The winds cut cold through the mountains as David, standing on the outskirts of Tbilisi, ancient city lying in the way of the invaders of Seljuk, begged his father to send him to the front lines-to let him command a portion of the Georgian forces. No longer the boy who had trained in courtyards at fifteen years old, he was a soldier-a warrior ready to fight his kingdom.
It had taken a hard sell initially, but David's persistence had eventually persuaded King George. Before him now, the army stood-an army of hard men with a young prince at their head.
His mind swirled with all those tactics that Grigol had taught him. The Seljuks were more in number, but the mountains were definitely a plus for Georgia. David knew the landscape, every route, every hidden valley that could give them an edge in the battle. This was not just a battle for land; it was a battle for the future of Georgia.
The moment the first Seljuk banners had appeared on the horizon, David's heart had begun to pound in his chest. He turned to his men; their faces were grim, yet resolute. Many of them were older than him, more experienced in the ways of war. But they looked to him now for leadership.
"The Seljuks come like a wave," David was saying in a raised voice for all to hear. "They think we are weak, that we will bend to their will. Today, we show them that Georgia is not a land of cowards. We are lions, and we defend our home."
The men roared back, the rumbling of their voices echoing off the mountains. David could feel the fire in his veins, the charge of battle imminent.
As the Seljuk army drew nearer, the troops of David did not yield an inch. The archers let fly with their arrows, and oncoming ranks faltered, stumbling. At the front of his charge, with a sword flashing bright in the winter sun, David cut into the enemy lines. The Seljuks were fierce, yet David was unrelenting-fighting with a skill and fury that belied his age.
In the din of the battle, David spotted some of the Seljuks who had breached the line of the Georgians and were heading toward an open flank. He spurred his horse forward at once and cut his way across the battlefield to head off the Turks.
His blade clashed against that of the enemy; the sound rang in his ears. He deflected a blow and listened to him with a quick slash to the ground. A different soldier then charged towards him, but David was quicker, his blade finding its mark.
For hours, a bloody and snowy battlefield confronted the sight of anyone who dared to look upon it. David's strategy had paid off: the mountains had delayed the Seljuk advance, and by nightfall, the invaders had been thrown back.
David was one of the casualties, one of the dead bodies that littered his body with aches from the fighting in front. He had led his men to victory at great cost. Looking out over the battlefield, he knew this was only the beginning. The war was a long way from being over, and Georgia would need him more than ever in the days to come.