A/N: don't even ask me about the logic on this one... because there is none.
I own nothing
Chapter 1
A cold stone castle in the deepest depths of obscurity. An archaic thing, wholly removed from the fold of modernity- discretion utterly forsaken by the baroque peaks of its towering precipice, and yet it is here that some of the most highly guarded secrets are kept from the eyes of man. The snow falls lightly on the earth, layering the wilderness in gentle white, yet the castle towers indifferently, its stalwart walls shall never be so soft, although it certainly feels the chill on the morning light. It does not waver, a perfect bastion of security- like a watchdog of the night.
And in the half darkness of its interior, a man has summoned a legend. Though perhaps not the one he was expecting.
"You", he began drily, "are not king Arthur". He took a slow drag of a cigarette, its smoldering embers providing a fraction of the light necessary to observe the stoic figure before him. His eyes betrayed nothing.
And the legend stepped forward, bronze cuirass eagerly sucking up whatever illumination it could and spitting it back with defiance and brilliant golden radiance. It was in this way that the summoner could make out the legendary corinthian helmet, with massive red plume swaying with every idle turn of the head, and sunken darkness obscuring the owners eyes and facial features behind an expressionless wall of bronze. The whole body was a wall of bronze- from head to toe, helm to greaves, and the aspis shield which was settled to the cold-stone floor with the loud clang of metal, as the legend prepared to invoke its voice.
The echo of metal on stone...
Echo...
echo...
echo...
The summoner took another drag of his cigarette.
The world held its silence.
The legend held up his hand. "No", he said finally. Though his voice was level, it seemed to hold all the ferocity of a lion. "I am the defender of Greece".
"And you brought friends", the summoner drawled, though not everyone was as un-emotive.
"Whats happening!?", a white haired woman shrieked. Her eyes were wide and her body was tense, for the red of the summoners circle had burst free once more, filling the murkiness with its bloody light, and from the depths of mysticism and times past, began to pour out more shapes, more figures.
More helms, more shields, more spears, shambling into the castle air, confused, lost, and without purpose. The room was filling swiftly with the jostling mass of bodies and confused murmurs.
"Not friends", spoke the legend. "Country men certainly, and yet, their presence here is as much a mystery to you as it is to me".
Xxx
Outside, on the snowy plains bordering castle and forest, four hundred men from another time congregated in a ritual as old as human history: the public assembly. Their arrival to this time had been tumultuous, sudden, disturbing, and absolutely none of them wasted anytime conveying this to their fellow wayfarers in as loud and brash a manner as possible... and all at once. In fact, by their mannerisms, and the sheer racket they were managing to put up, it would've been near impossible to tell that they had once been men of the highest order of civilization.
Few words could be made out from the chaos, scattered about on the wind.
"Ludicrous! This is ludicrous!-"
"-By the gods! What trickery is this!"
"-Witch craft, foul witchcraft is what this is!"
"Silence!", somebody shouted. He was quickly drowned out by a hundred other voices.
"What's the meaning of this- this lunacy!?"
"-You bloody knob, there is no meaning! We've been buggered!"
"Silence gentlemen! Silen-"
"Every man for himself!". There was the distinctive noise of somebody being punched in the face, and that was that.
"SHUT UUUUP! SHUT UP YOU SONS OF WHORES!"
The immediate silence that followed was just as deafening. Everyman turned towards the source of the shout, thinking it was a herald of Olympus or something of the sort, voice roaring like thunder, and the herald, seeing his opportunity, shoved his way into the center.
He was a tall, middle aged man, who wore his dark hair long, in the traditional greek fashion. His olive skin, proved a harsh contrast to the wintry white falling about to rest gently on his shoulders- on everyones shoulders- as did his dark, keen eyes. These spoke of experience, glaring out through the darkened sockets of a neatly handsome face. He was dressed only in his tunic, like the rest, for there was no place for armor and weaponry in a meeting of citizens. Those who recognized him, nodded in deference.
"You are all confused", he said, "that is understandable, for you have not had the blessing that I have had- had not the voice of zeus to whisper quietly in your ear that we, fellow citizens, have been summoned... for a holy war".
"War!? War!?", the response was immediate outrage.
"What need have we for war!? What need!?", asked a hundred voices. The deafening voice of public opinion.
"- Can you not see!? Can you not see!? It is a blessing!"
"To what end Miltiades!?" The crowds parted to allow a new speaker into the center. He threw his arms out to the heavens, as he stepped forward. "To what end does the brave", he sneered at this, "Miltiades, ask of me- of us, noble greeks, to shed our blood in the after life?! Shall I, Euthymios, proud citizen of Athens, degrade myself to the level of some Lacedaemonian?! Some spartiate, whoring himself out to the heels of ares till only blood shall sate my being?! Shame on you!"
"Shame!", echoed a hundred more voices.
"Warmonger!"
"I fight for my city!", Miltiades snarled above the racket, "as do the rest of you, and it is in the name of our city, Athens, and all Greece, that I ask you to take up arms once more!"
