Golden Blooded

4. Trainers.

"Hello, Alfred," Arthur gave a small smile, shaking off his demonic escort. The woman bowed to him before walking away. He sat down across from him. Alfred would have jumped up, but his legs ached too much. Arthur poured himself a cup of tea, the water seeming to be too hot when he put it against his lips and took a practiced, patient sip.

"You're not dead?" he stammered out. He reached across the table, grabbing onto his forearm. Arthur looked at him, disappointed.

"You've been here for a few hours and you've already forgotten your manners," Arthur said. Alfred pulled his hand back and looked at him, horrified.

"I thought you were dead."

"Why would you think that?"

"When I was speaking to the King he said- um- something about you giving your life for me and Matthew, bless his soul," Alfred said, mumbling out the last part. Arthur pursed his lips, before rolling his eyes.

"Well, quite obviously I'm not," he said, giving a curious eye to the door. Something made him relax into his chair, "I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"I lied to the King," Arthur said, "you need to know what I told him, just in case. Alright? Can you remember this?"

"Yes, yes! Yes I can," he said. Arthur shushed him, leaning forward into his ear.

"There are only nine Generals. Lovino, who has been captured, Feliciano, who has been captured, me, you, Roderich, Lukas, Emil, Vash, and Lily," he whispered to him, "there are no High General's, and the Elder is a myth. General is the highest you can be. Matthew doesn't exist. Don't speak of him."

"What happens if another General besides them gets captured?" he whispered.

"Then they're not a General, they're a wannabe," Arthur said, "it hasn't happened yet, but I already have a script planned for when it does. I advise you to make one too. Who have you been promised to?"

"Huh?" he said. Arthur pointed to his own neck, and Alfred reached up to his own, running his hands along the bruises.

"Who have you been promised to?" he repeated, articulating every word.

"Promised to?"

"Who did you just get fucked by," Arthur hissed, crudely, "you moron."

"Braginski," he mumbled, abashed. He didn't remember the bruises- Emma never even seemed to notice them, so he didn't even think it bruised.

"And I'm guessing he's the one that gave you the nasty slap marks?"

"Yes..." he murmured, looking at the teapot. For some reason, the ceramic was painted. Little spoons of hardened honey sat beside it. He grabbed one and stuck it in his mouth.

"Hm," Arthur said, "I'm pretty sure he's close to the fighting- far up to the North. Not as far up as the base, but from here, just as much. If you can escape, you could fly to Heaven Proper in two days."

It was only then that he realized that Arthur's wings weren't locked up. They had been just as stiff against his back as his own were kept. He opened his own as far as they would go, showing the metal.

"Yes, I know," he said, waving a finger, "that is why you have to gain the trust of General Braginski. Play nice. He hasn't taken a lover for himself before, nor an angel, so he won't know what to look out for before you escape."

Alfred nodded, hanging onto every word from his former mentor. When he stopped speaking, he looked at him sadly, willing him to tell him what to do. He noticed matching cuffs on the others wrists, but they were thinner.