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Some whispered that the astrologer who counted Anithed's stars was only looking for prestige. That he was under pressure from their king who was feeling the pressure of the people after their sister-world, Tomith, had already sent a traveler winging through the stars. (They shared the same orbit and the same species and the same language, but there was still...a certain amount of rivalry mixed up in all the professed love.)
Still, all that was speculation.
Anithed had heard the story a thousand thousand times, told by different relatives and various near-strangers who were introduced to him: the astrologer had taken a long look at Anithed's star charts, then a long look at Anithed's family, inhaled a prissy little breath through his nose, and announced to the gathered crowd of baby Anithed, his parents, his sisters and brothers, his aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and that boy down the road who couldn't keep his nose out of anything: "At the age of twenty-one, the boy will visit the unawakened sleeper."
His father had, very calmly, passed the tiny boy on his knee off to his mother, and, also without a fuss, fainted dead away.
* * *
Anithed had nothing but the finest tutors growing up. He was groomed from his earliest age to walk like a Terran, speak English like he'd been born in London, and how to survive in the strange, alien culture of Earth. He was, naturally, also taught the usual complement of Toroain-centered and other advanced courses of study. It wouldn't do to neglect his education completely in favor of a brief visit to another planet, however honored it might be.
Still, sometimes he would walk out of yet another lecture on Earth-literature feeling like Toroa was the alien world.
His family and friends loved him dearly, and he loved them dearly in return, but sometimes he couldn't help but feel...distant. That his destiny lay beyond the visible stars and he was merely passing time until he would finally meet it. It showed, of course, and certain of his year-mates, shall we say, made sure to very kindly keep him in the here and now through kicking and teasing and biting and all those wonderful ways that children and later teenagers inflict upon each other.
* * *
Sometimes he dreamed about her. She'd be clothed all in a white gown raised on a dais in the middle of a crossroads, the bustling trappings of East London winding their way around her but never touching, unseen by her sleeping eyes.
Later, of course, he learned that this wasn't even remotely true. Her dream was London and she walked through it as it trailed in her fiery wake, loving it, part of it.. He learned more about her. What she was like. How she lived. What had happened to her. How he could never, ever do anything to wake her or she would die.
He was thrown, at first. Then the dream changed.
* * *
At the age of eighteen, he elected to have the webs between his fingers surgically altered to look more human.
None of the doctors batted an eye, knowing where he was eventually headed.
His family, though, exploded.
* * *
Even up to the day he left, he wouldn't give a straight answer as to whether he would actually return or not. Even the day he entered the capsule he would teleport to Earth in, the entire populace of two worlds cheering him on from the crowds around and via the two-way broadcast screens littered around the square, even then he wasn't sure.
* * *
He materialized in an alley. This was planned. He staggered out of the capsule, folded it up into the pocket of his Earthen clothes and wandered out straight into the path of a double-decker bus. This was not, and he had to scramble not to have his destiny play out right then and there.
He gaped from the safety of the sidewalk. Learning about London through vids and holo-books was one thing. Standing in the middle of the mad bustle was something else entirely.
He managed to walk down the street without tripping over his own jaw or getting run over by the uncaring, perpetually-moving Londoners, lost completely despite his earlier memorization of the city map. He ducked into a little shop next to a tube station, intending to ask directions, but was once again distracted by the array of music and DVDs and t-shirts for sale. Dizzying, all of it.
So distracted, in fact, that he walked straight into the shoulder of a woman going the other way. He whipped his head around, startled, looking straight into her eyes.
And suddenly, despite everything he'd learned...
She cried "Oi! You! Look where you're going!" at the exact same time he whispered in harsh awe, "The DoctorDonna!"
And suddenly the sky opened up. And, staring into her eyes, he saw it all. The universe. His place in it. The little shop he'd open up right down the way selling star charts. The woman he'd eventually marry. The children they'd have and what they'd eventually do. The messages he'd send back and forth with his birth family so he didn't entirely lose them. The blessing of his life. Given to him by this--
This--
He looked back into the eyes of the DoctorDonna, terrified that he'd failed, that he'd killed her through his slip of the tongue.
She looked horrified. "Oh. My. God."
"I'm sorry, I--"
But the light he'd seen at first glance, that sent him into his religious trance in the first place, had faded back into sleep. She pointed at him. "You just came, didn't you?!"
"I--No! I--"
"Oh, my God! You pervert!" She smacked him on the shoulder. "What is wrong with you! Oh my God, I feel so dirty! Creeper! Arsehole!" By this point she's wailing on him with her purse.
He hightails it out of the store. "Bless yoooouuuu!" he called out to her as he went.
"Yeah, that's right! You better run before I call the police on you! Pervert!"
* * *
"So did you call the police?"
Donna shook her head. "Nah. He was already gone."
"Yeah, to accost more innocent girls like that."
"No...I don't think so, Cheryl." She had an odd expression as she sipped her drink. "I think he was as embarrassed as I was, actually."
"Ooooh! He was hot for your bod, wasn't he?" The words sounded very odd coming from the tiny little wizened elf of a woman sitting across the bar table from her.
Donna shook her head. "I hope not. Why is it I keep attracting all the weirdos, Cheryl? Seems like I only have to walk two feet and one of them's bumping into me."
"I dunno. They do, don't they? Maybe it's PMS."
"Eh." Donna shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Could be."