Win or Die

Disclaimer: I own none of the King Arthur characters. I only own Sansa.

Part 1

Chapter 5

Sansa slipped between the tents in the Saxon camp, until she found the one she knew her brother would be occupying, and crept in.

Her elder brother, Cynric, was already curled in his cot, probably seeking his rest for the battle the next day. Sansa moved silently, until she stood over him. She crouched next to him, reaching over to wake him, when a hand shot out, grabbing her wrist forcefully. Another hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat. "Cynric...!" She gasped, her hand going to pull at the one restricting her ability to breath.

Cynric sat up, peering at her, before he abruptly let go, before grabbing her shoulders. "Sansa?!" He demanded, incredulously.

"Cynric," She replied, with watery eyes, reaching for him with open arms. The man moved quickly, tugging her into his arms.

"Where have you been?! Sister, I thought you were dead!" Cynric questioned, shaking her gently.

"I was prisoner on a Roman's land, they captured me not far from the camp on my morning walk," Sansa answered, softly, as her brother set her down on the cot beside him.

"I saw you on the lake," Cynric remarked, quietly. Sansa lifted her eyes, frightened. "I didn't tell father." He added.

"If father knew, he'd have my head," Sansa murmured, and Cynric nodded in agreement.

"How did you get here?" He questioned. Sansa shifted, uncomfortably. "Arthur and his knights?" he asked, in a low growl. She nodded, shortly.

"One of them…Lance…" She began, sheepishly. Sansa knew she could be honest with her brother, he would not be angry with her.

"You love him." Cynric finished for her, an indulgent look in his eyes.

"I might."

"Why did you not stay with him? You would have been safer." He questioned.

His sister's face darkened, considerably. "He won't be staying to fight; nor will he let me. Father will force me to fight. I had to do something," She answered in their native language, the words tumbling out faster than she could control.

"I don't like it." Cynric replied with a snarl.

"You don't have to!" Sansa retorted, heatedly. "You have to take me to Father! He'll have my head, and yours- if we aren't on our way!" She ordered, jumping up from her seat. Cynric rose, slowly.

"Why are you so eager, Sansa? He will be less than pleased," He questioned her.

Sansa shrugged. "I'll lose my nerve." She answered, honestly.

"Then come," Cynric said, taking his sister's hand. He led her through the camp, amidst stares, and into their father's tent.

Cerdic, King of the Saxons, sat at a table, drinking a goblet of wine, idly. He lifted his eyes as his children entered the tent. He showed little surprise or reaction at all at his daughter's sudden reappearance. "Sansa. Where have you been?" He questioned.

"Father, Romans took her captive." Cynric commented, surprised at the lack of concern.

Cerdic looked up, disinterestedly. "Is that so? Is that why you killed your own people, on the ice?" He asked in return. At the stunned looks, he smirked. "Raewald recognized you." He offered as explanation, slamming his goblet on his table.

"Father-" Sansa began to interject, fearfully.

"Do they know you are gone?" Cerdic demanded.

Sansa shook her head. "No, I waited till they were asleep," she answered.

"Did one of the knights bed you?" He questioned. Sansa faltered, flushing red. "Did someone bed you?" Cerdic repeated, harshly.

Sansa nodded, with an air of embarrassment. "Will he want you back?" He asked. Again, his daughter floundered, searching for an answer.

Cerdic stood, noting the way she shrank back. "I-i do not know, father," she stuttered, as he approached her.

Cerdic reached out, wrapping his fingers around her throat. "Father!" Cynric protested, as Cerdic lifted her off her feet.

"If I can gain some edge by killing you, daughter, do believe that I will not hesitate." Cerdic growled through gritted teeth, squeezing his daughter's throat.

Sansa nodded, wildly, fingers scrabbling at his hands, her face turning scarlet. "Tomorrow you will fight." He ordered.

"Father, she is in no condition to-"

"And if you see that lover of yours, you will kill him. Do you understand?" Cerdic interrupted, as she continued to nod, as her face began to turn purple. He loosed his fingers, allowing Sansa to drop in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

"Cut your hair, woman, you go to war tomorrow," he growled. He glowered at Cynric as he went straight to Sansa's aid. "That's right, boy. You mind your sister," he hissed insultingly.

