Crown Identity

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

Author: KunoichiYumemi

Summary: One woman lives through the ages one day at a time, carrying her mother's legacy, as all the while, her bloodline wanes and becomes corrupted. To save her family, she must return to her past… But can she relive the overwhelming grief, love, and betrayal; or will the burden crush her?

Note: This story is set in an alternate Universe I like to call the White Mage Tales. The White Mage Tales is a combination of Crown Duel, Magic, and some Sci-fi. If you don't like this, well, too bad. I'm writing this story, and if you don't like it, then don't read it.

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Prologue

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"KILL HER!! Kill the witch!" the city's populace roared as they swarmed the streets, waving pistols and swords and knives. The light of torches and glow-globes threw their shadows against the walls of the capital city, smothered by the darkness of mid-night.

Once the last person passed and the light vanished down the street, a cloaked and hooded figure left the shadows and ran for the massive gates erected at the end of the street. She slipped through the heavy iron doors covered in ornate carvings and engravings. One of the guards released a warning shout, but before reinforcements could arrive, the figure was merely a small speck on the horizon.

Not long after sunrise, the figure stopped and hidden at the edge of the forest looked sadly down at the glittering city below. The figure lowered its hood to reveal elfin features, the smooth pale skin marred by tearstains, the fiery hair drawn out of her face by a coronet, with the jewels still in her hair, and in her ears.

"Athaneral, you were once my home, and I loved you well," she whispered. "Under the rule of myself, my king, and the three generations of progeny after me, you shone like a beacon in the night, and you brought me much joy. So I leave you this gift: Under the rule of my progeny, you will thrive and have peace. You will be strong and renowned, but old wounds will fester here. The rulers will become corrupt, and you too, will drip with malice and darkness, but you will be strong, and you will have peace derived from darkness, and you will long for a more fitting ruler to sit once more upon the goldenwood throne. I will wait and watch, and should you repent, you will have peace borne of love."

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At the center of the grand forest was a tall stone wall, which ran around a large castle, whose towers and turrets could be seen. Along side it ran a river, bubbling cheerfully over the rocks. Several kilometers along the river's path was a broken portion of the wall, and through that gap, one could easily see that the castle was falling apart.

A slender woman, dressed in a green velvet gown so dark it almost seemed black, walked along the wall, stopping at the gap. Her face, hidden behind the sheer green veil, was turned to the forest outside. Her long hair tumbled from beneath the veil in fiery curls, and was held in place by a thin circlet of gold. A fan hung from her waist, held in place by a glossy satin sash. Her eyes were hidden, but shone with age and wisdom, and grief… especially grief…

The family that she and her husband had brought into the world was shifting, waning, and was becoming corrupted. The world had changed since her time, and she was tired, very much so, but her rest was denied to her. Her mother's legacy to her was power, unfathomable amounts of power, and the youth and longevity that many people only dreamed of. Because of this legacy, this… this GIFT from her mother, she lived.

Those she had loved, her father, her brother, his wife, their sons and daughters, her husband, his cousins, her children and grandchildren, her great nieces and nephews, all those whom she had loved had died, and she lived on. She lived on through the ages as the world and the people changed, she watched as her family died before her very eyes, as her own kin had driven her from her home for her power and longevity, which had not been passed to her progeny, and she watched as the kingdom change and the monuments, cities and palaces crumbled under the onslaught of time. She was untouched by time, but all that she loved fell to Time's stately grace…

Long ago, the forest had retaken the castle, cutting it off from the villages and cities surrounding it, and the spirits and plants and beasts guarded the treasure that it guarded, the last of her kind. She was the last Whitemage, whose progeny's bloodline had become corrupted and could no longer support the power or longevity of the Whitemage's immortality. The forest and its inhabitants gave themselves over to her service, and she lived on, watching from deep within the forest as time flowed past, and the cities grew and changed, as the people became less strict with their children, and softer, becoming more than a little naive.

She turned away from the gap and slowly made her way back to the castle…

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Vidanric smiled faintly as he watched the Countess crest the hill, look back, then lean forward, spurring her horse forward toward the city below.

"It seems that I will be the winner of this wager, then," he murmured quietly to himself as he turned his own horse off the road onto a less used track.

