#bagoas

Late night visitor

Hephaestion studied with Alexander, grew up beside him, fought alongside him through countless battles, and stood with him before the shrine of Achilles and Patroclus. He was Alexander’s closest friend, his lover, his Patroclus—almost another Alexander himself. They shared nearly twenty years of their lives. And yet, in the novel, all of that seems so easily overshadowed by a young, beautiful Persian boy who can dance.

Alexander appears strikingly cold toward Hephaestion. Their intimacy often feels strained, as though Alexander endures it rather than desires it, as if he does not truly welcome Hephaestion’s touch. But with Bagoas, everything changes. Alexander begins to enjoy physical intimacy, seeks it frequently, and expresses affection openly. He protects Bagoas, cherishes him, punishes those who mistreat him, and even kisses him publicly, treating him like a true beloved. The Macedonians themselves seem to adore Bagoas—something Hephaestion never achieves.

Hephaestion’s position, meanwhile, is not good. Because he is Alexander’s closest companion, he is resented by the other generals. They believe he lacks true military merit and owes everything to the king’s favor. He lives in a toxic environment filled with jealousy, hostility, and isolation. He has no real confidant, no lover, no boys or girls. He only has Alexander.Every ounce of Hephaestion’s power exists because Alexander grants it. If Alexander withdraws that favor, Hephaestion would be left with nothing. Worse still, the more Alexander elevates him, the more resentment he attracts. He has no escape. If Alexander die first, Hephaestion would almost certainly be among the first to fall in the political aftermath.

Even more painfully, when Hephaestion quarrels with others, Alexander threatens him with death. That detail alone is devastating. Renault never truly shows us Hephaestion’s inner thoughts. He appears composed, restrained. But can that possibly be true? He is not a tool—he is a human being. Surely he must feel pain. When you watch the person you love most give his heart to someone else, is it really possible to remain untouched? We simply do not know, because the story is not told from Hephaestion’s perspective.

What makes it even more heartbreaking is that Alexander himself seems to recognize, too late, that he wronged him. After Hephaestion’s death, Alexander tells Bagoas that he regrets their relationship because he knows it wounded Hephaestion. That moment is emotionally overwhelming. He has already broken Hephaestion’s heart, and now he wounds Bagoas as well. Hephaestion’s death was not Bagoas’s fault. Bagoas had no power in this dynamic.

If Alexander understood that Hephaestion was hurt, why did he not change while Hephaestion was still alive? Perhaps because he believed Hephaestion would never leave. He knew the depth of Hephaestion’s loyalty. He knew his Patroclus would always forgive him, always remain by his side. And so he allowed himself to ignore the suffering he caused.

This is, tragically, a very human pattern. We often take for granted the people who love us most deeply. We hurt them precisely because we believe their devotion is unbreakable.

Hephaestion’s death, however, is sudden and unforeseen. Alexander is shattered by it. In that moment, twenty years of shared memories come rushing back, and he finally understands what he has lost—the one person who loved him most completely, who devoted his entire life to him. But realization comes only when it is already too late.

In Renault’s novel, Alexander remains a magnificent king. Yet as a lover, he is painfully self-centered. He ignores Hephaestion’s suffering, and after losing him, he redirects his grief and guilt toward Bagoas. The tragedy is that the true problem never lies with the powerless boy. Although Bagoas shows unjust hostility toward Hephaestion—sometimes even wishing for his death, which I personally find disturbing—he is not the architect of this emotional disaster.

I know this is only a work of fiction, and I still recognize it as an extraordinary one. If Hephaestion did not exist within the story, I might wholeheartedly celebrate the love between Alexander and Bagoas. The Persian Boy is a remarkable contribution to queer literature. I have always supported lgbt, and I deeply admire Mary Renault as a lesbian writer. Her prose is so emotionally compelling that it moved me enough to reflect this deeply.