Cynric lifted his head, turning a look full of hatred towards his father. He said nothing, his arm around Sansa's shoulders, guiding her out of the tent.

Seconds later, the tent flaps fluttered open, as a man stepped inside. "My lord," he said, bowing to Cerdic.

"You were right, Raewald. The slut is sleeping with one of Arthur's knights." Cerdic growled, stalking around the table and sitting down.

Raewald said nothing, only stepping before him. "She's going to be the death of me, Raewald, I can feel it." Cerdic said, digging a hand through his hair. "Cynric is loyal to her, not me. If I kill her, I lose my heir. Things must be done quietly. And out of sight." He continued.

"What do you suggest, my lord?" Raewald questioned, his face expressionless.

"You will kill Sansa tomorrow. Separate her from Cynric during the battle, and kill her. For all he knows, one of those savages killed her. Rid me of this thorn in my paw, Raewald, and I will reward you. This I promise you," Cerdic said, lowly.

"She is your daughter, my lord. Are you sure?" Raewald questioned, carefully.

Cerdic glared at his subordinate. "Daughter or not, she is challenging me. She may not be saying anything, or being upfront about it, but I can see it in her eyes. Her loyalty is not to me. It's to Arthur, to the knight she's fucking." He replied, simply. "Do not question me." Cerdic growled. "Kill her and make it slow."

Cynric eased Sansa into a seat within his tent and crouched down beside her.

The fair-haired young woman was shaking, red lines outlining her father's handprint around her neck. She sucked in desperate breaths. "I won't let him harm you, Sansa," Cynric said, breathlessly.

Sansa reached a trembling hand to touch her brother's chin. "You cannot stop him, brother. I will not have you risk yourself for me in any case," she murmured, tracing a healing cut on his face.

Cynric shook his head, taking her hand and squeezing it. "It is my job to protect my sister. Do you not remember, Sansa? The day Father became king, he left me one charge. He ordered me to protect my sister, for it was the greatest honor a Saxon could take, by protecting his blood." He retorted.

Sansa smiled at Cynric. She would never doubt his love, his loyalty to her. And he would never doubt hers. "That was before Mother died, and his heart rotted in his chest," Sansa told him, gently. "Father will kill you if you go against him, even for me," she added.

Cynric stood. "That changes nothing, Sansa. Tomorrow, we will go to war. Tomorrow, you shall not leave my side. I have the most terrible feeling that something is being plotted against us." Cynric informed her. Sansa reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Against me," she corrected, and shook her head when Cynric opened his mouth to object. "You heard Father. My hair must be cut. Do the honors, brother?" She requested, holding out a dagger.

Cynric accepted it, breathing out deeply. He moved behind his sister, and gathered her flaxen hair in one fist. With one swift motion, Cynric lopped off all the hair that came beneath Sansa's chin. He handed the fistful of silken threads to his sister.

Sansa sighed, and began to weave them into a braid, or rope of sorts. "That is one of the most moronic customs we have, sister. Why long hair in women at war is considered weak while in men it is not, I do not understand." Cynric spoke, sitting opposite her, watching her as her fingers moved deftly.

Sansa smiled, bitterly. "It isn't the worst thing a woman might have to do before going to war. At least you shall have a token blessed by the gods, to protect you tomorrow." She replied, softly.

The hair cut from a woman's head, the day before going to war was made into a protective charm, to be bestowed upon the man she cared for most. It was a ridiculous and baseless custom, but anything believed to blessed by the gods was valued in times of war.

Cynric observed, emotionlessly. "Shouldn't you be giving that to your knight?" He asked, noting how darkly his sister blushed.

"He will not be there, Cynric. It is you I want to have this," Sansa retorted, quickly.

Cynric didn't answer immediately. "I think you underestimate this knight of yours, Sansa. I think he will be there tomorrow, all in hopes of finding his Saxon princess," he told her, quietly. Sansa did not look at him, shoving the braid into his hands.

"Where shall I sleep?" She questioned her brother, refusing to continue any further on the topic.

Cynric pointed to his cot, and Sansa went over and curled up on it without any questioning. Cynric fell into the chair that she had just vacated, placing the braid on the table. He pondered his options, briefly, before trying to figure out how to keep his rebellious sister alive.