English was the strangest language Alfor had ever tried to learn, and he had learnt a lot of languages.
Even Shiro admitted it, and offered to teach him the "easier" Earth language he spoke, but Alfor was never one to back down from a challenge. Trying to teach Shiro Altean was interesting, as well, but Alfor was determined to teach him and Shiro was determined to learn.
"After all," Shiro had said, "you deserve to have someone to speak your native language with."
Alfor had been incredibly touched by this. His new friend was a good man.
Learning languages was something of a past-time for the two of them, a way to hide from the horrors of their imprisonment. They still spoke mostly Galran – it wasn't very good Galran, and Alfor knew all the grammar was wrong, but they could understand each other and that was what mattered. Stories were another past-time. Shiro told Alfor all about Earth and his family, and in turn, Alfor spoke of Altea and how wonderful it had been and of his family who were taken from him all too soon.
Meanwhile, Alfor remained the focus of the witch's attentions and Shiro was forced to fight in a horrific gladiator arena. Alfor could see how much fighting and killing hurt his friend. Some part of him was glad he didn't have to do that, too, especially since so far the witch was tame. Well, tame was a relative term. So far, she had mostly asked questions that he refused to answer (typically earning him a round of that strange pain spell she used, but he couldn't bring himself to care) and taken blood samples.
Alfor could handle that. In between all of the horrors, he could learn from and teach Shiro. They could share stories. Most importantly, Alfor could plan their escape, and once they escaped – well, then maybe Alfor could find a way to get back home. He hadn't voiced his thoughts to Shiro; he'd need to eventually plan with him to make their escape go well, but until Alfor had a decent idea of how to escape, he would stay quiet.
"And then – get this," said Shiro, with the easy, conspiratorial smile he always got when he was telling Alfor stories like this. Alfor was impressed that his friend could remain so upbeat, at least when he was around. "Keith walks right up to the boy, says, 'Your face is too pretty!' in the angriest voice I've ever heard, and punches him 'to fix it'."
"I love your brother," Alfor cackled. Shiro laughed as well. "Oh, Ancients, that's wonderful. How old was he?"
"Thirteen," said Shiro. "Now he's – oh, he's got to be almost eighteen by now. I'm not sure how long I've been here. Anyway, if he ever finds out I told you, he might actually kill me. That boy and his knives, I swear."
"He is the one you said snuck knives into his – what did you call it? – dorm room at the Garrison?" Alfor clarified.
Shiro groaned. "Yes. Explaining that to Iverson was… something. I had to swear he'd never do something like that again, and I had to threaten to take all of Keith's knives and bury them to make him agree. He gave me the most pitiful look. Then he started sneaking knives out of the dining hall and sharpening them."
"Well, you should have seen Coran and I at his age," admitted Alfor, absently thinking back to that time. He always thought fondly back to his deca-phoebs as a teenager. "Thirteen? That was about when I started learning how to fly. And learning how to fly meant learning how to sneak out with Coran and go to… unsavoury places, like Unilu Swap Moons. I can't count the number of times we almost got ourselves killed!"
"And this is why humans don't learn how to drive at thirteen," said Shiro in amusement.
"We were a couple of walking disasters waiting to happen," Alfor admitted. His smile fell, and he glanced downward. Thinking about Coran made his heart hurt. Thinking about Altea made his heart hurt. He'd lost everyone.
Shiro seemed to catch onto his mood, and quickly changed the subject. "Have I told you about the time when Matt and I snuck into the teacher's lounge to find out if the rumours about them having a secret stash of alcohol were true?"
Alfor gave his friend a grateful smile. "No. Were they?"
"Matt and I stole some," he admitted, his grin growing wider. "Would you believe it was the first time either of us had ever had alcohol?"
Alfor laughed. "Actually, I very much would believe it."
Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, well, as you can imagine–"
The door to the cell opened. Both of them stiffened and turned.
"Altean," grunted the soldier. "Come on. Haggar wants to see you."
All good things had to come to an end. Alfor's shoulder dropped, and he glanced to Shiro and told him in his very best English, "Be careful if you go out today."
"You be careful too," said Shiro in his accented Altean, face sad.
"Come on," grunted one of the guards, yanking Alfor away by the arm. Alfor scowled at him.
The way to the witch was almost familiar by now. Alfor hated that it was. Familiar was supposed to be the bustling, bright corridors of the Castle of Lions, or the twisting, half-submerged halls of Blaytz's palace on Nalquod, or the open, fragrant fields of juniberry flowers, or even the warm, welcoming cockpits of the Lions. Familiar was not supposed to be this prison.
The guards threw him to the floor. The witch scowled down at him.
"Stay," she told the guards. "I want to collect a larger sample today, and I will need your help."
That could not be good.
"Don't worry," she purred to him, jerking his chin up with a hand so he would meet her eyes. "Once I am through, you will be better than you are now."
"Er, no thanks," he said.
Her eyes narrowed, still the same eerily glowing gold, glinting with malice. If Alfor had to put a face to true evil, it would be hers. If he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted her to be the true evil. If she was, maybe it meant she was the reason Zarkon turned. It allowed him to believe there was good somewhere in his friend – maybe this witch was to blame, and maybe she could be defeated, and at least one of Alfor's friends saved.
