Remember us.
As simple an order as a king can give.
Remember why we died.
As simple an order as a king can give.
Remember why we died.
For he did not wish tribute or song.
No monuments, no poems of war and valor.
No monuments, no poems of war and valor.
His wish was simple.
Remember us.
He said to me.
That was his hope.
Remember us.
He said to me.
That was his hope.
Should any free soul come across that place in all the countless centuries yet to be, may all our voices whisper to you from the ageless stones.
Go tell the Spartans, passerby, that here, by Spartan law, we lie.
And so my king died... and my brothers died.
And so my king died... and my brothers died.
Barely a year ago.
Long I pondered my king's cryptic talk of victory and the time has proven him wise.
Long I pondered my king's cryptic talk of victory and the time has proven him wise.
For from Greek to free Greek the word was spread that bold Leonidas and his 300, so far from home, Laid down their lives, not just for Sparta, but for all Greece and the promise this country holds.
Now, here on this ragged patch of earth called Platea, Xerxes' hordes face obliteration.
Just there, the barbarians huddle.
Sheer terror gripping tight their hearts with icy fingers, knowing full well what merciless horrors they suffered at the swords and spears of three hundred.
Sheer terror gripping tight their hearts with icy fingers, knowing full well what merciless horrors they suffered at the swords and spears of three hundred.
Yet they stare now, across the plain, at 10.000 Spartans, commanding 30.000 free Greeks.
The enemy outnumbers us a paltry three to one.
Good odds for any Greek.
Good odds for any Greek.
This day we rescue a world from mysticism and tyranny and usher in a future brighter that anything we can imagine.
Give thanks, men... to Leonidas and the brave three hundred.
To victory!
