The Templar

1 - A Duke's Heir

Mat was impatiently awaiting her father's arrival. She had been ready for the last two hours. Two long hours during which her anxiety rose until it became almost unbearable. This day was going to determine her destiny. She could not fail. If she wasn't accepted, there will be no second chance. And the anxiety was almost driving her insane.

She paced around her room in circles without paying any mind to the luxurious suite she has been assigned at her arrival earlier the same day in the Marble Fortress. The city's white beauty, the sumptuous corridors she had walked through in order to reach her room, the masterfully worked double doors and massive oak furniture, not even the breathtaking view on the Royal Palace's gardens did not catch her eye although there was plenty enough to amaze more than one man.

Mat stopped and adjusted for the millionth time her braid and the cape on her shoulders. The green motives depicted in her darker than night eyes stared back at her intensely from the oval mirror framed with a beautifully forged crown of gold vines and grapes. She started pacing nervously once more, as a trapped lion would in its cage. And the fierce look in her eye and the crimson tail of her cape undulating behind her such as raging waves on the cold marble floor truly intensified her resemblance to a lion. She could not believe her own childish behavior.

Mat finally came to a stop in front of the tall windows which let the lights of the late after-noon sun filter in the room. She rested her hand on the hilt of the sword she was carrying at her side for the tenth time in a couple minutes. It made her feel at ease, invincible, strong and confident. It was the only thing which offered her so much peace; and with nothing but a slight touch. She had made a vow many years ago and had lived through the sword ever since. It was impossible for her to be repelled now. Or was it? Yes, it was. Because she was a girl.

A soft knock on the massive double door brought her back to earth and she pushed her worries in the back of her mind. Or at the very least she tried to as a deep and familiar muffled voice asked from behind the doors, "May I come in?"

"You may."

She turned away from the window and walked towards the man who had just entered, meeting him in the center of the room. The Duke pulled Mat into a tight hug before pushing her at arm's length in order to admire her.

"Mathilda, my dear, you are resplendent."

"Thank you father. I hope your journey was agreeable."

"Yes, yes, lovely indeed. Just look at you, wearing elements of my old ceremonial armor!"

Mat had to admit that ceremonial attire looked quite well on her; but she also acknowledged her father's imposing figure. The Duke Romuald of Ravenclaw, twenty third Duke of the sylvan kingdom located in the South-East of the wide continent of Teak, had been one of the most dreaded Templars of his generation during his young years. Sadly, the Duchess had died at a young age, many years ago, without being able to leave behind an heir to the family. The years slowly caught up to the Duke while his legendary strength and skill were replaced by old bones and grey hair, forcing him to retire from the Order. He then decided to consecrate every moment of his days to the perfection of his adopted successor's education – a young orphan girl he had found during one of his missions and was entranced by her particular gaze.

Although he was now in his seventies, the Duke was still vigorous and very impressive in his shining silver armor and the black, emerald green trimmed cape with the Temple's eternal symbol embroidered with gold thread: a mighty sword with a pentagram depicted in a perfect circle surrounding its pommel.

Mat's armor was not as impressive and symbolic but it wasn't in any way inferior in beauty or craftsmanship. It was a simple light armor, carefully worked in fine silver plates, especially made for her on her father's order. It was accompanied with high laced leather boots and reinforced gloves which belonged to her father as well as the flaming red cape which draped her shoulders and highlighted her cherry brown braided hair and dark eyes with emerald specks and radials, forming strange symbols that varied according to the light.

She was proud and rather tall for a girl, with her head held high in all circumstances. She had rehearsed this pose until it became second-nature. She was more than a lady, more than a duke's daughter, more than her father's daughter: she was his heir in this age of war and couldn't have dreamt of being anything else. She had lived only for this day, training restlessly for the past fourteen years. The sword enhanced with her father's symbol – a raven descending upon its prey, carefully carved in gold – was proof of it. She carried this legendary sword at her side on this day of great honor, as her father had before her. She carried the sword, and her family's name and pride.

And by the Gods was she nervous.

The Duke of Ravenclaw slightly squeezed her shoulder. "I will never forget the moment when I first saw you, Mathilda. I am extremely pleased with the decision I made that day. Now, more than I've ever been over the years and, by the Gods, the times when you surpassed my expectations were numerous indeed." The old Duke's voice was suddenly filled with emotion and his eyes with tears. "The moment I told myself, "this child has an incredible potential, I shall adopt her and name her as my heir" will forever be among my dearest memories. I am proud of you beyond expression."

"Thank you, father. I am grateful for everything you've done for me over the past fourteen years. I vow to enter the Order tonight and carry the Ravenclaw name with honor among the Templars."

"I do not doubt that you will succeed and enter the ranks of trainees and then be one of the Templars. I recall my own ceremonies beside my father and my mentor." The Duke closes his eyes and a melancholic smile appears on his slightly wrinkled face. "They were epic moments for me and they will certainly be for you as well."

Romuald then lets go of Mat and heads towards the door. "We should go, Mathilda. You do not want to be late at the most important ceremony in your life so far, do you? After all, only once you turn seventeen and have the chance to attend the Selection."

Mat nods and follows the Duke who keeps mumbling to himself under his breath, "Time sure flies. Only yesterday she was a small girl, barely past her third birthday, lost in some forgotten village. And now look at her, a splendid young woman. Children mature too quickly and I age too fast. The Gods don't have any mercy, no matter what you accomplish down here."

He opens the door and they both step out of the room, turning their backs to the fading orange light of dusk.