When Alfor came to, he had the worst headache. He didn't know where he was either, only that it was dark and cold and the floor was hard. Something tasted metallic, but he wasn't sure why.

He pushed himself to his feet and put a hand to his forehead. He hissed in pain as his fingers brushed up against a wound, still bleeding sluggishly. He didn't feel like he'd lost much blood, so he couldn't have been out too long. He traced the trail of half-dried blood down to his lips and realised belatedly that was what he tasted.

First he tried to figure out where he was. He was pretty sure he wasn't in his lab, because chances were his father or someone would have already been taking him to the med-bay. Probably. Unless he'd only been out a few minutes? Had he blown something up again?

A sliver of light appeared, then grew, and then was shadowed by a figure. Alfor couldn't make out details out the moment, but he knew quickly that whoever it was wasn't Altean – the four arms were a dead giveaway.

"Ah," he – or, at least, it sounded like a he – said, "you're awake."

"Who are you?" Alfor asked. His voice sounded off, wrong. "Where am I?"

"You are on my ship," said the man amicably. "My men said you snuck onto their ship and tried to disguise yourself as one of them."

Alfor… did not remember this.

That probably was a bad sign.

"Look, I'm sorry for whatever," said Alfor, even though he was pretty sure that he wasn't actually really sorry for anything.

"You're sorry for the weather?" the man repeated dubiously.

"Whatever," Alfor forced out. "Just – where is my father?"

"Your father?" said the man. "I wouldn't know. On Altea, I suppose. Who is your father, boy?"

"My father is the king of Altea," Alfor said. "Return me to him. If you have kidnapped me, or something, he will be very angry."

The man was still silhouetted darkly in the light from what Alfor figured was an open door, but Alfor was pretty sure he was smiling now.

"Yes, yes, I will certainly return you," agreed the man. "For a price. The Altean ships have been a pain lately, hindering our trade with the Galra. I'm sure he'd remove them if it meant he got his precious son back."

Dread settled in the pit of Alfor's stomach.

"I think he would first send people to rescue me," he said, "It would be better for you to just return me."

"Nonsense, your highness," said the man. "After all, if your father sends people to rescue you – well, all they'll be rescuing is a dead body. Can you walk?"

Alfor didn't remember why he'd snuck onto a ship, but he immediately decided it was a terrible decision. If he got out of this, he'd be in major trouble with his father.

"Can you walk?" the man asked again. He almost sounded friendly.

"I am not going anywhere with you," Alfor said defiantly.

"Children," the man said, shaking his head. "Guards! Escort the young prince to the communications room."

He turned and left out the open doorway. Two other men entered after him; Alfor inched backwards, but he stumbled dizzily and the men grabbed him by the arms. Alfor struggled against their grip.

"Let go," he demanded. "I am not going anywhere with you, let me go!"

"Oh, and," the man called back to them, "the boy talks too much. Fix that."

Alfor continued to struggle as one of the men tied what seem to be a piece of cloth tightly around his mouth; he even continued to try to argue, but his voice was muffled. The two men were both stronger than he was, and he ended up being dragged out of the room. He blinked rapidly against the light; it only made his headache (which he was beginning to think was actually a concussion) worse. Despite this, he tried to put up as much resistance as he could, firmly planting his feet where they were.

He wasn't doing much good, honestly, but even though it seemed he had gotten himself into this mess, he wasn't going to let them use him as leverage against his father without a fight.

They stopped in an open door. Alfor could see inside as the man from before – he supposed this was the leader of the Qadorian bandits – pulled up a screen. A few moments later, it showed the main meeting room of the Castle, where Father and the other leaders from the Alliance were all gathered. He was pretty sure he was out of their view right now, but he wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"King Almir of Altea," said the Qadorian leader. "And this must be your little alliance."

"Qadorian scum," hissed Zarkon.

"Peace," said Trigel.

"If you have come to demand I remove my ships again," said Father, "then I am afraid my answer has not changed."

"I think it will in a moment," said the Qadorian. "You see, King Almir, I have something you want."

He made a strange gesture with one of his arms, and then the men were dragging Alfor forward again. He watched how his father's eyes widen in horror as he came into view, how Blaytz shot out of his seat, how the other Alliance members frowned and glared.

"Alfor," said Father in shock.

"What did you do to him?" demanded Blaytz.

"Me? I did nothing to him," said the Qadorian. "He was found sneaking around on one of my ships, you see. Imagine my surprise to find out the King of Altea sent his son to spy on me!"

That didn't sound like something Father would do.

"I did not send him," said Father.

"No matter," said the Qadorian. "He is here now, and if you would like him back, then you will remove your ships."

Father looked furious – more furious that Alfor had ever seen him.

"How low you have fallen, using a father's son against him," rumbled Gyrgan.

"I will give you three vargas to order your ships to withdraw," said the Qadorian calmly. "After that… well I can't promise you'll get your son back in one piece."

Alfor scowled at the Qadorian, but the man ignored him.

"Do not touch my son," said Father darkly.

In response the Qadorian grabbed Alfor by the arm and pulled him over. The guards let go, and Alfor took that as his chance to fight back and swing a punch at the leader. The man was caught by surprise and released his grip on Alfor. Alfor ripped the cloth away from his mouth.

