Win or Die
Disclaimer: I own none of the King Arthur characters. I only own Sansa.
Part 1
Chapter 4
A short line of horses made its way towards Hadrian's Wall, giving their horses a chance to catch their breath as they grew close.
One of their brothers lay over his saddle instead of riding in it. He sacrificed himself, in order to save them, and secure an escape. Dagonet had run across the ice, and began hacking at it, relentlessly. He was hit by several arrows, and fell into the water. He died there, on the ice, and there was nothing they could do to save him- even with the aid of a healer.
It made them want to fight even more. But there was no sense in throwing away what Dagonet had died for. So they escaped.
Sansa sat in front of Lancelot on his black stallion, leaning into his chest. Neither had been injured, thankfully, but both were weary to their cores. "Lance..." Sansa murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, looking up at him.
"Hmm?" He inquired, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"I think I saw my brother on the ice," she murmured, her mismatched eyes glistening with tears.
"Which one was he?" Lancelot asked, gently, laying an arm across her waist, pulling her closer to him.
"He has a shaved head, a braided beard, the same color as my hair. He would have been leading them," She whispered. Sansa couldn't help but fear her brother had fallen into the water.
"I'm sure he's fine, Sansa," Lancelot assured her. He didn't want to tell her he was sure he'd seen him too- especially when he didn't know his fate.
Sansa sighed, heavily, covering his hand with her own. "I hope you're right," she murmured in reply.
"Woman, all I can think of right now is getting to my quarters and into my bed." Lancelot commented, at which Sansa craned her head to look at him.
"And what of me?" She asked.
Lancelot chuckled. "I thought it was implied that you were included in that. That is, if you're willing," he replied in a husky whisper.
Sansa gave a smile, turning her head to bestow a kiss on the corner of his mouth, squeezing the hand that rested against her stomach. "I take that as a yes," Lancelot said, dryly, a grin spreading over his lips.
"If you keep acting so smug, my answer might change," Sansa retorted, a smile spreading over her face at the sight of the Great Wall, that Lancelot and the others called Hadrian's Wall. "How much farther to the fort?" She asked, shifting back and forth to get comfortable in the saddle.
Lancelot chuckled at her eagerness. "A couple hours' ride. We should be there by noon," he answered.
"Well, hurry up! I won't be going to bed with you if my arse is numb!" Sansa retorted, smacking Lancelot's leg.
"As my lady commands," Lancelot grinned, directing his horse to move faster.
Sansa wandered into the room that Lancelot had just coasted into, glancing around. The room was small, but was nearly wall-to-wall with warm furs and weapons. Lancelot had discarded his pack on the floor beside the door, and was trying to remove his armor, but was having trouble reaching some of the clasps.
Sansa closed the door, quietly, and went to him, pulling the clasps of his armor open with ease. He gave her a grateful look, as he shrugged off the chest piece, and placed it upon a stand. Then he went ahead and removed his boots, and began to undress.
Sansa blushed, her eyes going to the floor, as Lancelot removed his shirt. A few seconds later, she heard the shuffle of his steps before her, and he lifted her chin to meet his gaze with just a finger. He still wore his breeches, but only that. "Come here," he said, gently, drawing her into the safe haven of his arms.
"You know I would not force you to do anything you did not wish to, right?" Lancelot asked, his dark eyes showing a remarkable amount of tenderness.
Sansa reached her arms back to the ties of her dress. "I know," she replied, simply, beginning to pull the ties undone.
Lancelot smiled, kissing her softly, before he spun her in his arms, making her face away from him, as his skilled fingers deftly untied her dress, letting it drop to the floor. Under that, Sansa was completely bare.
Her body flushed red with embarrassment, even her shoulders blushed. Lancelot chuckled, placing butterfly kisses along her bare shoulder. Sansa shivered, letting Lancelot turn her to face him. Her arms immediately went up, to cover her breasts from his sight. Lancelot caught her wrists, pulling them down. "Never hide yourself from me," he said, in a low, seductive tone.
If it was even possible, Sansa blushed even darker, as his gaze roamed her body freely. "You are beautiful," he whispered, truly meaning it.
Something seemed to click in place in Sansa's head, and before she knew it, she'd thrown her arms around Lancelot's neck and was kissing him with a force she didn't know she had.
Lancelot stumbled back, falling onto the bed, which of course pulled Sansa along with him. The pair barely moved at all, except Sansa to straddle his waist, and Lancelot to stroke her thighs. Their kiss remained unbroken, with the two straining against each other, their need growing with every passing moment. When the kiss finally ended, with each in dire need of air, Lancelot flipped them over.