"Athens is dead!", someone shouted from the back ranks, though this incited several more jeering "boos", then he had probably expected. "It died with us!"
"Boooooooo!"
"Somebody shut him up!"
"-You shut up you goat fucker!"
"Fine citizens, of Athens", Miltiades continued after some semblance of quiet had been restored. "True, the years have not been kind on our fair city. Even now, our successors, those fools who have forgotten their noble heritage drive it further into ruin. Every day that passes, our people live in greater poverty then the last. The world has forgotten our glory, and moved on. But I tell you, it shall be restored! For this war shall make it so! It is an opportunity from the gods, and more then that, it is a sign- a sign that we, Euthymios", he looked the man straight in the eyes, "are favored above all others!".
Some men cheered briefly, being easy to please, others remained quiet.
"-one single wish, one powerful wish, to restore history to its rightful course! And-"
"Miltiades!", out from the crowd stepped another man. A man of average height with a balding head of hair, and a pale unhealthy pallor to his skin. He seemed to frown in embarrassment from being given such attention. Nevertheless, he gripped his balls, stepped up and spoke. "My name is Parmenides, and two thousand years ago, I fought with you. We fought with you", he said, gesturing around at his assembled country men. "And two thousand years ago, we died", he finished lamely. "Now we find ourselves wrested from the peace of our final rest in hades, to a world which we can scarcely recognize, with a country that no longer knows us. Like or not, the world turned out as it is now, and exists as it is now. What right do we have to tamper with the lives, the existences, of our descendants? We are old, past our time, and all I wish for, is to be reunited with my family once more."
"You can do so with the full honors of a hero Parmenides". Miltiades gazed around at the multitudes of faces before him. All thoughtful, sad, confused, angry. "What say you? Any of you?!" Some men nodded as his gaze passed over them, while others looked down instead. "Where have the brave men gone?! Where are the brave men of Athens gone, and who stand before me?! This huddled mass of humanity, who dare to pass up this opportunity, and dream of silent night! Will you not follow me?! Your strategos! One final time, as the dusk washes over our memory!"
"Elected general of two thousand years", somebody muttered, "bloody tyrant".
"Quiet", said somebody else, quite indistinguishable from the crowd. "Now its obvious, as there is some disagreement here, that there's only one thing left to do."
"Aye", all four hundred men agreed in unison.
"Kill the opposition!", somebody shouted in the background. There was the discrete hiss of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.
"No you fools! Are you civilized men, or are you pig headed barbarians?! I meant vote! We put it to a vote!"
Everyone let out a groan, for they had all interpreted the "one thing" differently.
"Very well". Euthymios seeing his opportunity, spoke up once more. From his memories of life, Miltiades remembered him as a shrewd- if unsuccessful politician. "Let us defer to our most noble custom, and remember whilst we do so, our roots as orators, artists, philosophers- good honest folk, with honest intentions. We may have once taken up arms in defense, but now Miltiades, the tyrant of Chersonese, would have us do so once more, for as unjust a cause as to sate his own ambition!", he laughed harshly. "Fool yourselves not, my friends. This man will lead us to ruin! But I expect each of you to not allow him this opportunity". With that, he cleared his throat, turned, and marched away, melding back into the crowd once more.
And from the window of a tower in the einzbern castle, Emiya Kiritisugu watched over one of the oldest and proudest of Athenian traditions.
He felt a pair of gentle arms around him. "Not quite what we were expecting was it?"
"It changes nothing", he grunted, "all they have to do, is their duties as servants. They are tools. Nothing more". He took a deep breath, feeling Irisviel's head on his shoulder. "In truth, I'm glad".
"Glad?"
Kiritisugu gave one of his rare smiles. They had become increasingly rare as the war drew nearer. "Part of me feels as though... the king of knights wouldn't have been a suitable servant for me after all".
They stood in silence for a minute, two minutes, watching the men of Greece cast stones.
"Four hundred servants", Irisviel whispered. "And one step closer to fulfilling your ideals". She found herself shuddering, despite the warmth of her husband.
Four hundred angry spirits brought forth from the dead. No direction, no purpose, bound by a few command seals and the promise of a single miracle.
And by mid afternoon, those four hundred angry spirits, clad in bronze cuirass and linothorax, were marching up and down the courtyard to the steady chant of "1, 2, 3, 4! March in step you dogs, you are warriors!" Four hundred shields and groans were raised in unison at the single cry of "Phalanx!", then lowered, then raised again, and four hundred spears were presented perfectly, as Miltiades marched down the line.
The vote was indecisive, but operating on a simple majority, it was sufficient. 205 votes for. 195 against.
The air was filled with blood, and the Athenians prepared for war.
Xxx
And there's the first chapter, more of a prologue then anything, introducing our main man Miltiades, and the Athenian army. In particular, this is only a portion of that same army that routed the Persians at the battle of Marathon. Miltiades of course, is a real person from history, as are the other servants I have in mind. Their armies however, are composed entirely of ocs. (Or almost entirely).