3A/N: 'Calibur Arcana' is a collection of one-shots using both the Major and Minor Arcanas of the Tarot deck as a unifying theme.
Sarya is a character mentioned in Hilde's profile; she's the leader of the Schwarzwind after Siegfried leaves, and is the one who informs Hilde of Siegfried's plans. She also gives Hilde a necklace, with the request to deliver it to him. She's also briefly mentioned in Siegfried's profile, though she's not named - she's one of the people whose help Siegfried refuses in his dream.
Six of Cups
Upright: A gift from an admirer, happiness and pleasure brought from the past, good memories, new opportunities. Reversed: Living in the past, outworn friendships, disappointment
"Are you well enough to travel?" Siegfried asks her.
For a moment, Sarya cannot answer him. Too much has happened in too short a time. The violent attack the Schwarzwind has suffered at the hands of Nightmare's dread army has cut their numbers in half, and those that have survived are badly wounded and exhausted. She runs a gauntleted hand through her short, dark hair, sticky with blood and gore. Some of it is from her foes; much of it is her own. What is left of her armor - much of it has been ripped off by Ostrheinsburg's demons - hangs dented upon her lithe, muscled frame. She, too, is on her last legs.
Still, it is not in Sarya's nature - or in the natures of those she leads - to shirk from any challenge, no matter how bleak, no matter how desperate victory may be. And she is certainly not the sort who would abandon a friend, even if he is one she has not seen for years.
"We're ready whenever you are, Siegfried."
Siegfried turns to look at her, a frown crossing his face. His strange, crystalline armor is splattered with the black, viscous blood of his enemies; he has not suffered any serious injury. "You are not coming with me. None of you are."
Sarya blinks rapidly, uncomprehending. "I...what do you mean? Why did you come to our aid, if not to lead us into battle again?"
"It was chance, nothing more. If you can travel, I suggest you leave this place as soon as possible."
"Chance!" Sarya presses her hand to her heart. A cross lies beneath her armor, a cherished gift from an old friend. "Have you...have you forgotten us, Siegfried?"
Siegfried is silent for long moments. "No," he says, finally, and his voice is colder than ice. "But all that is in the past. It has no meaning for either of us, now."
Of all the wounds Sarya has borne today, this one hurts most of all. Her hands clutch convulsively at her armor, as if to take hold of the heavy cross underneath. For she remembers, and that memory means something to her, still.
Sarya sat in the shadows at the edge of the Schwarzwind's camp and sharpened her sword. A part of her was still in shock at how well the Schwarzwind had done on their last raid. Personally, she'd had her doubts about Siegfried's plan to target the returning Crusaders. Would the knights really carry that much loot home? If they'd been fighting for so long, surely they would be on their guard, more seasoned, more difficult to defeat?
But Siegfried had been right - almost insultingly so, in fact; that was the main reason Sarya sat alone, away from the raucous celebration at the other end of the camp. She wasn't eager to have Siegfried gloat over his victory in front of her yet, though she knew she was only delaying the inevitable.
It wasn't long before the young leader of the Schwarzwind came looking for her. Sarya put away her sword - it wouldn't do to have it out and in her hands if Siegfried got a little too full of himself, something that happened more often than not.
"Sarya?" Siegfried's voice was still boyish, still changing, much to Sarya's not-so-private amusement and Siegfried's chagrin. Sarya waved to him, and Siegfried came over, dropping a sack bulging with stolen goods at her feet before taking a seat beside her.
"So, what do you think?" Siegfried grinned up at her - even for sixteen, he was on the short side, something else Sarya never tired of pointing out - and motioned to the bag, its contents glittering in the flickering light of the campfire. "Not bad, huh? And you thought they'd be more trouble than they were worth..."
"They weren't pushovers," Sarya felt the need to mention. "Some of us were hurt pretty bad."
"But nobody died - not any of ours, at least. The knights, though - they didn't look that great when we finished with them."
"Hmph!" Sarya snorted, not wanting to dwell on that particular fact. She wasn't squemish about spilling blood, or killing for her own good fortune, but the knights...they'd been old, weary. Maybe they had forfeited their honor - and their lives - by retreating, like Siegfried believed, but it was hard for Sarya to convince herself that was true. "So we beat up a bunch of old geezers. What do you want, a medal?"
