Win or Die

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

Part 2

Chapter 2

Tensions were high. The fact that Sansa had nearly been nearly murdered, in the infirmary no less, was a cause of alarm among all the knights and their commander. Lancelot was beside himself, cursing himself for not being there to protect her, forcing the still injured Tristan to defend her.

Tristan was thankfully unharmed, no worse off after the encounter- but Sansa was another story. In the whole plight, the stitches in her side had ruptured, and her throat was bruised, but it could have been much worse, the men knew.

At the sight of the assassin, everyone knew who he was. Everyone except Tristan and Sansa, who had been locked up in the infirmary for weeks. It was a Saxon. One of Cynric's own.

Since then, the whole group had been safely ensconced in Arthur's cozy study, discussing, and quite honestly, bickering over the whole event.

Sansa was laid out on a lounge, as a Healer re-stitched her side, attending to her various scrapes and bruises. The men around her were arguing heatedly, only Tristan standing back from it all. He was seated on the floor next to the lounge where Sansa was laid out, keeping an eye on the young woman, finding he had no desire, nor energy to enter the fray, to lay out his own opinion.

And soon enough, the knights turned on Cynric. "Cynric, you assured me that your men would cause no trouble," Arthur said, seriously. The Saxon King's face filled with rage.

"You are insane if you think I would have allowed the men to stay with the purpose of murdering my own sister!" Cynric spat, pointing his finger at Arthur, menacingly.

"We know you did not, Cynric. But what reason would your man have to attack Sansa?" Gawain spoke up, trying to soothe the fight before it could break out.

"Cynric, you had to know our actions would have consequences. This being one of them," Sansa remarked, moving all attention to her. She pushed the healer away, weakly, as he tried to stop Sansa from sitting up. Lancelot rushed to her side, curling an arm around her to support her weight.

"What do you mean, Sansa?" Arthur questioned, his brows furrowed.

Sansa sighed, leaning into Lancelot. "I've told you before, Arthur. The Saxon way is to win or die. We surrendered, and our survivors were sent home like yellow-bellied cowards. All because of me," Sansa explained, her eyes lowering in shame. "Our people will not like this. It is against our way, to make allies, live in peace. Saxons are supposed to conquer. Cynric's decision, while wise, will not be popular." Sansa continued.

"But you are not to blame, Sansa!" Cynric exclaimed. "It is I!"

"If your own most loyal men feel this way, Cynric, imagine the dissention among your other subjects." Lancelot commented, his words true.

"It matters not if I am to blame, Cynric. They are looking for your weaknesses. I am yours," Sansa remarked.

"Sansa!" Cynric objected.

"You would be wounded if I died, Cynric. You are abandoning the Saxon way in hopes of procuring my happiness. I am your one weakness." Sansa soldiered on, ruthlessly.

"I think it might be best for you to take your men back to Saxony, and settle the issue." Arthur suggested, carefully.

"I said I wouldn't leave until Sansa is recovered, and that will not change," Cynric snapped, angrily.

"CYNRIC! I am fine! All I need is to rest and heal, I do not need you hovering over me like an overprotective mother!" Sansa exclaimed. Cynric spun around, staring at his sister.

"Look at what just happened, Sansa! You are not fine!" Cynric shouted.

"But I will be," Sansa soothed. "Cynric, you need to do what's best for everyone- not just me. You need to go home, before an uprising is in motion." Sansa told him.

Cynric's shoulders slumped and he nodded, slowly. "I'll leave at dawn." He gave in.

"And what of Sansa?" Tristan finally spoke up. "She can't go back to the infirmary. It wouldn't be safe," Tristan continued.

"I should think it's obvious, I'll be staying with Lancelot," Sansa spoke up. Cynric went to object, but Sansa cut him off. "I'll just be lying in bed. What's the harm in it being in Lancelot's room?"

"Well, that aside, Lancelot cannot be with Sansa every minute of every day. And after an assassination attempt, you should not be left alone. We should post a guard," Arthur suggested.

"We can all take time to spend with Sansa. It would be no trouble," Galahad remarked. The other Knights, plus Sansa and Cynric, looked quite startled at Galahad's suggestion. While Galahad and Sansa did not dislike each other; Galahad had not spoken up often in her presence.

Truthfully, Galahad had grown fond of the Saxon woman, his unease remedied by the knowledge that she had saved two of his brothers-in-arms in their last battle, nearly losing her life as a result. It wasn't as if he felt obligated to like her because of her heroic actions, but Galahad would admit his heart had grown warm towards her as result of it. She had stayed and fought when she could have taken the easy way out, leaving with Lancelot in the caravan. But she had stayed, and so had Lancelot- which probably had a quite a leveling effect on the odds stacked against them.