❝commission: another one shot that explores y/n's life as a captive (and pregnant!) Queen in Babylon. I'd ideally like it to include some sort of interaction with one or more of the Persians (ie Bessus, Darius, Bagoas) but I'm fine with you taking creative liberties so long as we get to see what's y/n's been up to before Alexander gets to Babylon. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: It's been a while since I wrote something like this but I'm happy with the result! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes. Another story for the TLQ universe! ❤️

❝tw: slight threat.

❝word count: 2,921.

Life in Babylon was not what you had expected when you were taken captive, but surprisingly, it was kind to you. Although technically you were a prisoner, the reality was far from what one would imagine for someone in that role. There were no shackles, only silken veils. There was no scarcity, only abundance. What should have been a prison had become a kind of gilded exile, where you enjoyed comforts that had previously seemed unattainable.

Your freedom had its limits, of course. You could wander through the bustling markets and lush gardens of Babylon, but always under the watchful eye of the guards that Darius had assigned to follow your every step. They were not hostile, just firm, as if they were more protectors than jailers. This was a direct order from the Persian king himself, and no one dared to defy it. After all, disobeying Darius was a risk that few were willing to take.

It was impossible to ignore the speculation that such kindness generated. Perhaps it was a political gesture, a reflection of the warmth Alexander had shown the Persian king's family after his conquests. Or perhaps Darius was trying to ensure his own safety in the event that Babylon fell to Macedonian rule. But in the end, these were not your concerns. What mattered was that you were treated as someone of great importance, and that in itself was a relief amid the uncertainty.

The luxuries that now filled your life were unimaginable in the days when you traveled with the Macedonians. Here, resources seemed endless. Fine clothes, rare perfumes, and exotic dishes were part of your routine. You were attended to by devoted servants and received a treatment that only extended to the highest members of the court. There was no doubt about it: you were revered as a queen.

And Queen you were, even on the enemy side. This title was not just a formality; it carried with it a weight that not even the Persians dared to ignore. The respect shown to you went beyond any political or military rivalry. You were someone whose position transcended borders and conflicts, and this ensured that, at least for the time being, your stay in Babylon would be comfortable, almost pleasant.

You sat on the balcony of your room, savoring fresh fruit that had been served on an ornate silver plate. The warm breeze carried the distant scent of dry earth, but the now cloudy sky suggested that the long-awaited rain was about to fall. It was rare for it to rain during the scorching months of the Babylonian summer, and many in the city considered it a bad omen.

For you, however, the rain was a welcome relief. Ever since you were a child, you had loved the sound of the drops hitting the ground, the coolness it brought to the air, the unique scent that emanated from the wet earth. It was a comfort that seemed almost familiar to you, a distant memory of simpler times.

As you admired the heavy clouds dancing in the sky, a soft voice broke the silence.

"Would Your Majesty like anything else?"

You turned quickly, an instinctive reflex that betrayed your constant tension. However, the stiffness in your shoulders disappeared when your eyes met the face of Bagoas, the Persian eunuch who was your servant — or slave, as the court preferred to call him.

Bagoas was a gift from Darius, given to you shortly after your arrival in Babylon. While many saw him as mere property, you couldn’t accept that idea. To you, he was more than an object or an obligation; he was a human being with his own pains and stories.

Yet the reality of his situation was inescapable. Freeing him was a desire that burned in your heart, but for now, it remained beyond your reach. There was no way to give him the freedom he deserved. You didn’t have the resources or the power to do so now.

Even so, you treated him with all the dignity you could offer. You tried to ease the burden of his condition whenever possible. It was a small gesture, perhaps insignificant to some, but to you, it was important.

As Bagoas stood before you, politely waiting for your response, you made a mental note: when this was all over, when Alexander captured Babylon — and you believed he would — you would free Bagoas. More than that, you would reward him for his service by ensuring that he had a dignified and comfortable life.

It was a dream, perhaps a little naive, but it was something you held on to firmly. Because, in the midst of all the uncertainty and chaos, believing that you could do something good for someone else was what gave you the strength to carry on.

"No, thank you, Bagoas. I’m fine." You replied with a slight smile, trying to convey reassurance.

