Written in the Stars

Prologue

A.N.: I theifted all this stuff from Star Wars, His Dark Materials, and I think that’s it. Maybe a little from X – 1999. I’m trying to be original as possible. I didn’t want to write this, but it kept nagging at the back of my brain, so I finally gave in. Here it is.

The darkly clad figure, a mask hiding his entire face, walked down the hall with a practiced stride. He’d been here countless times before. The falcon on his shoulder flapped it’s wings agitatedly, feeling how hostile the air was. The man was unwanted. A palace sentry walked nervously in front of the man, his own white rat clinging to his arm. Next to the sentry were the palace guards, large German Shepherds snarling as they walked obediently at heel. Behind the falcon bearing man were two of his own guards, dressed in the official uniform of the Empire of the Dragons of Fire, large, black dogs trotting behind them, snapping at the German Shepherds.

The sentry paused, looking nervously back at the dark man. “I’m sorry, my lord, but by order of Master Oran, no armed man but the palace guards are allowed past this point.”

“Oran,” the dark figure snarled and whispered. His fist clenched, the falcon gave out a troubled screech. “Hush, Debetin,” he soothed gently, stroking one gloved finger across the falcon’s grey-brown head. It made a gurglish noise of devotion in it’s throat, and calmed. The man turned to the guards, dressed in olive green with a patch of flame where the heart was and a dragon surrounding that, and waved them away. “Go back and wait on the ship,” he ordered.

Their heels clicked obediently, and saluted with a “Sir,” before turning and marching off, the black dogs moving reluctantly off. The dark man turned back to the sentry.

“They’re gone,” he said shortly. The sentry was obviously disappointed. He had hoped that without the ability of having the guards near, the dark man would leave. Clearly, this was not the case. The sentry hesitated still. “Take me to her,” pressed the dark man, the falcon staring the rat down.

The sentry ceased to hesitate, and instead replied “As you wish, my lord.”

And with that, the sentry, the guards, and the falcon bearing man continued down the hall, which twisted and turned every so often. Finally, they reached a door, in front of which sat an older man in a chair, reading, seeming not to care about the dark man waiting impatiently. A snowy white owl was perched on the man’s shoulder, occasionally adjusting itself so as to read the book better. The man’s hair was originally a light brown, now with two stripes of grey. He wore the cloak of a Knight of the Dragons of Heaven: Brown, with a white dragon patched next to his rib cage.

The guards stopped and saluted, moving to the side, while the sentry hesitantly called “Presenting His Excellency, Lord-”

The elder gentlemen cut the sentry off. “No need for any of that. We already know each other.” There was a tense silence while the older man simply watched the figure, clad entirely in black. “You may go,” he told the sentry, “but you stay,” he instructed the guards.

More silence.

Finally, the black figure snapped “Let me in, Oran.”

Oran did not answer. Instead, he stared at him curiously and said “Take off your mask.”

The black figure sucked in an impatient breath, clenching his fist. “No.”

Oran shrugged, startling his pristine white owl some what. “It’s no good, she’ll want to see your face.”

“Then I’ll let her see my face. No one else.”

The older man seemed intrigued, and he leaned foreword in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Why? Is the scar I gave you worse than I remember?”

“Shut up, Oran. It’s nothing to do with you. I’m not here to chit chat, I came to see Dama.”

Slowly, Oran shook his head no. “I’m not letting you in.”

This was too much to take for the black figure. In an instant, his falcon had launched itself from his shoulder, and become a beam of red light, which pulsated and glowed, suspended in the air. He snatched it up quickly, and dashed foreword, intending to strike Oran down.

This did nothing to upset the older gentleman, who sat demurely in the chair and did not move so much as an inch. The red light struck against the air, and there it stopped. It seemed to have hit a solid wall, while blue ripples floated away from it. He stepped back, panting from the large amount of energy he’d just put forth, staring at the air shield curiously.

