander didn’t answer immediately. For once, he didn’t move to fix it. He just sat there, looking at him. Then he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, gaze dropping to the rug between his boots.
“I remember when we were little,” he said, finally.
Arrhidaeus’s fingers stilled.
“You and your mother were so sick,” Alexander went on, voice steady. “And then she died.”
The room seemed to go quieter around the words.
“Everyone thought you would too,” he said. “I remember they kept saying your fever wouldn’t break.”
Arrhidaeus’s hand tightened slightly.
“But it did.” A small pause. “And after… you were different.” He didn’t soften it. “You didn’t talk much for a long time. You just… watched. Like you weren’t sure where you were supposed to be.”
Arrhidaeus swallowed.
“I watched people stop trying with you,” Alexander continued. “They didn’t know what to do with you, so they decided not to try. Or they ignored you. Or just walked away.”
That rang harder than anything else. Alexander turned his head then, looking at him properly.
“But you were still there.”
Arrhidaeus met his eyes.
“You were still you,” Alexander said.
Something in his voice had sharpened, not anger, but certainty. “So I went and sat with you,” he said. “And I kept doing it.” He inhaled through his nose. “I chose you.”
The words were simple, but they didn’t feel light.
“Because you’re my brother,” he added. “And I don’t leave my brother behind because other people decide he’s… different.”
Arrhidaeus held his gaze. Alexander didn’t look away.
“And I’ll choose you every time,” he said.
The room stayed quiet after that. Arrhidaeus looked at him for a long moment, eyes shining, then his gaze shifted
Hephaestion was already watching him. He didn’t speak immediately. He set the dagger aside first, careful, like he didn’t want the movement to break anything that had just been said.
Then Hephaestion spoke softly, “I don’t think you understand what you’re like,” he said.
Arrhidaeus frowned, uncertain, but Hephaestion held his gaze.
“You listen,” he said. “When people talk, you actually listen. You don’t rush them. You don’t decide what they mean before they finish.”
Arrhidaeus’s expression shifted, just a little. Hephaestion went on, gentler still.
“When Harpalus talks in circles, you listen to him anyway,” he said, a faint hint of humor there. “When Leonnatus is angry, you don’t push back, you just… stay with him until he isn’t.”
Leonnatus huffed quietly but didn’t interrupt. Hephaestion leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees now, mirroring the posture Alexander had taken earlier.
“And when something is wrong,” he said, “you notice before anyone says it.”
Arrhidaeus swallowed while Hephaestion continued.
“That’s not something everyone can do.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I chose you at first because Alexander did,” he said finally. “That’s true. I trust him, and that’s enough for me. But I keep choosing you,” he added, “because of you.”
That settled deeper. Leonnatus shifted, then stepped closer, dropping down into a crouch near the couch.
“I choose you because you’re worth choosing,” Leonnatus said.
Arrhidaeus glanced up at him. Leonnatus shrugged once, like it should be obvious.
“You’re not just strong,” he said, more serious now. “You work harder than any of us.”
Arrhidaeus opened his mouth to respond, but Leonnatus shook his head like he already knew the protest coming.
“No,” he said. “Listen.” He pointed toward the yard beyond the door. “In drills, you don’t stop when the rest of us do,” he said. “When Leonidas says one more lap, you actually run it.”
A small snort from Alexander. Leonnatus ignored it.
“In lessons,” he went on, “you sit there longer than any of us. Even when you’re struggling, you stay. You keep trying until you get it.”
Arrhidaeus looked down at the rug again. Leonnatus’s voice dropped, more grounded.
“I get tired,” he admitted. “I stop. Everyone does. But you? You never stop trying.” Leonnatus leaned back slightly, a crooked grin returning. “And you almost threw me yesterday.”
“Almost,” Arrhidaeus muttered.
“Hey, that counts.”
Across the room, Harpalus had gone still. The scroll rested open in his hands, forgotten now. His eyes had narrowed slightly in thought, like he was turning something over, examining it from all sides before deciding how to say it. He let the silence stretch a moment longer, then he set the scroll aside.
“Well,” he said slowly, “we disabled men ought to stay allied.”
Leonnatus groaned under his breath. Harpalus ignored him. He gestured lightly toward his own foot.
“I limp,” he said. “You think differently. Between us, we make one sound Greek.”
Arrhidaeus huffed a quiet laugh. Harpalus tilted his head, studying him.
“You are clever,” he said, more deliberate now. “Just not in the way Alexander is.”
Alexander made a face. Harpalus didn’t even look at him.
“You remember small things,” he continued. “You can find almost anything. And more importantly, you notice people.” He paused.“You help before you’re asked,” he said. “That is not a common skill. It’s not a small one either.”
Arrhidaeus looked at him, still uncertain. Harpalus gave a slight shrug.
“If I were choosing someone to rely on,” he said, “I would choose the person who sees what others miss.”
The room settled again, the tension easing out of it.
Alexander nudged Arrhidaeus once.“Don’t question it,” he said, quieter now. “You’re ours. We’ve got you.”
Arrhidaeus let out a breath, and this time there was the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He swung his legs off the couch but didn’t stand yet.
Leonnatus stepped in before he could sit with it too long. He hooked an arm around Arrhidaeus’s neck and dragged him in, locking him there against his side.
“There you are,” he said. “That’s better.”
“Leonnatus—”
Arrhidaeus tried to pull back, but Leonnatus only tightened his hold and drove his knuckles into his hair, grinding them in.
“No more of that,” he said. “None of that thinking you’re not worth choosing.”
“Stop—”
“Say it.”
Arrhidaeus twisted, trying to break free, but Leonnatus shifted his weight and kept him pinned.
“I’m not saying anything if you don’t let go.”
Leonnatus leaned his weight into him, just enough to make it difficult.
“Say it.”
Harpalus lowered his scroll. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “He is being actively discouraged from agreement.”
Leonnatus ignored him. Arrhidaeus let out a breath that broke into a laugh as he struggled again.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine. I’m worth choosing.”
Leonnatus held him there another second, then gave his head a final rough shove and released him.
“Good.”
Arrhidaeus stumbled a step, then shoved him back. “You’re awful.”
Leonnatus grinned, already reaching for him again. “And you needed it.”
“Did not—”
Leonnatus caught him by the shoulder and ruffled his hair hard, turning his head with the motion. “Say it again.”
“I said it—”
“Say it properly.”
Arrhidaeus tried to duck away, laughing now, but Leonnatus followed, dragging him half back toward the couch. “I’m worth choosing,” he said, breathless.
“Louder.”
“I’m worth choosing!”
Leonnatus finally let him go, satisfied, and clapped him once on the back “There. Now it’ll stick.”
Arrhidaeus pushed at him again, still smiling, hair completely ruined. Across the couch, Alexander leaned back, watching him, something settled in his expression.
Harpalus lifted his scroll again. “Remarkably primitive,” he said. “Effective, but primitive.”
Hephaestion glanced up once, quiet approval in the look, then returned to the dagger in his hands, satisfied.