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Meliara frowned as she looked around her. She was sure that she had not taken the wrong turn… There was a rustle in the bushes behind her, and she wheeled her horse to face whoever was approaching. She loosed a relieved sigh when she saw the face.

It was only Shevraeth.

"Ahh, Countess,' he said lightly. "We seem to be a bit lost."

"Lost indeed…" said a gentle voice. The two jumped and stared at the figure behind them.

"Who are you?" Meliara demanded.

"You know me," the woman said calmly, "you know me very well, Lady Meliara Astiar."

The woman lifted her veil and Vidanric felt his mask slip and he gaped openly while Meliara stared in shock. The woman's lips twitched upwards in a slight smile…

"Youth and longevity…" Meliara whispered as knowledge dawned upon her. "My mother's legacy… But how?"

"You know how," the woman replies. Both women show no indication that they are aware of Shevraeth's presence nearby.

"But I am the last…"

"You are indeed, for now… Until you bear heirs who will carry the legacy of youth, wisdom, and longevity."

"Why are we here? We should not be here then."

"That, I do not know."

"A warning from the predecessors?"

"Perhaps."

Vidanric stared at the two women, and he finally said, "Countess?"

The two women who looked so much alike turned to him as one. "Yes?"

Vidanric blinked, feeling vaguely disturbed. The woman in green cocked her head to the left, her eyes turning to a point behind him, while Meliara wheels her horse to face the same direction.

"You hear it as well?" the woman says.

"Yes," says Meliara. "A carriage is coming."

"At great speed as well…" the woman murmurs. "This is very odd. The forest has not allowed any human approach me in many long years…"

"They should be arriving here soon," Meliara said.

As predicted, the carriage rumbled into the clearing mere seconds after Meliara spoke. Her eyes widened as the carriage approached. 'Too fast! It won't stop in time!'

The Woman dressed in green raised her hand and uttered in a clear, ringing voice, two syllables in an unidentifiable language, "Daro!" (Stop!)

Immediately, the quartet of horses drawing the carriage stopped, and the wheels on the carriage locked, ceasing all momentum. The surprised driver was flung from his seat, and flew through the air, making a headlong course for the mighty oak that could be seen directly behind the woman.

Meliara raised her voice, clearly, though with less intensity, and uttered the same word in the unidentifiable language, "Daro!" (Stop!)

The driver's momentum was immediately halted, and he dropped to the forest floor like a stone, and he fell into a patch of velvety indigo flowers. The driver picked himself up shakily, and bowed to the two women, thanking them in a tremulous voice. Neither woman missed the fear lacing his voice, nor did the Marquis of Shevraeth, nor did he miss the slight slumping of both women's shoulders and the slight dimming of their eyes in resignation. The carriage door opened and Branaric Astiar and Nimiar Argaliar stepped out, looking confusedly at the four people in the clearing, three known, the other, not. A long silence stretched between them, as understanding passed between the mysterious woman and Meliara.

The silence was finally broken by Meliara as she spoke something in the strange language, her voice changing to become clearer and more musical than ever it had been in the past as the words left her lips, "Manke naa lle tuulo?" (Where are you from?)

The woman smiled, her eyes sad but amused, and said in the Common Tongue, "Do you not know?" she said quietly, and it seemed that the words left her lips as the gentle chiming of a bell.

Silence fell again, and Meliara spoke again in the strange, musical tongue, which seemed to make her glow white with every syllable which passed her lips, "Mani marte?" (What happened?"

"I know not," the woman said. She looked up at the canopy of the trees above her, and as Meliara followed her gaze, she perceived that the branches shifted, allowing the sky to be seen. "The sun sets, and with darkness, comes danger. You will sleep in safety tonight."

"Diolla lle," Meliara said. "Thank you, from my companions and myself, Hiril Val'istar." (Thank you. My Lady.)

The woman nodded, and the air around them warped and the green and browns of the trees swirled together. The swirling began to slow, and while the others perceived only darkness, Meliara perceived that the colors were changing. The swirling stopped, and the company found themselves standing in the doorway of an imposing castle.

Bran looked around then burst out, "This is Castle Astiar!"