“Zegaba and I put it up two days ago,” Oran said, standing and reaching a hand out to touch the invisible wall. It glowed white where he touched, since he was the maker, and the owl hooted as he did so. The older man smiled and scratched the owl’s – Zegaba – head affectionately before returning to his seat outside the door.

The black figure, enraged, struck against the solid wall, stronger than steel, again and again with his shaft of light, but it did no good. After he was done, panting again, he fell back, and the light became his falcon, Debetin, once more.

“Let me through,” he snarled again, but his voice cracked this time. Oran shook his head. “You can’t do this to me!” The falcon launched itself at the wall, clawing at the solid air with his talons, but all it did was create blue ripples. “She’s just had a child, I’ve got to see her!”

“No.”

“Oran….Oran, please,” the black figure begged still, clenching his fists. “I’m a father, I’ve got to see my child! It’s a son, isn’t it?” He practically glowed with pride at the thought.

“That son must never know his father,” Oran said slowly. “You made your choice.” Oran gave the guards a steady look. “Take him back to his ship.” The guards seized the black figure by the arms, while the falcon screeched and clawed at them while he struggled.

“Oran, you bastard, you can’t do this to me!” Oran turned his back, so as not to see that masked face, but he let the pained words reach his old ears. “She’s my wife, she’s the mother of my child! Let go of me!” The guards, only too happy to get rid of him, continued to drag him down the hall. Oran could not stand this, and turned, hurtling these final words down the hall.

“You chose to be a Dragon of Fire; you chose the path of hatred. Well, this is what it’s brought you! Soon your training as a Dragon of Fire will be complete, and all the guards the palace holds would be dead at a mere word from you. Imagine what you could do to a baby. And I can’t let that happen.”

The black figure gave one last attempt to see the woman beyond that door. “Dama!” he cried. “Dama it’s me! Tell them to let me in! Tell Oran to move, please, Dama!” It did no good. The falcon bearer was dragged down the hall and out of sight. The guards tossed him out the bay doors, where his star ship, The Fenrir, waited at dock. They gave him a forceful shove, and he stumbled slightly.

“By order of Master Oran, you have five minutes to clear the dock, or force will be used.”

The black figure, once trained in the ways of the Dragons of Heaven, was no one to push over. However, his training was never completed, which was what the Dragons of Fire were endeavoring to do. He could see clearly where the largest weapons were; ones that would easily take out him and a ship as large as The Fenrir. A few more months of training and they wouldn’t have been a threat. But at the moment they were. He flicked his black cloak behind him and stalked up the ramp into the star ship without so much as a backward glance. Clearance was issued. The ship hovered above the landing dock before slowly leaving the bay and entering the atmosphere, to disappear into space.

Inside the palace, down that same hall, the Knight of the Dragons of Heaven, Master Oran, was sitting in that chair, his eyes closed, breathing slowly to calm himself. The snowy owl was settled into his lap, and he petted the soft feathers slowly to sooth himself. After a moment, he lifted the owl to his arm, and stood up, moving the chair out of the way of the door. He opened it, and entered the rather bare room soundlessly.

Lying in the large bed was Princess Dama, second in line to the Orhian throne. Her brother was currently ruling as king, but had no heirs, though his wife was pregnant. Princess Dama herself had long, curly dark locks of brown hair, and large, brown eyes. Nestled in the large bed, she looked very small, mostly because the birth had made her frail. In the crook of each arm, she held an infant, each a few days old. In the right arm, a boy. In the left, a girl. At the foot of the bed there was a spotlessly white dove, who had two wolf puppies under her wings. One black, the other white. The dove was the spirit of the princess, while her children’s were wolves.

Dama looked up as the knight entered, his owl spirit hooting a hello. Her dark brown eyes flashed, and she said “I heard some voices in the hall way.” Oran nodded. “The walls were too thick for me to understand what was being said.” Oran nodded again. Finally, Dama asked, her voice full of hope and fear “He came?”

“Yes, he came,” he answered. The princess sank back against the pillows of the bed, sighing.