"Kid, don't do anything stupid," Blaytz said.

"When do I ever?" said Alfor, before taking off for the door. He could escape, and then the Qadorians would have no leverage. At the least his father wouldn't have to clean up another one of Alfor's messes–

"Alfor!" his father yelled, but his voice was cut off by the sound of one of the Qadorians firing a gun. Alfor turned and dodged to the side; he almost fell over as a wave of dizziness hit him. The gun went off again; Alfor cried out as the laser hit his shoulder, but he continued stumbling for the door, determined to escape on his own.

One of the guards grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. Alfor gasped as the back of his head hit the metal; this was only making his concussion a lot worse. Two of the guard's hands wrapped around his neck.

"Unhand my son!" yelled Father.

"Don't kill the boy yet," said the leader of the Qadorians.

The hands tightened. Alfor struggled against his captor, gasping futilely for air. His vision darkened.

Within a few more ticks, his world fell into darkness.

Alfor woke to a pounding headache and the sounds of a fight. He didn't know where he was. He had a vague idea that it was not good, wherever he was. He tried to push himself upward, but the motion and pressure sent a sharp pain through his shoulder, and he lowered himself back to the floor.

He wasn't in his lab. He was pretty sure he hadn't blown anything up.

So what had happened to him?

He tried to take inventory of his injuries, but his head was foggy and he couldn't manage to concentrate. His shoulder. Definitely his shoulder. His head. His… neck? That one didn't make sense. The rest he could sort of think of explanations for, even through the fog, but he had no clue why his neck hurt.

There was a sudden bang as a door slammed open. Alfor winced at the loud sound.

"Kid!" came Blaytz's familiar voice, too loud but Alfor couldn't bring himself to protest. "Kid, look at me, look at me."

Blaytz carefully shifted him and gathered him into his arms. Some sort of dark olive-coloured something stained his clothing; Alfor, too tired and fuzzy-headed to care right now, leaned against his friend's chest.

"We're here, kid, you're going to be fine," said Blaytz.

The sounds of the fight were slowing now. Someone else entered the room, but Alfor didn't realise who it was until Zarkon was tilting his head up and a scowl was crossing his face.

"He does not look good," murmured the Galran.

"We're going to get you back to Altea, kid," murmured Blaytz. Alfor managed a nod. His friend stood, and Alfor closed his eyes as they exited the room into the light. "Stay awake for me, kid. Concussions are nasty business, don't want to mess with it."

"I don't know what happened," Alfor mumbled.

"What did he say?" Zarkon demanded.

"He doesn't know what happened," said Blaytz, something like worry tinging his voice.

"That is not good," said Zarkon. "Prince Alfor, what is the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know," Alfor tried to reply, except it sounded skewed and weird to him.

"He doesn't know," said Blaytz.

Zarkon cursed loudly in Galran. "Do you know who we are?"

"Zarkon and Blaytz," Alfor said.

Zarkon harrumphed. "Good. Hurry to the ship before more Qadorians come."

"Is he okay?" came Gyrgan's low, concerned voice.

"He will be once we get him to Altea," said Blaytz. Alfor wished his friend would slow down; the jostling wasn't helping his head at all. "Still with me, kid?"

"Yes," Alfor said, not bothering to open his eyes. "Is Father angry?"

Blaytz hummed noncommittally. The sound rumbled in his chest. "I think he's more worried, kid. He'll be angry once you're okay again, but it's looking like you won't even remember this conversation once you get out of the cryopod."

"Why?" Alfor asked. No matter his headache, or how weird his voice sounded, or how talking hurt his throat, he felt a lot better asking questions and trying to understand what had happened.

"You've got a bad concussion, kid," said Blaytz. "You don't remember why, apparently, and you won't remember this later."

"Why do I have a concussion?" he asked.

"You're going to need to repeat that more clearly," said Blaytz.

"Speaking is likely painful for him, Blaytz," chided Trigel's voice.

"Why do I have a concussion?" Alfor asked again, trying to focus on making his words clearer.

"Couldn't tell you for sure," said Blaytz. "When they found you on their ship, they probably knocked you out."

"Whose ship?" asked Alfor.

"Some Qadorian ship," said Blaytz. "Coran told us you were intending to get information. You'll get yelled at for it later, when you'll remember getting yelled at."

"Oh," said Alfor. "I think I'm going to go to sleep."

"No, no, Alfor," said Blaytz. "Stay awake for me, kid. Better safe than sorry, okay?"

"Okay," said Alfor. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Alfor," said Blaytz. "Don't talk if it hurts you."

Alfor tried to nod, but that also hurt. He wanted to stay awake, at the very least to reassure his friend. Unfortunately sleep – quiet and painless – was seeming more and more appealing with every one of Blaytz's footsteps.

"Sorry," he whispered again, before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

A/N: I should be an expert on concussions with how much research I had to do writing my books, yet I did even more research for this chapter because none of my characters have had a concussion this bad before. I also had to do research on the whole strangling thing... yeah, I did a lot of research for this chapter.

Not really any headcanons in this chapter, I believe.

I hope you guys enjoyed! For being basically a whump chapter it was remarkably hard for me to write, or at least harder than usual XD. Love you guys!