Sansa panted, pinned underneath Lancelot's muscular body. She could feel his hardened member against her stomach, as Lancelot began to brush his lips against her collarbone, and slowly move downwards. The white-hot coiling in her lower belly told Sansa she felt the desire just as keenly as Lancelot did.
"Lance…" she murmured, his name coming out a strangled mewl. Lancelot lifted his head, his dark curls gloriously mussed. He grinned, and began to work his way back up to her mouth. Sansa's fingers dug into his back, and he let out a pleased growl, before attacking her lips with his own.
Sansa reached down Lancelot's back, dragging her fingers lightly, till she reached his breeches, and slid her hands to his front, to untie the laces of his breeches. Lancelot watched, eyes dark with desire, as Sansa leaned forward, gently dragging the breeches down his legs, until he stepped out of them.
Sansa blushed, staring at his member, almost incredulously. Lancelot chuckled. "If you hadn't already told me you were virgin, the way you're looking at me right now would've given it away." He whispered, nuzzling her cheek.
Sansa groaned in embarrassment. "I'm sorry…I just don't know what to do now…" she replied, with a heavy sigh.
"Whatever you want to," Lancelot breathed, bracing himself above her with an arm on either side of her body. Tentatively, and with a nod of encouragement from Lancelot, Sansa reached out, grasping his cock firmly. Lancelot gasped, a shudder coursing through his body, nearly collapsing atop her; so violent was his reaction.
Sansa regarded him with wide eyes, not daring to move her hand. "Go on," Lancelot pleaded, through gritted teeth. Sansa tilted her face to press her lips to his, letting her hand trace his member gently, feeling him hiss against her lips.
Lancelot moved a hand down her belly, tracing the flat plains he found there, before continuing downward. Sansa gasped into Lancelot's lips, as she felt fingers sliding between her slick folds. He found her wet and ready, which made his cock twitch in pure anticipation. Sansa's hands fell to her sides, before wrapping her arms around Lancelot's back, pressing herself closer to him.
Lancelot played with her folds, watching her reaction, as she clenched at his back, her breath coming out in starved gasps. She went absolutely rigid, however, as he slid a finger inside her. Lancelot pressed a hand on her belly. "Relax. Relax your hips," he told her. Gods, she was so tight, just around his finger too! He couldn't even imagine how it would feel when he buried his cock inside her.
Sansa took a deep breath and nodded, slightly. Lancelot waited, patiently, as the tension melted away, before he slid another finger inside her. Sansa bit her lip, wriggling silently. Lancelot spread his fingers trying to stretch her a little, get her used to the feeling. He curled his fingers inside her, hearing Sansa's startled gasp and following moan. With a grin, he continued. A few moments later, the coil in her belly tightened even further, white-hot heat spreading through her. A strangled cry escaped Sansa's lips, signaling her climax.
Lancelot removed his fingers, licking her juices from his fingers, as Sansa watched through wide eyes. "My innocent virgin," Lancelot murmured, darkly, lowering himself to press his lips to her. Sansa could taste herself on his lips, finding it a profoundly surreal feeling.
It was during her distraction, that Lancelot entered her. She cried into his mouth, her nails digging into his back. Sansa felt stretched, farther than she thought possible. There was no pain, yet, but she prepared herself for it to come.
"Sansa," Lancelot cooed, kissing her gently. "Relax. It will hurt more if you don't," he said, pleadingly. She trembled like a frightened bird in his arms. Lancelot gently stroked her cheek, gently. Slowly, she relaxed, and he smothered her with kisses. "This is the part that will hurt, love," he warned her, and she nodded, bravely, before crashing her lips onto his.
Lancelot began to push forward, coming to her barrier. With one more kiss, Lancelot broke through the barrier with a powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. A pained whimper escaped Sansa's lips, and she buried her face in Lancelot's chest. His arms trembled, from the effort of keeping himself still, letting the woman beneath him adjust.
She's so tight, so warm…so welcoming. Lancelot wanted to lose himself in the pleasure of her body- but he didn't want to hurt her. "Lance…" she said, weakly, getting his attention. "Go on," Sansa told him, laying a timid kiss on his lips.
Lancelot seized control of this kiss, deepening it to a battle of tongues. It was during this time that he began to move, thrusting in and out, feeling more and more encouraged as Sansa responded more and more.
After a few minutes; Lancelot had his lover writhing beneath him, moaning like a banshee. This had him more in his element; though he had to remember that he was not just seeking release, from a barmaid or whore. This was something more. So he wouldn't endanger this…whatever it was, by treating her like something she wasn't. Lancelot leaned down to mesh his lips to Sansa's, noting with a pleased noise how she moved to meet him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her legs about his waist, gasping into his mouth as he hit a particular spot inside her.
