TL:DR Alfie is shown what different versions of himself think of Valen. This one’s not very actually whumpy, more vEry angsty, but there’s mentions of captivity n stuff
It’s a dream, Alfie thinks. It has to be. It’s a dream, probably. He turns and takes one, two, three steps around the circular room with no door. It’s a dream. It has to be.
Mist forms in the middle of the room. Alfie presses himself against a wall, shielding his eyes from the blinding yellow glow that followed a moment later. As he watches, a figure appears in the mist and jumps out. Alfie reaches for his sword, but it’s not there. He’s defenseless.
The person sees him after a second, and Alfie realizes he doesn’t need his sword. He sees the wavy brown hair, the yellow eyes, the mouth creased in a frown. The person is him, a younger version of him.
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m you. Catching on?” Young Alfie stares up at him, a smile growing on his face. Alfie says nothing, staring ahead with what he hoped was a neutral expression. He still wants his sword. “Don’t be so scared, I’m not here to hurt you.” Young Alfie sits down cross-legged in the middle of the room. “Let me ask you one thing, though.” Alfie looks up at that, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“...Yes?”
“Why the fuck are you dragging that human around with you? He can’t be good. None of them are. He’s making you give up. And besides, when was the last time you had a thought of actually getting what you want? Y’know, freedom and all that? Avians can’t be suppressed forever!” Getting straight to the point, Young Alfie’s grin had been replaced with an indignant frown.
“You don’t un-understand. Valen’s not the one who m-made me give up. The opposite, actually. A-and…” Alfie takes a step forward, looking into those bright eyes. “Sometimes it’s smart to, to th-think about what’s re-realistic.”
“Realistic? Are you kidding me? Where’s your determination? Where’s your hope? What happened?”
Alfie looks up tiredly. “You know.”
“Well, yeah. I do. But come on!” Young Alfie sighs in defeat. “Whatever. You got one thing right though.”
“Which is?”
“Why pay for something when you can,” Young Alfie shrugs, a mischievous smile on his face, “...not?” The mist forms again, and he stuck his hand in it, pulling out a bread roll. “That’s all from me. Bye!” Waving with his free hand, he slipped back into the mist, the yellow glow flickering and fading. Alfie leans against the wall, tipping his head back. Before long, the light starts up again, and Alfie straightens.
The figure that emerges looks so harrowing that Alfie almost can't tell that it’s him at first. But then he raises his head, and Alfie sees the oozing gash on his cheek, dripping crimson drops down to his jaw and landing on the floor. He sees the gaunt eyes peeking through the mess of matted hair. Alfie knows who this is. He knows all too well.
Broken Alfie doesn’t bother looking around or taking in his surroundings. He has a message to convey. As Alfie watches warily from the side of the room, Broken Alfie turns toward him and opens his mouth.
Nothing happens for a moment, as if he is trying to push past whatever thoughts are going through his head. When he speaks, his voice is rough and crackly. “...L-let ‘im,” he stops, clears his throat, and continues, “let him g-go. B-better for, f-for ‘im.” Alfie pauses to let him finish talking, and shakes his head gently in what he hopes will come across as unthreatening.
“Valen? N-no, that’s n-not what he wants. He’s willing to, to c-compromise. For me. ” But even as he says it, he feels a twinge of guilt. Broken Alfie seems to sense this.
“He’s… s-sac-sacraficed,” a hacking cough forces its way out of him, “t-too much al-already. You kno-ow that.”
“He needs me. Said it himself. If he w-wanted to go, he would have left.”
“...If, if th-that’s what y-you really th-think,” Broken Alfie leans back and falls into the mist.
Alfie sinks against the wall, doubt clouding his thoughts. He glances up for a second, only to find that another version of him has arrived. The cut on his cheek has mostly healed up, the eyes not as hopeless, the hair washed. But when Alfie takes a step forward, he barely surpresses a flinch. Alfie steps back. The last time he was that jumpy was right after he got out of that cell.
Escaped Alfie stays silent for a few more seconds, gaze warily trained on Alfie, who patiently waits for him to start speaking.
“Take… t-take care of Valen.” Escaped Alfie’s voice is gruff but at least it doesn’t sound like it hurts him to talk.
“I am. I will.”
“He’s all you have.”
“I-I know.” Finally, someone that agrees with me.
“He’s the only thing that, that matters.”
“I know,” Alfie repeats, flashing a small but reassuring smile at his former self. “I’ll protect him.”
The whole room flickers, once, twice, and Alfie wakes.