(no subject)

[toujours_nigel]

They are ranged behind the King, and King Poros—what a giant, beside Alexander, and oh, the colour of his skin, the colour of his beard, the size of him, the features—has at his right hand looks to them, for a second, and then a minute more, great dark eyes searching their faces.

 

“Your sons?” An easy mistake, with his own sons beside him, boys of their age.

 

“They serve him,” Hephaistion says, the easy answer and no answer, and Chryse and Menesthes, on either side, have moved back, and he feels eyes on him all through the feast.

more Lysander here.