"Lance…" Sansa mewled, her hips bucking into his. Lancelot groaned, his climax quickly approaching, and by the look of it, so was Sansa's. Lancelot sped up his thrusts, feeling the familiar sensation of his balls tightening, signaling his coming climax, but he kept on, throwing himself into a near-frenzy, until Sansa reached her climax, endlessly crying out his name. He lasted only moments longer than that, grunting out Sansa's name, before his seed coated her womb.
Lancelot rolled off of her, an arm already curled around her neck to pull her right into his side. Sansa cuddled into his side, resting a hand on his chest as she laid her head on his arm. The pair panted, trying to catch their breath.
Soon, Sansa began to shiver, her naked body pressing closer to Lancelot's. While he enjoyed that, he was beginning to feel the chill in the air too. "Let me start a fire in the hearth," he murmured, nuzzling Sansa's cheek, who let out a delighted giggle.
Lancelot climbed from the bed, walking across the room in all his nude glory; proudly aware of the woman ogling him from the bed. Sansa shifted in the bed, dragging furs over her body, letting her drowsy eyes flutter shut.
Lancelot stepped back to the bed, he observed the fur bundle that concealed his lover. A smirk spread over his lips, before pouncing on the bed, prying a squeal from Sansa. "I'm gone for a mere minute, and you've replaced me, eh?" He asked, peeling back the furs, to get a look at the woman beneath them.
Her flaxen hair was absolutely tangled and chaotic, serving as proof of their activities, as did her swollen lips, and various love-marks that Lancelot had left on her. Her mismatched blue and green eyes were bright, holding such affection for him that it brought a slight pain to his heart. "It was cold," she offered, meekly, placing an icy hand against his skin, making him flinch. Lancelot flopped down in the bed, and Sansa promptly cuddled to his side, pulling the furs with her.
Lancelot let out a content sigh, resting a hand on her shoulder, as her head fell on his chest. With his other hand, he tugged the furs up higher, covering all of Sansa's bare flesh. Not long after that, he heard her breathing even and slow, before noticing her eyes had closed, and his lover had dozed off.
The sun peeked through the shutters, considering it was early afternoon. Lancelot was exhausted too, but there was too much going on in his head, for him to fall asleep. Tomorrow morning they were to be leaving. Leaving Britain forever.
And where did Sansa fit into all that, Lancelot wondered. He certainly wanted her to come with him. They could settle down in Sarmatia, near where Lancelot had been born- with his own tribe, if they still lived. But who said Sansa would want that? She was already so very far from her homeland, so why would she want to stray even further?
Lancelot sighed. Perhaps there would be discussions ahead. He glanced down at the woman in his arms. She seemed to be more grabby in her sleep than she was awake- her hand ran up and down his chest, completely unaware of the fiery trail it left behind.
Lancelot caught her hand, holding it to one place on his chest. Sansa stirred but did not wake, murmuring nonsense and snuggling closer to him. He cracked a smile, before stretching to kiss her forehead. He let his hand brush her back, his hand spread flat covered a large portion of the pale flesh. Under his fingers were many raised-edges of scars, and he let himself trace them idly.
They served as reminder how Sansa had suffered in her life so far. By the amount of scars, it was a lot. And Lancelot may not know why, but he knew that he wanted to protect Sansa from any more suffering.
Lancelot let himself fantasize about what he did want for himself, and Sansa. He imagined themselves married, he could see Sansa's belly swollen with his child through his mind's eye. Simple things like that. Simple happiness.
Lancelot was lost in his thoughts and musings for nearly an hour, until the blonde in his arms began to stir. "Mmmm..." She groaned, stretching lithe limbs within the circle of his arms.
"Have a nice nap?" Lancelot asked, with an amused glint to his eyes, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. Sansa giggled, a lovely blush settling on her cheeks. Lancelot's hand slowly moved down her side, gliding over her curves.
Sansa smiled, trailing her fingers down his chest. "Again?" She asked, almost incredulously.
Lancelot's mouth turned into an ear-splitting grin. "You're with me, love. Expect this to happen a lot," he replied, before he pounced atop her as she squealed.
In the hall outside, Galahad and Gawain stopped before Lancelot's door as the sounds of feminine giggling filtered through the door. There was absolutely no doubt as to what was taking place.
"Lucky bastard," Galahad muttered, shaking his head.