The eunuch simply bowed his head in a respectful gesture and began to leave, but you called out to him before he could take the first step.

"Bagoas, wait."

He stopped immediately, his deep brown eyes meeting yours. There was something about the intensity of his gaze that always made you slightly uncomfortable, as if he saw more than you cared to reveal. You adjusted yourself on the cot, crossing your legs in an effort to appear more at ease.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, pointing to the fruit platter beside you. The plate was piled high with fresh, sweet delicacies, a true luxury in times like these, accompanied by a glass of wine that remained untouched. "I’m not very hungry, and it would be a waste to leave this out."

There was a good reason why the wine remained untouched. You were pregnant. Although at that time wine was often considered safer than water, you didn’t want to take any chances. It was a simple precaution, but one that you insisted on maintaining. It might still be early in the pregnancy, but you were already attached to the life growing inside you.

Bagoas tilted his head slightly, which seemed to be a gesture of surprise, before murmuring with his usual softness:

"That’s very kind, but I’m not hungry."

You pursed your lips, studying him carefully. He was too thin, almost skeletal. You imagined that this was due to both his condition as a slave and his "profession" as a dancer. He needed to maintain a slim physique, but this seemed excessive, almost unhealthy. Something in you revolted at this.

"I would like some company." You insisted, your voice coming out a little firmer than intended. Maybe even harsh, but you didn’t mean to intimidate him. You took a deep breath and softened your tone, "Please."

Bagoas hesitated for a moment, his expression remaining neutral, but you saw the tension in his shoulders relax slightly. He took a step forward, obeying your request. It wasn’t often that someone in your position insisted that he stay, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by him.

As he approached, you pushed the tray aside, indicating for him to sit. You weren’t sure exactly why you felt the need to keep him close at that moment. Maybe it was the heavy silence that surrounded you, or the need for a human gesture in a place where everything seemed cold and calculated. Whatever the reason, you knew you didn’t want to be alone.

Although Bagoas' company was silent, you felt comfortable around the eunuch. And from the slight smile on his stoic, handsome face, you knew he felt the same, even if he didn’t show it.

The little gestures really do count.

It was a rare occasion to be summoned for an audience with Darius. The Persian king generally preferred to keep you away from the intrigues of the court and the politics that were raging around him, especially now, considering your condition. You knew that this distancing was motivated more by political expediency than personal kindness, but it was a relief nonetheless. The last thing you needed was more stress amidst the chaos that already dominated your life.

Sighing deeply, you smoothed the red tunic you wore, trying to calm your nervousness before entering the room. The fabric slid softly under your fingers, but it did nothing to dispel the feeling of unease growing in your chest. As you crossed the threshold, your eyes immediately fell on Darius, sitting in the center of the opulent room. He smiled warmly, as he always did when he saw you, a polite gesture that you were unsure if it was genuine or strategic.

Beside him, however, stood Bessus, whose presence was like a thorn in your flesh. Just seeing him made your stomach turn. Every few interactions you’d had with him had been unpleasant enough to last a lifetime. His dark eyes glittered piercingly as he watched you, his expression colder than Darius’s, almost as if he were sizing you up.

Darius, however, maintained his serene and welcoming posture, pointing to a chair next to Bessus, "Welcome. Please, have a seat."

You hesitated for a brief moment, but knew that refusing was not an option. You walked to the indicated place with controlled steps, each movement calculated to mask the discomfort you felt. The air seemed thicker there, charged with unspoken tension, and as you took your seat, you couldn’t help but wonder what the reason for this unusual meeting was — and if Bessus was part of the reason you had been summoned.

Darius cleared his throat before standing, moving with the calm and elegance expected of a king. He took a jug of wine from a nearby sideboard and began filling the cups on the table: first Bessus’s, then yours, and lastly his own. You smiled politely and thanked him in a low tone, even though you knew you wouldn’t touch the drink.

"Why don’t we get straight to the point?" Bessus said abruptly, breaking the silence. His eyes, cold and calculating, turned to Darius, who sighed at his relatives' impatience.