"Excellent idea, Galahad," Arthur praised, thumping the youngest knight on the back, causing Galahad to stumble forward. The knights let out a short bout of laughter as Galahad sent his signature brooding stare towards his commanding officer.

"So that's it? You send my brother away, and I shall never have any privacy?" Sansa remarked sourly, her lips pursing with her ill-temper.

"We'll have privacy enough at night," Lancelot responded, with a salacious wink. Cynric glowered at his sister's lover, even as Sansa herself glared at the curly-haired knight.

"That was not what I meant, Lance!" She snapped, pushing his shoulder weakly. Right now, all Sansa wanted was for Lancelot to back off. She hadn't been awake for more than a day, and his over protectiveness was suffocating her, his flirtatiousness souring her. Sansa just wanted to rest, not have her privacy and virtue bantered about.

Lancelot frowned, his dark eyes searching hers. This behavior of Sansa's was new to him. She had never acted in such anger, excepting the night before the battle, but this was nothing compared to that. Was something wrong? Had her feelings faded in some way? These thoughts flew about in his head at a dizzying rate, making his heart sink lower and lower into the icy water Lancelot had been prone to ever since meeting Sansa.

Sansa held a hand to her mouth, taking a deep breath, trying to quell the irrational rage in her breast. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm so tired, I hurt, I just want to sleep...and I need time to say farewell to my brother," Sansa explained, making Lancelot's expression soften and his doubts disappear.

"I will take you to my quarters," Cynric remarked, walking over to his sister's side. Lancelot rose to his full height to protest this, his mouth opening to do so, but Cynric's glare stopped him. "It is the only proper chamber for her to be in- with her own blood. I will protect Sansa this night, before I leave on the morrow," Cynric insisted, silencing Lancelot's protest.

"I think that it is probably the best course," Arthur bid the Saxon king. "Go on, take Sansa to bed. We will speak come morning," The siblings gave no protest to this, Cynric merely scooped his sister off the lounge, carrying her from the room. "You should go, too, Tristan. I'm sure you would like to rest," Arthur added.

The scout also gave no protest, using the lounge beside him to help himself to his feet. "I'll walk you," Lancelot volunteered, only receiving an irritated glare in return. But he wasn't deterred, and followed Tristan out the door. The two Knights walked in relative silence for awhile, until they reached the halls of the barracks the Knights had called home for the previous fifteen years. "I cannot thank you enough, Tristan. For protecting Sansa," Lancelot spoke, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I didn't do it for you," Tristan snapped, striding ahead to his quarters, ready to leave the other Knight behind.

"I know that!" Lancelot exclaimed. "I just want you to know how grateful I am," he continued, earnestly, his dark eyes looking into Tristan's.

Tristan returned the gaze with a cold one. "I owe your little Saxon a debt, Lancelot. I could not do nothing and let her die. I could not live with myself if I had," Tristan responded, prying the door to his quarters open, taking two long strides inside.

"You still have my thanks," Lancelot insisted.

"No, I do not," Tristan retorted, slamming his door shut in the Knight's face.

Sansa curled into the furs gracing her elder brother's bed. "Much more comfortable than the bed in the Infirmary," she murmured, hearing Cynric chuckle as he moved about the small chamber. He moved a chair in front of the door- a trick that Cynric had used before (And Sansa recognized). If someone tried to enter, the chair would move- scraping loudly against the floor, thus waking Cynric and giving him just enough time to arm himself.

"Is that really necessary?" Sansa asked, as Cynric began to undress for bed.

"I don't think there will be any further attempts on your life tonight, Sansa. This is merely for my own peace of mind," Cynric answered, settling in a chair opposite the bed, dressed in a pair of breeches and light tunic.

Sansa gave her brother a sour look. "You are not sleeping there," She commented. Cynric lifted an eyebrow in challenge. "Aren't I?" he responded.

Sansa schooled her expression into a crestfallen one, looking up at him like she had when she was a child. Cynric frowned at her expression. "Will you not sleep beside me, brother, like you did when we were children? Before you abandon me in this foreign place, as only a piece of chattel in your alliance?" she asked pleadingly.

Cynric gave in, climbing into the bed, pulling his sister into his arms. "First of all, you are not chattel, Sansa. And I do not abandon you," he informed her.

Sansa curled her fingers into her brother's tunic, shooting a hesitant look up to him. "Then why can I not go home with you?"