Gawain tilted his head, looking rather thoughtful. "I think this is different for Lancelot," he commented. Galahad flashed his friend an incredulous look. "Haven't you noticed the way he looks at Sansa? He doesn't look at her like the whores, or barmaids he usually beds. It's different," Gawain remarked.
Galahad shrugged. "Fat lot of difference it makes to me. I'm still jealous." He retorted.
Gawain chuckled. "Well, I think you'll have far more women to choose from now on. I have the feeling that Lancelot will be a one-woman man from now on." He assured his friend, before walking away.
The door to Lancelot's quarters slammed open, startling the sleeping couple from their slumber.
"What in the hell do you want!?" Lancelot snarled, sitting up quickly, blocking Sansa's body from the view of Galahad, who stood at the door.
"Arthur wants you on the wall. Now." Galahad said, grimly. He left without another word, closing the door behind him.
Lancelot and Sansa traded confused looks, moving to climb out of bed, and get dressed. "What do you think has happened?" Lancelot asked, curiously, as he laced up the back of Sansa's dress.
Sansa shrugged. "I could only guess..." She responded.
"Well, we better go, then," he murmured, taking her hand and leading her from his room.
Lancelot and Sansa showed up on the Wall, where Arthur and Guinevere waited. Guinevere immediately moved forward, taking Sansa's arm, and the pair began to whisper in a friendly way.
"What is it, Arthur?" Lancelot asked. Arthur motioned for him to come closer.
"They're here," Arthur replied, simply. Lancelot and Sansa moved forward, peering out over the wall. Thousands of fires camped right outside the wall signaled the Saxons' presence. Sansa's face went absolutely white at the sight of it.
Lancelot immediately pulled Sansa into his arms. "We'll leave, Sansa. I'll get you away from here," he told her, plans already forming in his mind. Sansa pulled away, turning to Arthur.
"There must be something I can do, Arthur. I can…I can...reason with him, try to," Sansa requested, frantically, catching Arthur's arm. Arthur wavered, as Guinevere and Lancelot glared at him.
"Reason with him!?" Lancelot snarled, grabbing Sansa's arm. "He'd kill you! There is no way in hell I'm letting you go into that camp!" He told her, beginning to tow her back from the Wall. Sansa pulled away from him, violently.
"Let me!?" Sansa demanded, her voice deadly. Lancelot froze, trying to determine what to do- Sansa had never raised her voice to him in anger- but she was angry now. "I don't know where you got the idea that you had a say in this, Lance, but you don't! This is my decision!" Sansa shrieked at him.
Lancelot scowled. "I don't care! I won't let you throw your life away! You are staying with me, and we are leaving in the morning!" He responded, reaching for Sansa again, who shoved him away, before turning to Arthur.
"Arthur, please! I know I can convince my brother, and with his help, we have a chance!" Sansa pleaded, grabbing hold of his sleeve.
"You're sure of this?" Arthur questioned tentatively. Sansa nodded.
"Arthur!" Lancelot and Guinevere protested.
Arthur ignored them. "It is a huge risk, Sansa," he reminded her.
"I am aware," Sansa replied, confidently. "I know what to say to my brother, I know what to say to my father. With Cynric's aid, I may be able to convince my father to seek power elsewhere," she explained.
"Sansa, you said he would kill you if you came back! What makes you think that he'll believe anything you say!" Lancelot argued desperately.
Sansa spun on him so fast, he swore she'd get whiplash. "I have to try, Lance!" She pleaded, hoping he would understand.
"But not at the risk of your life, Sansa! You'd be going in alone!" Lancelot retorted.
"I am a princess, remember?!" Sansa snapped. "Only my brother or father can lay a hand on me, and my father is the only one who would! He may be heartless and cruel, but he is cunning! He won't kill me!" Sansa exclaimed.
"If Sansa wishes to, she will go. You will not stop her, Lancelot." Arthur decided. A look of fury mixed with betrayal dawned on the dark-haired knight's face.
"Lance, please...understand," Sansa begged, reaching towards her new love.
Lancelot turned his back on her, moving back to the Wall. He did not see Arthur lead Sansa away- only heard their footsteps. He only saw the small form- his woman, he knew- scurrying from the gate towards the Saxon camp, fading into the darkness. His knuckles turned white, as he gripped the stone of the wall before him.
All that he thought he had was lost in mere minutes. He cursed Galahad for calling them from his bed, he cursed himself for not throwing the stubborn woman over his shoulder and tying her to the bed to prevent her escape.
But never the less he knew, even if Arthur had forbidden it, she would have found a way to slip out. Lancelot let out a snarl, before stalking back to his quarters.
Now, like it or not, he was staying.