With a resigned look, Darius sat back down, adjusting himself in his chair and straightening his back in a regal posture. He picked up his wine glass, taking a sip before speaking, "What my relative means," He began, his tone gentler than Bessus’s, "is that we would like to hear your opinion on Alexander’s next moves."

You froze for a brief moment, feeling the weight of Darius’s words. This was it. Of course it was. Your heart began to beat faster as your mind processed the situation.

Undeterred by the storm that was brewing inside you, you placed one hand on the table and the other instinctively on your belly. Your gaze fell on the surface of the table as you tried to gather your thoughts. What could you possibly say?

Normally, you would have a clear idea of ​​Alexander’s next steps. Before all this, before you were thrown into this time, you knew his story from books, studying his military campaigns, his strategies, and even the consequences of his decisions. But now... Everything was wrong.

The events unfolding before you did not match what you knew. History had changed, and that left you completely disoriented. And even if you knew what Alexander would do, you could not, would not betray him. You couldn't, even if you wanted to.

Betrayal, after all, was something you could not bear. Not like Perdiccas did. And more than that, you knew that a Persian victory could be catastrophic. The Hellenistic Age had to happen, whether you wanted it or not. It was a crucial moment in the development of Western civilization, a turning point that could not be avoided.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up, trying to appear calm and thoughtful.

"It’s hard to predict Alexander’s moves." You began, choosing your words carefully, "He’s an unpredictable man, and his strategic mind is... Unique. Every step he takes seems calculated, but at the same time, he’s capable of surprises that no one expects."

You stopped, looking at the two men in front of you.

"However, I believe that underestimating him would be a fatal mistake. He’s ambitious, yes, but he’s also much more than that. He fights with a determination that comes from something greater than just power or conquest."

You sighed and frowned slightly, "I don’t know what he’ll do next. Alexander hasn’t shared his plans with me, so I’m of no use to you in this matter."

Darius tilted his head slightly, considering your words. Bessus, on the other hand, just narrowed his eyes, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of concrete information. You stood firm, knowing that even surrounded by suspicion, you had protected not only Alexander, but the course of history.

Darius sighed deeply and turned calmly to Bessus.

"Satisfied? I told you this would be useless." His tone was slightly irritated.

Bessus took a sip of his wine before setting the cup down with deliberate slowness. He arched an eyebrow, a thin smile forming on his lips.

"Really? But then, why don’t I believe a word our guest is saying?"

His words struck you like a sharp blade. Your heart raced, the discomfort in your chest growing rapidly. There was something in the way he spoke, so full of venom, that it made your skin crawl. He was testing you, teasing you, trying to draw out something from you that he suspected was hidden.

You kept your eyes locked on his, feeling the anger rise inside you, hot and pulsing. It was rare that you allowed yourself to feel something so intense, but Bessus seemed to have a talent for bringing out the worst in you. His gaze hardened, his voice coming out firm, almost defiant.

"I'm not lying."

The room seemed to grow quieter, as if even the air had stopped to listen. Bessus leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your face. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something else, but Darius intervened, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

"Bessus, that’s enough." The authority in his tone left no room for argument. He turned to you, offering you an almost placating smile. "Forgive my relative. He has a tendency to be... Too direct."

You only nodded slightly, though anger still burned inside you. You wanted to say more, but you knew that any extra words could be used against you. Bessus remained silent, but the suspicious glint in his eyes told you that he was still not convinced.

The tension in the room was palpable, but you knew that you had come away from this confrontation without compromising yourself. For now.

Darius frowned slightly, clearly bothered by Bessus’s stance. He placed his wine glass on the table with a deliberate gesture and stood up.

"Bessus, you are no longer needed." Darius spoke, his voice low but full of authority. He looked at his relative with a mixture of patience and warning. "Why don’t you give us a moment?"

Bessus looked like he wanted to protest, but Darius’s steady gaze made it clear there was no room for objection. He snorted discreetly, pushing his chair back with a loud thud and standing up.

