Alexander

EXT. HILLSIDE – DAY

Hephaestion runs down a grassy hill, kicking up dust. He’s got a scroll in hand, just dismissed from lessons.

Alexander sees him and grins, waving. The other boys gather to wave farewell.

Hephaestion hops on the back of Alexander's horse and they ride out together with Philip and his men, Carefree.

At one point, Alexander is looking back at Hephaestion, mid-sentence—when a branch nearly hits his face.

CLEITUS rides beside him, raises his blade, and slices the branch cleanly off.

PHILIP (O.S.)

(sharp)

Leave it.

Cleitus pauses.

PHILIP

If the boy’s to be king, he must learn the world cuts both ways.

Alexander’s smile fades. He looks ahead quietly.

Cleitus leans toward him, whispers with a wink:

CLEITUS

And kings have good men to take the first cut.

Scene: “The Lion”

EXT. MACEDONIAN WILDERNESS – SUNSET

The lion is cornered. Alexander's hands tremble around the spear. His father watches behind him, surrounded by generals, noble sons, and hunters.

PHILIP

(gruffly, drunk with pride)

Well, boy? Make your kingdom proud.

Alexander dismounts. He walks toward the lion, eyes locked not with fear—but sorrow. He sees the cubs nearby. His lips tremble.

He lowers the spear.

LAUGHTER erupts from the hunting party. Someone whistles. Another mocks.

PHILIP

(teeth bared)

Is it weeping?! A boy who weeps for lions! Macedonia’s next queen, eh?

Laughter intensifies and becomes deafening.

Alexander freezes—then suddenly, Philip grabs his arm, hard. The shift is jarring. His voice drops—quiet, cutting.

PHILIP

(quiet, intense)

You’re not wrong to weep boy.

The world weeps too. (beat)

But don’t let it stop your hand.

(leans in, gaze sharp)

The world burns for kings.

That’s just how it is.

(beat)

So light the fire, or forever be a coward.

A breath. Alexander stares up at him, caught between fear and shame.

But then—

A spear flies. STRIKES.

The lion collapses.

SILENCE.

Hephaestion stands, spear still extended, face pale. He doesn’t look proud—he looks terrified.

A long pause.

PHILIP

(breaks into roaring laughter)

Well, at least one of you has balls.

The party laughs again. Alexander stands alone, tears in his eyes. Hephaestion lowers his gaze.

Scene: “The Campfire” – Later that Night

Alexander sits at the fire, knees pulled to his chest, eyes hard. Hephaestion sits a few feet away—quiet, watching him like a wounded dog. The silence is unbearable, besides the laughing of men at a nearby campfire.

ALEXANDER

(low, bitter)

You humiliated me.

HEPHAESTION

I was trying to help.

ALEXANDER

I didn’t need help. I needed to kill it.

(spits)

I should kill you.

Hephaestion looks down. Doesn’t flinch. Just nods.

HEPHAESTION

Eyes start to water and lip quivers.

Silence.

Then—footsteps crunch through the leaves.

CLEITUS walks into the firelight, holding a flask. He sits without asking, stares at the flames.

CLEITUS

You know the story of Achilles and Patroclus?

Alexander doesn’t answer. He’s still fuming, but curious despite himself.

CLEITUS

Of course you do. Achilles, the greatest warrior who ever lived. Fast as the wind. A god’s blood in his veins. But he had one weakness.

ALEXANDER

His heel.

CLEITUS

No.

(beat)

It was love.

Patroclus wasn’t just his friend. He was his mirror. His mercy. The one who saw him before the glory, before the rage.

Hephaestion glances at Alexander, but Alexander keeps his eyes on the fire.

CLEITUS

And when Achilles would not fight Patroclus fought for him, but when he died-

ALEXANDER: angry

He dragged Hector’s body around the walls of Troy for days.

Cleitus takes a sip, pondering, the flames crackle.

CLEITUS

We all need someone to fight for us. Even... *whispers* your king.

Alexander finally looks at him. Softens, just slightly.

ALEXANDER

You think I’m Achilles?

CLEITUS

I think you want to be.

(beat)

A long silence. Cleitus stands, stretches.

But who will fight when you can't?

CLEITUS

Get some sleep.

Tomorrow’s another chance to become a legend.

HEPHAESTION

(softly)

Are you still mad at me, Alexander?

ALEXANDER

(quiet, not looking at him)

No.

HEPHAESTION

(desperate, intimate)

Don’t let me die like Patroclus.

(beat)

And don’t kill me either.

ALEXANDER

(still quiet)

I won’t, okay?

A sudden shout breaks the moment.

PHILIP (O.S.)

Boys! Come here!

They start walking toward the voice—but suddenly a rough hand grabs Alexander. It’s CLEITUS, dark-eyed and tense.

CLEITUS

(grabbing Alexander’s face, urgent)

Sleep.

ALEXANDER

(confused)

What?

CLEITUS

(gritted teeth)

SLEEP, BOY!

He shoves Alexander roughly into a nearby tent. Inside, it's dim. Alexander hesitates, then lies down, pretending to sleep.

Outside the tent, Hephaestion watches. His eyes meet Cleitus’. Cleitus looks away, ashamed, unable to face him.

INT. TENT – CONTINUOUS

Alexander lies still. The flickering light of the campfire outside casts long shadows on the tent walls.

We hold on ALEXANDER’S FACE as the orange light fades.

The fire outside dies.

Darkness swallows the frame.

A long silence—

Then, ALEXANDER’S EYES OPEN.

He exits—searches the camp, sneaking past gaurds, then he hears it. Philips voice. Low, drunk.

He follows the flicker of torchlight.

EXT. PHILIP’S PRIVATE TENT – NIGHT

Through a gap in the canvas, Alexander sees his father—drunk, slouched—speaking with Hephaestion, who stands rigid.

PHILIP

Your prince has the heart of a girl. A soft, simpering little dreamer. But you... you’ve got something stronger. You act. That’s what the world wants.

Philip grabs Hephaestion by the arm. Starts to remove the boys clothing whilst unbuckling his own armor.

ALEXANDER

(OFF)

Stop!

He bursts in, tackles his father, attacking him wildly.

ALEXANDER

(screaming)

I hate you! I'll kill you!

The tent explodes with motion. Guards rush in. Alexander is dragged off his father, still clawing, still screaming.

Philip lays back, laughing—cruel and broken.

PHILIP

There he is! The warrior Alexander! I like him much better than the coward.

The gaurds drag them away.

PHILIP

(smirking)

Bring the other one back. I’m... not finished.

HEPHAESTION

(he turns to Cleitus)

Please. Don’t let him.

Cleitus doesn’t speak. His fists are tight. He looks down.

Alexander fights, thrashing, but the guards slam him into his tent. They hold him as he yells.

CLEITUS

Please boy, please... just. Stay there!

Then, silence.

His fists stop.

He sits, trembling, in the dark.

His eyes change.

Hatred is born.