"Bring him this way," said Haggar sharply.
The guards grabbed him again. This time, Alfor struggled against them. He didn't know what Haggar meant by better, but it couldn't be good. A "larger sample" was definitely not good. He had to get out of here. Maybe if he could, he could get back to Shiro, and together they could escape.
One of the guards hit him hard on the back of the head with 's vision swam, a second later darkness overtook his senses.
He might have woken up a few times, but what he remembered was blurry voices and pain, so he sort of tries to block it out. When he finally fully came to, he was back in the cell with Shiro. He felt mostly fine, though for some reason his arm was sore.
"You're awake," said Shiro, voice and expression full of relief. Alfor blinked at him, still trying to shake off the fog of unconsciousness.
"What – what happened?" Alfor managed to ask.
"I don't know," admitted Shiro. "How are you feeling?"
"Not too bad," said Alfor. He shifted and tried to sit up, and Shiro helped him into a sitting position. He winced and went to grab his left arm, but his hand grasped at empty air. He frowned and glanced over.
He did not expect what he saw.
He expected some sort of injury. Bruising, maybe a dislocated shoulder or something, even a cut, but that was not what he found.
His arm was gone.
Or, at least, most of it was. From just under his shoulder and down, there was nothing. Panic settled in his chest. The witch took his arm. He gingerly felt around the bandaged stump; it still hurt any time he put any pressure with his fingers, but otherwise it was painless.
"Breathe, Alfor," said Shiro softly. In the back of his mind, Alfor noted he was speaking Altean – or at least the closest he could. "Breath. Just breathe."
"She – she – it's gone, Shiro, my arm is gone!" Alfor managed in horror.
"I know, Alfor," murmured Shiro. "I know. But you have to calm down."
This was the last thing he would have imagined happening. He didn't know why she'd cut off his arm, but she had. Alfor couldn't really remember it, but if he tried hard enough he did remember the pain, so it certainly hadn't been under anaesthesia of any sort.
"They're monsters," murmured Shiro, back to the rough Galran because he didn't yet know enough Altean. Alfor flinched despite himself and Shiro gave him an apologetic look. He deliberately emphasised his strange accent to differentiate himself from their Galran captors. "They're cruel. Even if you'd lost the arm for a reason – on Earth you'd be recovering in a sanitary hospital, not a cell. I – I should have done something."
"You didn't know this would happen," Alfor said quietly, letting the horror fade to the back of his mind and beginning to prod at the injury again, wincing but trying to figure out the extent of the damage.
Extent of the damage. His arm was gone.
"Stop," said Shiro, grabbing his hand – the only one left – and pulling it away. "You're going to irritate it more."
"I'm just examining it," said Alfor, and once he yanked his hand free he started testing his shoulder for any bruising or the like.
"Alfor," said Shiro. "Stop. Just leave it be."
"Help me take off the bandages," Alfor said.
Shiro gave him almost the exact same look Coran would give him when he asked him to do something crazy or mildly illegal (back when Alfor wasn't the king, anyway).
"No," he said.
Alfor ignored him and started trying to pull the bandages off himself. Shiro grabbed his hand again.
"Alfor, stop," he said. "You're going to hurt yourself worse."
Alfor met his eyes. Shiro stared at him pleadingly, eyes wide and troubled, lips pulled downward in a deep frown, brows knitted with worry.
"Please, Alfor," he said.
Alfor stopped struggling. Shiro released his hand, and Alfor allowed it to drop to the ground and form into a fist on the cold metal floor.
"How am I supposed to hold Allura when I get back to her?" he murmured.
Shiro's eyes widened and shone almost imperceptibly. Then, he pulled Alfor into a hug. Alfor tried to hug his friend back, his remaining arm curling up and his hand grasping at the rough fabric of Shiro's shirt. Some part of him still felt like his other arm had moved too.
"Oh, Alfor," whispered Shiro sadly.
"I just – I thought when I got back I could pick her up and hug her and promise her it would be okay," Alfor managed. His eyes burned; something wet trailed down his cheeks. It took him a moment to realise they were tears, and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them. "I can't – how am I supposed to do anything without an arm? Escape, build a ship and a teludav to get home – I can't do that without my arm, how am supposed to get back to them?"
Shiro's grip tightened. "It's going to be okay. I'll help you, I promise. I'll make sure we both get out of here, and then I'll help you build your ship and your teludav. I'll get you home. I promise I'll get you home."
Alfor just tried not to sob.
"It's okay to cry," mumbled Shiro.
So Alfor did.
A/N: Hi, writing this hurt me a lot.
Okay, so, I spent a lot of time debating on Alfor losing any limbs and if it would be an arm at all, but it looks like Haggar has a thing for taking off arms, so it's an arm. I was fine writing his reaction, amused even when Shiro was having to be all "Please stop Alfor why are you like this" and then it took a turn for the sad. Alfor really, really thinks at this point that he'll be able to get back to Altea 10,000 years ago. This has put a bit of a wrench in his plans.
Don't worry. The Shiro angst? It's coming.
At least the beginning of the chapter was kind of happy? I hope you guys enjoyed! Love you all!