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Bessus replied, his tone dry and barely concealing his displeasure. He gave you one last look, his eyes still full of suspicion, before leaving the room.

When the door closed behind him, Darius sighed heavily, as if he had just dealt with an especially stubborn child. He sat back down, relaxing his posture a little, and looked at you with a friendlier expression.

"Forgive Bessus," Darius said with a slight shake of his head. "He is an intense man. And, unfortunately, a bit suspicious by nature."

You nodded, trying to remain calm. You could still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the absence of Bessus made the atmosphere considerably lighter.

Darius studied you for a moment before continuing, his tone now more relaxed:

"I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your... Patience. I know your situation here is not exactly what you would have chosen, but I hope you know that we are doing our best to make you comfortable."

His words seemed genuine, and for a moment you felt less like a prisoner and more like a guest — though you still knew full well that it was a precarious position.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." You responded softly, trying to hide the confusion you felt.

He smiled, a gesture that seemed almost fatherly.

"You are very perceptive, you know? I see it in the way you choose your words. A rare but appreciated talent in a Queen."

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment. You didn’t know if he was trying to manipulate you or if he truly admired your ability to navigate the delicate political dance of that court.

Darius raised his cup again, though not to toast, but to sip the wine calmly.

"Now, please tell me," He began, his tone almost casual, "is there anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant?"

The friendly gesture took you by surprise, but the question seemed sincere. It was hard not to wonder what the true intention behind his kindness was.

But maybe... Maybe Darius really was just kind and cared enough about you.

King Alexander the Great and his lover and advisor Bagoas, who was not only the most beautiful and charming person of this time, but he was also a powerful courtier who had his own spies (Quintus Curtius Rufus describes the case of the execution of Orxines), he was engaged in judicial affairs and intelligence. These duties were common to palace eunuchs in almost all ancient cultures. It is a mistake to consider eunuchs simply servants in harems (in fact, a not big part served in harems) or weak-willed lovers of powerful men. Eunuchs were themselves powerful courtiers, they were engaged in administrative and military affairs, often, took power into their own hands and became "shadow rulers". Curtius, through the mouth of Orxines, calls Bagoas "the ruler of Asia", emphasizing his high role during the reign of Alexander.

Please note, the painting is not a historical reconstruction, but an imaginary vision of the artist; no one knows what it actually looked like or whether it happened at all or not.

When I was drawing I thought about my fantasy AU story more.

I think the problem @moonlady101 described in the post linked below is due to the same reason authors of historical fiction nowadays feel the need to sanitise their work and apply modern morality and social dynamics in order to make it acceptable for the public and avoid being “cancelled.”

(This is coming from someone who loves ancient history, especially the time of Alexander’s conquests and the Diadochi wars, and has a WiP based on it.)

There are two main concerns for authors and media creators today:

1. Fear of being accused of romanticising or condoning "problematic" historical figures or tropes (e.g. conquest, sexism, slavery, dictatorship, etc.).

Disclaimer: Sensitivity readers are absolutely necessary in the industry, especially when it comes to representing marginalised groups.

That said, we’ve reached a point where we often have to distort historical reality in order to make it palatable and less offensive to modern audiences. There's increasing pressure to sanitise the past and soften portrayals of historical figures, even when such portrayals are unfaithful to their time periods (unfortunately, authors often face harassment for depicting these realities as they were.)

Take Alexander, for example. We don’t have any evidence from sources linking him personally to sexual violence, he’s actually shown to be quite delicate with the women he encounters, but it’s almost certain that his army committed such atrocities during the campaign.

And let’s be honest: would he have cared about the rape of Timoclea if she hadn’t been a noblewoman? Would he have shown such respect toward Darius’s family if he didn’t need them for his PR campaign and to legitimise his rule over Persia? Was Roxana truly so beautiful that he fell in love at first sight, or was she just politically important for pacifying eastern Persian tribes?