"Yes," Meliara said quietly, "I had suspected when I first laid eyes upon yonder Lady. This is Tlanth as it may be. And yonder Lady is I as I may become."

"Say instead, that this is Tlanth as it will become, for naught but one who bears the full legacy of the Whitemage, can fully withstand the ravages of time," said the elder Meliara. "Not even the dear Castle Astiar, in which so many generations had made their home, can stand forever. Soon, even my faithful tending to my beloved childhood home shall become all but useless, and I shall have to move once more. And even the youth and longevity with is the legacy of one such as Meliara Astiar cannot forever whether the sands of time, and though we neither wither nor crumble, we shall grow and change, until Fate sees fit to withdraw us from this world. Already, time takes its toll upon the much beloved structure, upon myself as well, but as yet, it is still strong, and I am yet young, and Castle Astiar, after so many long years of loneliness, shall house visitors within the halls once more!"

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To perceive this Castle Astiar, so run down, yet so homely despite its deteriorating condition, was shocking so recently after the sight of the Castle, newly redone, with certain parts yet under construction. Nee found herself wondering what had happened to bring the castle to this point, as she wandered the well tended gardens. Her eyes widened at the sight of the harp, strong and vibrant, tucked away in a sheltering corner where the elements could not harm it.

Unconsciously, Nimiar Argaliar was soon seated upon the stool tucked in the same corner, tuning the ancient instrument, which was well preserved despite its age.

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Vidanric and Bran had vanished into the library, which was filled with books once more. Neither man dared lay hand upon the ancient tomes, lest they fall to dust. Strangely, though the room was missing a wall, the elements seemed not to have entered this room at all. The only element to have touched this room, was obviously time.

Neither man said anything of this, and instead, they leaned against the cold stone walls, and conversed in quiet tones of this strange adventure that they had been unwillingly whisked away on, and the Lady Meliara's sudden transition into the formal speech, and her strange knowledge of what was happening around them. Their perception of the Lady was shifting, and though they knew it not, it was this perception that would decide the future of the Kingdom Remalna.

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Meliara of Past and Meliara of Future had ensconced themselves in one of the towers, one that they had often went with their—her—mother, before her death, and afterward, when the Hill Folk could provide no solstice.

They conversed long of strange things in a strange tongue, and in the strong light of the glow-globes, searched through heavy tomes, untouched by age, preserved by the skills of the Whitemage, which was the legacy of all pure hearted and noble Calahanras progeny, be they son or daughter.

Meliara of Past was first to note that the sun had slipped beyond the horizon, and spoke, "Night falls, and we have guest to which we must attend."

"Indeed," Said Meliara of Future, "I must confess, that I shall not say nay to a moment's respite."

"You speak truly, and I feel that we shall search better when our charges are not abandoned to fend for themselves in this old place, echoing with memories long past."

That said, both women marked their pages, and closed the books before leaving the tower, pausing only to lock the door, and set out to gather their guests for supper.

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That night, as her time-lost guests slept, she stood at a window and reflected whimsically on the past for the first time since she had been driven out of Athanarel. She shook the thoughts away, and her mind drifted to her lessons as a Whitemage.

"A Whitemage is first and foremost, a tool to the Fates. They may not use their powers to interfere unless it is necessary, and the Fates are rarely known to give any distinct sign that Whitemage intervention is necessary. But remember this, Meliara, just because the Fates rarely give distinct signs does not mean that they do not give signs at all. You must interpret these signs to your best ability, and act as you see fit. But no Whitemage may flaunt their power, nor use it for personal gain. To do so is to forfeit any of the hereditary power that makes a Whitemage so important to the continued existence of this world. So you must be strong, live according to the Oaths of a Whitemage, and breed your progeny to do the same, to live according to the Oath. Do not fear if your progeny do not bear the gift, for somewhere along the way, your bloodline will give way to a Whitemage, and you will step forward to teach them the Oath. Do you understand?"

"I understand, mama."

"I tried my best, mother," Meliara whispered as a single shining tear coursed down her cheek. "I tried, and despite it all, despite the ever clear warning, I failed, and history repeated itself. My bloodline is corrupted beyond saving…"

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TBC…