“I told you he would come. He loves me.”

“I never doubted that,” the elder answered, walking up to the foot of the bed. He reached a hand down and scratched the ears of the black wolf pup, who opened his yellow eyes, blinking up at the owl. The boy nestled in Dama’s arms opened his eyes as well, and peered curiously at the man who was petting his spirit.

“Does he know?” she asked. “About his children, I mean.”

“He knows he has a son, that is all.”

Tears filled Dama’s eyes, and she looked down at her child, who stared back up at her with large, blue eyes. “Then you’ll have to go away, little one.”

Oran’s voice was chocked for a moment; too many sad things had happened as of late. On top of that, it appeared that the princess was not going to get any better: She would probably die.

“We’ll stash him some place safe. Probably Hidiro,” Oran offered, taking his aging hand away from the black pup’s head. It closed its eyes, and snuggled next to the dove.

“It isn’t fair!” cried Princess Dama suddenly. “He’ll never see them walk, or talk, or any of the things which he earned. He earned them, Oran!”

“He’s become a Dragon of Fire, Princess. He knew what he was getting into. We cannot chance it.”

“He thought he was doing what was best….best for me!”

“Please,” Oran begged, “don’t vex yourself. You haven’t really healed since the birth, and…..” He let his voice trail off, and watched the dove silently rise from the wolf pups and glide to her human companion, nestling next to her and rubbing her snowy white head against those tear stained cheeks. The wolf pups didn’t mind; they simply snuggled next to each other.

“You’ll make sure he’s safe, won’t you, Oran?” she asked, kissing her son’s forehead.

“I’ll keep my eye on him, I promise.”

“And when he’s old enough, maybe he can become a Dragon of Heaven?”

“No doubt of it,” encouraged the elder. “After all, his lineage just cries out for him to be trained.”

Suddenly, Dama looked up at him and asked “I’m never going to see my husband again, am I?”

Oran swallowed. “It is my duty to ensure that it doesn’t happen, yes.”

Dama nodded slowly, sadly. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m dying. Then I can join the spirits, and I can be with him.”

Oran walked closer to her, going on bended knee and taking her hand – it was clammy. He stared into her large brown eyes, and his owl, Zegaba, hooted softly on his shoulder. The dove stared at the owl for a moment, and Oran finally nodded. The spirits communicated to each other, so that the people understood. And now, in his heart, Oran knew that what Dama said was absolutely true. He nodded, and looked down at the boy in the crook of her frail arm. The boy’s large blue eyes looked up at him expectantly. The girl in the other arm cooed slightly, but did not stir much.

Finally, Oran rose, unsettling Zegaba slightly. “I’ll get things ready for the boy to be taken to Hidiro. As for the girl…..” He paused a moment, and closed his eyes. Zegaba followed suit, and the well trained spirit searched. “Your sister-in-law,” he began, slowly opening his eyes, “is due only a few days apart from you, isn’t that right?” Dama nodded. “She will have a miscarriage, and die, along with her child.”

Suddenly, Dama understood, and looked down at her daughter, before looking back up at Oran. “You want the girl to stay with my brother, pretending she’s his child.” Oran nodded. “I understand.”

“But if you should live, then-”

“I’m not going to,” Dama countered. “You will take my daughter away after the queen is dead. By that time, my son will be gone. Then I will die, and become part of the spirits.” Tears filled Oran’s eyes, and he nodded. She carefully handed him the small bundle of her son, and said “Here. I give him to your keeping. Just keep him safe, please. For my sake. For his father’s sake.”

“It’s a duty I’ll carry with honor, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Oran,” she replied, falling back onto the pillow, breathing heavily, clutching her daughter to her breast. Oran obediently walked to the foot of the bed and scooped up the black wolf pup in his other arm. The white one whimpered slightly, and her ears drooped, but that was all. The sister spirit mourned the brother spirit already. Oran walked wordlessly out the door, and went to start getting things ready for the trip to Hidiro.