The King's Mantle
Cold winds whipped across his face as David rode through the city gates, his soldiers silent behind him. They had won the battle but at what cost? The city streets should be filled with laughter and merchants calling their wares; instead, they were quiet. People stood at their doorways, nodding respectfully to their prince, but their eyes spoke volumes of questions. They didn't just want victory but rather assurance of afterwards-peace assured.
David handed him the reins of his horse and marked how the young boy stared a little longer at the blood-splattered armor.
"Thanks," said David gruffly, tapping the shoulder of the boy before he turned toward the palace.
Familiar stone walls now felt suffocating, it seemed, as he walked toward the palace, each step a hike through mud. Indeed, he had faced an army and outwitted his foes, but here, within these walls-where the blood of his armor had not only been that of his enemies but of his people, the price of every decision he had made-the battle within himself was with an enemy.
By the time he reached the doors to the palace, they opened, and his mother, Queen Rusudan, stood in the doorway with both relief and concern etched across her face. She was his constant-his anchor amidst this constant squall of politics and warfare. The instant their eyes met, the weight of responsibility pressed down even more firmly upon him.
"You have come back," Rusudan whispered gently around a furrowed brow, "safe and victorious, I hear."
David nodded, his mouth tightly set. "Yes, we won."
"But?" Rusudan's eyes were sharp, catching the inner text as if from a book.
David let out a deep sigh. "But I lost men. Good men. Men who believed in me."
Rusudan leaned closer still, her hand reaching for his cheek. "That is the price of leadership, David. No victory comes free from loss."
He closed his eyes suddenly, overcome with fatigue. "I'm just… not sure if I'm ready. Ready to carry this weight. I make decisions, and people die. How can I lead when I still doubt myself?
"You doubt because you care," Rusudan said, her voice soft and yet with iron in it. "That is what makes you different from the men who came before you. You do not see your people as numbers on a battlefield. You see them."
"But is it enough?" David's voice was barely above a whisper. He drew away from her touch and paced. "I have enemies on all sides, Seljuks, rebellious nobles, threats I can't even name yet. And then there's me… a young prince pretending to be a king."
The hardness of her eyes softened, though her tone sharpened. "You are no pretender, David. You have proved yourself already. But you cannot expect to be perfect. That's not what leadership is all about: never making mistakes. It's about learning from them, standing firm even when the ground beneath you shakes."
David stopped, staring at the stone floor. "I feel like every choice I make, it shakes more and more.
But before Rusudan had a word to say, the throne room door burst open. Bishop George of Chqondidi strode in, his brow furrowed with concern. He was one of David's closest confidents-a man of faith, a man of political acumen.
"My prince," George began without wasting time on courtesies, his head inclined slightly. "There's word from the east. The Seljuks aren't in retreat. They're regrouping. We must gird ourselves for yet another attack, one that will happen shortly."
David's eyes hardened, his head turned to face George. "How soon?
"Days, perhaps a week. Their scouts have been spotted near our borders," George replied with gravity.
"And the nobles?" David asked, any residual bitterness seeping in with a rise in his tone. "Still whispering behind my back?"
George wavered for a moment, his gaze darting to Rusudan before he spoke. "Yes, some question your ability to hold the throne. They feel that you are too young, too. merciful."
David fisted his hands as his chest constricted with anger and frustration. "Too young. Too merciful. It is always something, isn't it?"
"You can't listen to them," Rusudan said, stepping forward. "They've doubted you from the beginning, and they'll keep on doubting you, whatever you do. You've shown strength where it counted. Now you have to keep doing so.
David looked to his mother, his face set in a scowl, but his voice shook. "What if they are correct? What if I am not strong enough?
George now spoke in a firm but urgent tone of voice: "Strength is not in the sword, David; it is in how you handle your people-how you balance compassion with command. These nobles, they test you because they are afraid of change. You represent something they cannot control.
He fought the weight of his responsibilities by staring at the floor. "I want to be more than just a king who wins battles. I want to be a king who unites this land, who makes Georgia stronger than it's ever been."
"You will," Rusudan said, quiet confidence laced in her tone. "But you cannot do it alone. You have people who stand by you, who believe in you.
David looked up and met his mother's eyes, then George's; undaunted faith stared back at him, yet doubt pulled unrelentingly at his heart. This, however, was the path he had chosen-the path that had chosen him. There was no turning back.
"I shall not let them undermine me," David finally said, with a firmer voice. "But first-the Seljuks. We deal with them.
George nodded, an air of approval in his eyes. "Yes, my prince. Yet beware, for sometimes the enemy out beyond the walls is less dangerous than the one within.
David let out a long, slow breath. He turned back to his mother, a small flicker of warmth in his chest. "I will do what needs to be done, but I will do it my own way. Georgia needs more than just a ruler; it needs someone who knows the price for leading. I won't forget that."
A slight smile played upon Rusudan's lips; a gleam of pride shone in her eyes. "You are learning, David. And soon they shall all see what you are capable of doing."
David's lips set in a thin line. He was not sure yet that he believed it, but for the moment he would act like he did. The future of Georgia depended on it.
Ready the men," David ordered George- his voice firm and even, concealing the reservations which still nagged him. "We prepare for war.