Siegfried stuck out his tongue in a fit of childishness. "Only if you want one too, Sarya. You were the best one out there."
"I'm always the best one out there," Sarya said, a smile creeping over her face. She knew - everyone in the Schwarzwind knew - she was one of the most skilled fighters in the group, second only to Siegfried himself - but her male companions rarely acknowledged her talents directly.
"Yeah. Um, so, anyway..." Siegfried paused, uncertainy coloring his voice suddenly. Sarya looked at him more closely, and though it was hard to see Siegfried's face in the shifting shadows of the firelight she swore she could see him blush. "...Anyway, I've got something for you." Siegfried dug into the treasure sack lying between them.
"I already took my share, Siegfried -"
"This isn't about that," he interrupted, almost sheepishly. His eyes were fixed on the ground as he spoke. He was holding something now, Sarya noticed; she saw a flash of metal as he pulled something out of the bag.
"Here," Siegfried said, and thrust something heavy and cool into Sarya's surprised hands. She held it up to the moonlight.
It was a necklace - a cross hanging by a delicate thread of silvery chains. The cross itself was relatively simple, made of silver and dotted with rubies. It had little of the ornate metalworking Sarya was used to seeing in most crosses, but the sheer weight of the pendant spoke of the high quality of the materials that composed it.
"What...what's this for?" Sarya asked. She could feel her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.
"I um, I thought you deserved something nice," Siegfried said in a rush. He leaned closer to her, and Sarya was struck by the look on his face: it was the same expression he'd had earlier today, just before he'd led the charge into the knight's camp - a mix of terror and excitement. And before she could think to say anything else, Siegfried's lips were on hers.
His kiss was sloppy and wet with too much teeth, and he tasted disgustingly like burned vension - but for all that Sarya kissed him back, equal parts shyness and a hunger she wasn't aware she'd had. Without thinking, she brought her hands to his face, to bring him closer, to show him how it was done, to, to, to - and then he pulled away, leaving Sarya gasping and wondering just what it was she'd been planning to do.
They stared at each other for a moment, neither one daring to speak.
"So..." Siegfried finally broke the silence. "Um, I hope you like it." He stood up, dusting himself off, and began to walk back to the campsite. Sarya gaped at him.
"That's it? Wait a...are you leaving? You - you jerk!"
Siegfried called back to her over his shoulder. "Maybe next time, I'll get you a ring!"
"Maybe next time, I'll throw it in your face!"
She heard his laughter carry on the night breeze. Sarya slipped the necklace around her neck and followed him, smiling in spite of herself.
"You'd cast us aside, just like that?" Sarya asks in disbelief.
"Yes," Siegfried replies. No excuses, no explanation; he doesn't look at her as he speaks. And before Sarya can protest, he is leaving her - and the Schwarzwind - behind again.
"Oh, you stupid, overconfident - " Sarya takes off after him, but her wounds slow her down. Her legs are weak, trembling, aching, and she falls. Cursing, she picks herself up, and Siegfried turns back, staring at her with cool green eyes.
"We're not a bunch of farmers, you know!" Sarya snarls. "You know us, Siegfried - we're fighters, we know what we're doing, we, we..."
We know you better than anyone, she wants to say, but her voice - thick with weariness and anger - fails her. She can feel the weight of the cross under her armor, the metal cool against her skin. Unconsciously her hand steals to her neck and traces the fine line of silver there.
"...we can help you," Sarya finshes lamely.
Wordlessly, Siegfried's gaze flicks over Sarya's battered armor, her fresh-bleeding wounds. Sarya flinches at his unspoken judgment.
"This isn't your battle," Siegfried tells her. His voice is low and rich and deep, nothing like the boy she'd known. "It's mine."
It is our battle, you fool, she screams inside her head. The Schwarzwind - I - we haven't forgotten you. We won't let you walk this path alone.
Sarya tries to follow him, to guard him, to shout out everything she's kept locked inside her heart.
But Siegfried's already left her behind. The setting sun shines on the myriad facets of his armor, a lonely fallen star approaching a sea of darkness.
Sarya turns away. It hurts her eyes to look at him, and she can't see him for the light.