Disclaimer: Saint Seiya (c) Kurumada, not me.
A/N: I wrote this about three years ago and just rediscovered it on my harddrive as I was looking for pics of Aiolia. It's his birthday today. It follows anime-verse and is slightly AU if you take Episode G into account.

I.
Aiolia vs. Phaeton;
The Sanctuary gathers.

Saga picked up the cup of wine resting on the table beside him and calmly brought it to his lips. The afternoon breeze was stirring up the dust and sand from the coliseum's arena and carrying it all the way up to the private platform on the highest spot of the stands that was reserved to him, the Great Pope, the leader of Athena's Saints. Along with the overwhelmingly hot Athenian sun that had yet to set, it was making his lips dry and his breath coarse. He took a small sip, then replaced the adorned cup to its place, mindful to lay a protective white, finely embroidered cloth over it, and turned his attention to the arena.

Down below, his right-hand man, Gigars, was waiting, impatient, for Saga to finish refreshing himself. As soon as he saw the Pope shifting in his direction with the slightest of nods, the grey-haired man went about transmitting the order to proceed to his subordinates.

Personally, he was of the opinion that the sooner this matter was dealt with, the better. He thought that what the Pope was doing was not only needless, but a downright affront to all the rules and traditions of their home, the Sanctuary, and of the great goddess Athena. Everything about this spectacle was a huge mistake. Orders were orders, though, and it was his duty to obey them no matter how much he'd like to tell the Pope to reconsider. Vehemently.

Receiving the signal from their short crystal-eyed commander, two guards went about opening the gates that would allow the fighters into the arena. The doors grated against the metallic structure around them like a lamenting wounded beast, but, as soon as they were open wide enough to reveal the champion waiting behind them, that wailing was replaced by thunderous applause from the audience.

Wherever one looked, the stands were full. A crowd of guards, saints and trainees all gathered to watch the strange, never-before-seen fight were unanimously cheering on the tall, slender young man heading towards Gigars at the centre. His steady, confident gait at the welcoming was obvious for anyone to see.

The deafening applause, whistling, shouts for encouragement and strength coming from all over the circular arena all strengthened the message that the old one-eyed commander would like to give to the Pope: "this fight is useless. Cancel it while there's still time."

Saga had already noticed the look on Gigars's face, though, and despite the man's cowardly restraint in making his protests known, he was fully aware of what was going through his mind. He smiled under the shadow of his winged helmet, amused at the apparent last-minute doubts of a master towards his student. If Gigars was completely convinced - as he liked to make others believe - that his apprentice currently marching across the sandy arena would win, then surely he wouldn't be asking for an annulment. He would have grabbed on to the chance to exalt his pupil's qualities while humiliating the one who had foolishly challenged him.

As he waited for the audience to calm down, he took another sip of fresh wine.

They could all disagree with his decision to allow this extra fight for one of the sacred cloths to take place - he himself had doubts if it was the right thing to do - but the fact of the matter was that the entire Sanctuary was gathered there, and not just to see how Gigars's apprentice did. Saga had to admit that he was just as curious as them, if not more, to find out what the other boy could do. That had been the single and simple reason why he had consented to this fight: he wanted to test if it really ended the way everyone expected: with a crushing victory on the part of Gigars's student. He couldn't help wondering about how the years that had passed since Aiolos had betrayed the Sanctuary had influenced the other contestant. He had a feeling that he would not be disappointed.

Suddenly, all the clamouring ceased and a measure of silence returned to the plain limestone stadium. Saga's gaze was drawn to the entrance, where the second fighter, target of his interest and the reason why everyone had gathered there today, under the statue of the goddess, had arrived. The quiet was such that Saga could almost have heard the sand being crushed under the boy's feet as he took the first step. The rest were muffled by the hissing and railing that infectiously spread throughout the crowd from there on. By the time the measly-looking boy had reached his place next to the first fighter, the volume had increased to such proportions that it rivalled the cheering that had been heard for his opponent.

Saga observed it all, careful so he wouldn't miss any detail. Gigars had his back turned towards him now, with each boy standing opposite him on each side. The difference in statures between them was made all the more remarkable by their proximity to each other, but Saga knew better than to pass judgment based on that. If the fiery expression on the second boy's face was of any indication, the fight would be, at the very least, ferocious.

The first young man was tall and lean, but well toned. He was in the mid years of his adolescence and that stage was well noted in his arrogant look upon receiving the audience's full support and especially at their clear dislike of his opponent. He was Gigars's pupil, Phaeton, and he already had a good number of victories to his name in the tournament for the cloth. He obviously thought that there was no way that he'd lose to a stunted-looking little traitor who was only there by special favour from the Pope.

The second youth, on the other hand, had just finished entering adolescence, but in many ways looked older than Phaeton. He was a bit short, as he had yet to reach the age for a growth spurt, but his worn out and dusty clothes did very little to hide his extraordinarily well-defined muscles. His hair was a disorganised mess that had once been blond, with tresses too long to be considered short tumbling rebelliously over a pair of intense sea-green eyes.

Saga found himself at the focus of that gaze and was surprised by the sheer amount of concentration that someone so young could hold under those circumstances. The shouts from the crowd seemed to have no effect on him and, for a moment, Saga wondered if he could even hear them. Clearly, the only opinion that mattered to the young warrior was the one of the person whose eyes he wouldn't let go: that of the Great Pope, ruler of the Sanctuary.

Saga smiled again; the devotion in the gesture pleased and appealed to him. He hadn't been mistaken on one thing: the boy had spirit and he had grown up rather interestingly. It couldn't have been any other way, really - not from the little brother of one of the greatest and most controversial saints in all of the history of the Sanctuary: the despised traitor, Sagittarius Aiolos.

Aiolia and Phaeton were about to fight for the honour of wearing one of Athena's sacred bronze cloths. It would be, without a doubt, a fight to remember.