A Curse For Life Pt.6: Crowns (Continued)

The Patriarch made his way into the gardens of the Palace. Immediately the tranquility took effect. He missed the peace of the gardens he once strolled through and played in. He Paused and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. The air was crisp and fresh. He sighed softly to himself as he exhaled. Upon remembering when he used to play with Alexander, a small smile touched the lips of the Patriarch. Childhood seemed so far away now. It seemed a life- time ago. It scared Tikhon slightly. How far had he come, how long was there left to go?

As the Patriarch was about to step further into the gardens the Tsarevitch Nikolas stepped out from behind a hedge, a sword in hand. He stared the Patriarch down. Tikhon was taken aback by Nikolas' sudden appearance. He smirked when he took in the sword in his nephew's hand, pointed towards him.
"You bare arms against a priest nephew!" said Tikhon in a mocking voice.
"Against a Patriarch, nonetheless...tut tut, what shame!" Tikhon shook his head before hanging it, seemingly, in shame.
"What has the world come to!" he continued, prying his nephew. Nikolas continued to stare his uncle down, unmoved by the small- talk.
Tikhon noticed he was getting nowhere. He hardened slightly. He took a step forward. Nikolas steadied his footing, as though he were preparing to plunge the sword into the Patriarch. Tikhon noticed the miniscule movement of defence, yet at the same time, a movement warning of attack.
Tikhon stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his back on Nikolas and summoned the nearest guard. The guard appeared instantly.
"Give me your sword," said Tikhon simply. The guard looked awkwardly over the Patriarch's shoulder, towards Nikolas, who was still in a semi- defensive/ attack stance. He seemed to hesitate a second to long.
"Your sword!" demanded Tikhon, no longer a Patriarch, seemingly, but another member of the Imperial family. The guard handed the sword over at once, hilt towards the hand of the Patriarch.
"Don't worry, what won't kill him will make him stronger." Stated Tikhon before turning his back on the guard. The guard took this as his dismissal, and could leave quick enough.

Tikhon stepped towards his nephew. Nikolas had seemed unmoved by the real sword in his uncle's hand, but the fact that his uncle was now advancing on him with it, scared the Tsarevitch. He stepped back.
"STAND!" yelled Tikhon. He stared at Nikolas without emotion in his eyes. The colour, the love, Nikolas noticed, was gone. He didn't dare move. Although, he made the biggest gesture of surrender he thought he could make; immediately Nikolas lowered the sword he held.
"Raise your sword Sir!" demanded Tikhon. Nikolas was at a loss for words. He shook his head vigorously.
"RAISE your sword!" demanded Tikhon again, more fiercely this time. Nikolas raised the sword again.
Tikhon took the beginning stance.
"En Garde!" he said, and immediately advanced on Nikolas. Nikolas was shocked and scared. Before he could move or utter a syllable Tikhon had reached him. Tikhon raised the real sword in his hand and, with a swipe, sent the sword in Nikolas' hand flying to the other side of the gardens. Tikhon put the tip of the sword to Nikolas' chest.
"Yield!" he said softly, now his eyes softened. Nikolas found his voice, and, mouse- like said:
"I yield."
Tikhon immediately dropped the sword and slapped Nikolas. Nikolas got back up, tears streaming down his face.
"I don't care if it's a play sword or a real sword, DON'T YOU DARE RAISE A SWORD TO ANY CLERGYMAN AGAIN!" Tikhon's voice echoed throughout the entire gardens. Nikolas stood before his uncle, his head bowed in shame. He knew he'd crossed the line. He'd never been hit by his uncle before.
Tikhon paused for a long time after this out- burst. He'd lost his temper and actually hit his nephew. Tikhon felt terrible. He wanted to run off, he was furious with himself. How could he let himself make such a blunder.
Nikolas, through silent sobs found his voice again, and, silently, beseeched his uncle:
"I c-c-can't take it any m-more," Nikolas looked towards the blurred figure that was his uncle. Although, he was unable to fully see him because the tears in his eyes were impeeding his vision. Slowly, with his arms out- stretched, Nikolas made his way to his uncle, who took him in his own arms. If anyone was to see this they would have seen the Patriarch and the Tsarevtich Nikolas embracing. What they would not have seen were the tears both of them had in their eyes. The Tsarevitch for the anger and the loss he was feeling inside, for his father; and the Patriarch, for the loss of his temper, which had caused him to hit his nephew, who, in his innocence, still forgave him and sought the comfort of his embrace.

"I can't stand this any more than you can," Whispered Tikhon in his nephew's ear, as he held him in his embrace, praying for forgiveness.
"We are of a world that puts duty first and self second. We are of a world which demands the taking of an oath to serve, for as long, or as short, as our life may be. No one asks us if it is what we want. Being born into this life- style, you are taught to accept it, because there are others in the world who would die to have what we have. It's true my dearest nephew. People would die, or kill, to have what we have. However, never forget Nikolas, even the coronation of a King or Emperor is the liturgy of Ordination, and that makes this life- style something of a Holy Order, too."
After this small monologue, Tikhon put his nephew down. Nikolas still holding onto his uncle's hand, walked beside his uncle as they made their way through the gardens, talking and laughing and confiding in one and another.

c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009