We also know that Barsine, the wife of the Greek mercenary Memnon who served in Darius’s army, became Alexander’s concubine and bore him a son, Heracles. Looking at the timeline, between the Battle of Issus, when Darius’s wife Stateira I was taken hostage, and her death in childbirth, it’s also possible the child was Alexander’s. Did he force them to sleep with him? I don’t think so. But the truth is, they would have felt obligated to do so, regardless of their feelings, in order to maintain their status and ensure their protection.

What’s frustrating is that the same people who demand male historical figures be whitewashed to justify their interest in them, often have no problem with historical women being demonised or misrepresented.

Just look at the constant mistreatment of Olympias, she's often portrayed as an obsessive, jealous, and nasty witch of a wife to Philip II. Or Cleopatra, who can’t be shown for what she really was: an ambitious, ruthless, and brilliant politician who used her sexuality to gain power and protect her kingdom in a world ruled by men and military strength. Now she has to be a fighter in a literal sense, and the morally questionable things she did to stay in power (like murdering her younger brother) are reinterpreted as accidents, never her fault. Because God forbid a woman ruler uses the same methods to cement power as the men in her dynasty had done for generations.

2. In today’s era, where all media has to be exciting, there's also a push to "spice things up" for a broader audience.

Let’s break down a few things here:

Alexander and Hephaestion in an open homosexual relationship:

They might have continued a romantic relationship into adulthood, but it would not have been open, because that simply wasn’t socially acceptable. In ancient Greece, homosexual relationships usually involved an older man (erastes - ἐραστής) and a younger one (eromenos - ἐρώμενος), with a mentor-student dynamic. Or they occurred between two boys. Once the younger man reached adulthood, the relationship typically shifted to something more platonic. In their case, Alexander was a king (so automatically of a higher status), and even if Hephaestion was younger than him (which I don't think he was), an open, public relationship when they both became adult men would have been extremely humiliating and emasculating for Hephaestion.

Polyamory:

Could it have happened? I think it could. Famously, Ptolemy’s concubine, Thaïs, an Athenian hetaira whom he later married, is sometimes mentioned as also having had a sexual relationship with Alexander. But she was a courtesan (hetaira - ἑταίρα), possibly a concubine (pallakē - παλλακή). That kind of arrangement would NEVER have happened with "proper women" like wives, Roxana, Stateira II, and so on.

Alexander’s relationship with Bagoas:

For an ancient Greek man, Bagoas might have represented the ultimate humiliation - loss of masculinity, so it's rather unlikely that he would have been seen as “sexually desirable” in the Greek context. But besides that, Bagoas would undoubtedly be useful to Alexander. He would have been knowledgeable about Persian court customs (serving under Darius III) and could have been a talented performer (some sources mention his famous dance at one of the banquets), which would not be uncommon for male artisans like music players or actors to perform on such occasions.

In short, we do a disservice to both history and literature when we flatten complex figures into modern archetypes just to make them more digestible. The past was brutal, morally alien, and often uncomfortable by today’s standards, and that’s exactly why it’s worth exploring honestly. Showing the darkness of history does not equate to endorsing it, portraying real, flawed people does not equate to glorifying them. And powerful historical women don’t need to be morally whitewashed or "yasified" to be palatable or admirable. If we can’t engage with history on its own terms, then what exactly are we learning from it?

Bagoas in Hyrcania - The Land of Wolves

Spring comes to Varkána — the land the Persians called the Land of Wolves. Hyrcania greets him with dense forests, fruit orchards, and the cold breath of the Elburz Mountains. The air is scented with spring, blossoms, and mist.

Bagoas rides at full gallop — a young eunuch of a fallen king’s court, until recently the beloved of Darius. Now his fate shifts, as the wind shifts over the Caspian Sea. He is neither trophy nor shadow, but a plea for mercy, heard by Alexander the Great.

In these lands, the wolf is not a symbol of cruelty, but of strength, valor, and loyalty. And Bagoas, beautiful and seemingly fragile, carries within him the same untamed resilience. Hyrcania accepts him — as it accepts all who move forward, not knowing who they will become tomorrow.

I finally finished this artwork. It took me a long time. It was started in 2017.