Cold mountain air nipped at David's skin as he worked his way through the narrow pass. His breath showed up in the air, his cloak flapping in the wind as the peaks rose higher around him. The towering mountains were like silent sentinels, watching every move he made. Behind him, a small group of men who had chosen to remain faithful followed closely, their faces hardened by the journey but resolved in their purpose.
And for a reason, David had called this expedition. The rumours of unrest in the southern provinces were growing louder, and a point was being reached where something had to be done. But before he acted, David needed more than mere information; he needed wisdom.
As they approached closer to the ancient monastery built into the mountain, David turned to his most trusted advisor, Ivane, who for many years had walked beside him.
"This place. It feels different every time I return. Like the mountain breathes with new life," David said, speaking low, almost to the wind.
Ivane smiled, pulling his cloak tighter around him. "The mountains have a way of hiding their secrets, my Lord. Just like men. But we must seek the truth."
The monks greeted them at the gates, their robes dark against the white of the snow-covered ground. The abbot was an older man, with a face creased by age and eyes full of wisdom. He bowed his head before David.
"King David," he greeted, his voice calm but a hint of respect marking it—a respect born of understanding the young king's weight of responsibility. "The mountain has waited for you."
David's head nodded; his face was grave but determined. "I come not for myself but for my people. There are whispers of rebellion. I need guidance, Abbot. How do we face a shadow we cannot yet see?"
The abbot gestured with his head that he should follow him. "The mountain may conceal much, but its heart always speaks the truth. You must listen."
Inside the monastery, the air felt warmer. The stone walls echoed with quiet murmurs of monks deep in prayer. In a room where a fire vividly blazed, casting light through flickering shadows on the walls, David and Ivane were led. He gestured for them to take a seat.
"You seek answers, my king; sometimes the truth is not in action but in patience," said the abbot, his eyes meeting David's. "A great king is not just a builder of walls and cities, but of peace in the hearts of his people."
David surged forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Peace must be earned. My father believed in strength. He fought the Seljuks, and we won back our land because we were strong. How can I ask my people to wait while a storm brews?"
Ivane cut in softly, "David, strength and peace are not enemies. Perhaps there's a balance we've yet to understand."
The abbot nodded. "Your advisor is wise. Your strength will always be needed, but a ruler must learn when to wield the sword and when to extend the olive branch. Those who rebel may well do so not out of malice but out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what's to come.
The moment brought silence to David, his brow furrowed in deep reflection. The words hit a chord in his heart. He knew the weight of his crown, the burden, and the cost in people. He had united Georgia, but it had come at a price: there were still some wounds unhealed, with scars running deeper than mere battlefields.
"I need to understand them better," David admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "But how can I, when I don't even know if they'll listen?"
The abbot stood and took two steps closer to the fire. "Lead with strength, yes, but also with compassion. Show them you are not just a king of war, but a king of the people."
Ivane added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it's time for you to visit these lands yourself—not as a king upon his throne but as a leader amongst his people."
David looked up at them both. His gaze fluttered between the fire and the men around him, men he trusted. He took a deep breath as the weight of their words settled into his bones.
"Then that is what I shall do," David returned, his voice firming with growing resolution. "I will go to them. Not as a ruler who demands but rather as one who listens."
The abbot smiled, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "That is the heart of a true king, David. One who builds not just kingdoms but the trust of his people."
He lay awake later that night in his small chamber, staring at the stone ceiling above, the small fire crackling softly beside him. The voices of the abbot and Ivane echoed in his mind as he heard their advice given this day in the quiet of the night.
This prophecy of the Builder had come well before his time, foretelling a king to raise Georgia from the ashes and finally bind the people together under a canopy of peace. Prophecies were vague, though, and often twisted by time and expectation. David had always been afraid his destiny remained half-fulfilled—there was still more to come, more challenges, more choices.
His mind went back to his father, King George—a man of war, a man of strength; he had fought for Georgia's survival. By now, however, David knew he was not his father. His path was different, his challenges unique.
And yet, as he thought about the journey ahead, he couldn't help but wonder—was he ready?
The wind was howling outside; the mountains whispered their ancient secrets as David fell into a heavy slumber, his heart heavier now, yet his resolve ever stronger.
Tomorrow, he would start anew.