Win or Die

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

Part 1

Chapter 8

Arthur surveyed the battlefield with a wary eye. He found the Saxon King, and was surprised to see Sansa, his own daughter, battling against him. And the battle was not going in her favor.

Arthur moved as quickly as he could, knowing he was probably too late for his best friend's lover. He yelled out for Sansa when he witnessed Cerdic plunge his sword into her belly. He saw as her back hunch at the blow, before collapsing.

Arthur reached them just as Cerdic swung his sword down in a final blow. Steel met steel with a loud clang, as Arthur blocked the blow. "Arthur…" Sansa said, weakly, from behind him.

Everything in Arthur's nature screamed at him to tend to her, to save her, but he had her father to worry about first. "You wish to harm your own blood?" Arthur asked in disgust, as a smirk settled over Cerdic's features.

"I claim no blood with the traitorous whore," Cerdic replied, venomously, glaring past Arthur at the heap of a body that was his daughter.

"Father?!" Cynric demanded, standing behind his father with a stunned look on his face. He had always known that Cerdic didn't particularly like Sansa, or care for her, but he never thought he'd hurt her. Cerdic whirled around to face his son.

Cynric breathed heavily, his sister's lover right behind him. "Did you kill Sansa?" Cynric demanded, his eyes bright with a wealth of emotions, stepping towards his father. Lancelot's eyes widened, his eyes searching the ground for his loved one, desperately.

Cerdic didn't answer, and Cynric drew his sword. Cerdic abandoned Arthur, to face his son. "How much treachery from my own blood will I face today?" Cerdic hissed, his rage unmatched by anything Cynric had ever seen before.

"As much as it takes," Cynric snapped, his anger just as great as his father's.

Arthur cautiously moved backward, to Sansa's side, who had fallen from her knees onto her back. Arthur motioned to Lancelot, who then saw her.

Lancelot ran over to Arthur, seeing him kneel next to Sansa, and Lancelot dropped to his knees beside her, drawing her into his arms. All he saw was blood, he felt it on his skin as he squeezed her tight to his body. She coughed, a small dribble of blood dripping down her chin.

Sansa clutched at his sleeve, calling him back to the day they met, with her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Lance-" she coughed, reaching her free hand to him, an appendage drenched in blood, fingers shaking as they entwined with his.

"I'm here, love…hold on," he whispered, before standing with her in his arms, intending to get her to the healers. He had no attention to spare for the battle going on between Cynric and his father. "You insufferable woman…I knew you'd get hurt!" Lancelot ranted, quietly.

Sansa whimpered softly, as Lancelot stumbled. She lifted her bloodshot eyes to his. "You didn't find me so insufferable…yesterday," She said, with difficulty. She had trouble breathing, much less speaking, which made Lancelot's heart beat rapidly with fear.

Lancelot's hands were slick with her blood and it didn't take a genius to see she was fading fast. Her eyes were fluttering, her mismatched eyes glowing with pain.

He pushed himself faster, knowing her life hung in the balance.

Lancelot stood off to the side of the healing tent, watching as a group of Healers, mostly Woads, converged on Sansa, talking loudly in their native language.

Moments after he'd gotten Sansa on a cot here in this tent, her eyes had started to roll back into her head. He'd yelled for help, as her body began to convulse violently.

Now Lancelot was forced to wait and watch, tortured by the fact that he didn't know if she would live or die. An hour or so later, two Woad healers were still actively treating Sansa, when Guinevere came in to get various small wounds cared for. Then there was the fact that he was covered in her blood, blood that was beginning to dry on his skin and armor.

Lancelot jumped up at the sight of her. "Gwen, they won't tell me anything- please," he begged, his eyes desperate. Guinevere nodded, shortly, before moving over to the healers, speaking softly.

The healers answered, their hands still moving as they patched a wound. Lancelot watched, anxiously, for some sign of hope…or the opposite. Guinevere made her way back to Lancelot.

"They think she will live," She answered, grimly. Lancelot gave a relieved sigh, sinking onto the stool he'd been sitting on beforehand. "But it will not be easy. They say as long as she doesn't take a fever…the chances are good," Guinevere added, before she wandered away to be treated.

Lancelot settled back down on his stool, keeping a careful eye on Sansa and the healers who treated her. His mind went back to the battle, to the way she had looked at him, when he moved desperately to reach her, and she went on, leaving him. Lancelot knew, had he reached her, he would have pulled her from the battle, dragged her to safety, no matter what she wanted.

And that wasn't part of her plan, so she'd eluded him. And Lancelot was facing his worst fear at this very moment- Sansa being mortally wounded. No, no, his worst fear had been to find her cold corpse among the dead. So Lancelot was infinitely thankful for that. But she wasn't out of the woods yet, no, not by any means.

Lancelot brooded darkly, his eyes fixed on the cot that held the woman he loved. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, startling Lancelot from his reverie. He glanced up to find Arthur giving him a concerned look. "What happened with the Saxons?" Lancelot questioned, though he couldn't really bring himself to care.

"Sansa's brother, Cynric, managed to defeat Cerdic. We had no intention of letting Cerdic live even if his son failed, so there was no chance of him getting away," Arthur explained, squeezing Lancelot's shoulder, before his hand fall away.

Lancelot felt a small sense of relief, but it faded quickly. "And Cynric?" he inquired.

"Collecting the remainder of his army and sending them home. He has no intention of leaving before his sister has recovered," Arthur answered with a smile. "Things are going well, Lancelot, thanks to Sansa," he added, smoothly, at which his friend gave him a questioning look.

"She spoke to her brother before the battle. He considers her position here, with you, as Saxon goodwill, an alliance, if you will," he explained, with an almost paternal sense of pride as he looked towards the cot that held the subject of their conversation.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Sansa's position? With me? What is that supposed to mean?" He demanded, incredulously.

Arthur took a deep breath, preparing to explain further, but he never got a chance. "It means, Knight, that as long as my sister is happy where she is, I will not force her to return home, nor will I go to war against the ones who hold my sister's safety and happiness." A heavily accented voice remarked from behind the pair, who turned quickly in surprise.

The new Saxon King, Cynric, stood behind them, his face relaxed, as the whole day was spiraling down (thankfully) into an easier thing to deal with. Neither man replied, looking rather surprised, so Cynric spoke again. "But I warn you now, if my sister says the word, if she is hurt, anything…You can trust my word that we will crush you," Cynric spoke, his words completely sincere. Both Arthur and Lancelot stiffened at the threat. But Cynric smiled a moment later. "But I do not think it will come to that. I hope it will not." He added, showing that he did not show them any ill will.

Arthur smiled at the Saxon, relaxing, while Lancelot still looked suspicious, glaring at the brother of the woman he loved. "So, how is Sansa?" Cynric questioned, a hint of concern immediately leaping into his expression.

Lancelot shrugged. "The healers are saying that as long as she doesn't take a fever, the chances of her recovery are good," he explained, to which Cynric sighed.

Speaking of, one of Sansa's healers scurried over, and spoke in a mousy tone. All three men gave the woman confused looks. Irritation took over her features, and she repeated herself. "She says that they've done everything they can for now, that you can go to her," Guinevere called from a cot of her own.