Win or Die
Disclaimer: I own none of the King Arthur characters. I only own Sansa.
Part 2
Chapter 3
Dawn's first light broke out over the fort at Badon Hill just as an assorted group emerged from the stables. A young blonde woman was the last to emerge, not counting the dark-haired knight who trailed behind her, ghosting her every step.
She was pale, her corn silk hair hanging limply just beneath her chin; her mismatched blue and green eyes glinting in the harsh morning light. She wore a simple cotton shift and sandals, along with a fur wrapped around her thin shoulders to ward off the chill of the brisk autumn morning. Her gait was unsteady, her breath whistling through her teeth with every step. Every step was like a knife in her side. "Sansa, I wish you'd let me help you," Her dark knight, Lancelot, remarked from behind her. The blonde's only response was a look of disdain.
Sansa continued on her way across the courtyard, to where her brother and his men prepared to leave. The Saxon men had been given horses to aid their journey, which had lightened their loads considerably. "Sister," Cynric greeted with a sigh, taking her hand, and pulling her into the circle of his arms. He looked over her shoulder at Lancelot, who had fallen back a few steps. "Give us a moment, will you?" Cynric requested. Lancelot nodded, retreating across the courtyard to where Arthur, Guinevere, and an assortment of the other Knights stood.
"I don't want you to go," Sansa spoke, her quavering voice breaking on the last word, curling her arms around her brother.
Cynric could see the tears forming in his baby sister's eyes, and drew her closer. "And I don't wish to leave you. But this isn't goodbye, little sister. I will be back. Right now, Saxony is not safe for you. And once things have been settled- and matters dealt with, I will return," Cynric assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And when I do, if you still feel as you do now, I will bring you home." He promised, running his hands up and down her arms.
"Really?" Sansa questioned hopefully.
Cynric nodded. "And I have spoken to Arthur, as well. I have made it quite clear that your safety and happiness are of the utmost importance to me, and should be to him as well. He has promised me that he will keep you safe and happy, treat you like the princess you are," Cynric added, knowing well the irritated expression that would appear on her face. And there it was, as soon as his words left his lips.
"Cynric, tell me you didn't," Sansa pleaded, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. Cynric merely raised an eyebrow in response. "Don't try to make me angry with you Cynric, it won't work." She then told him, correctly guessing his motives.
"I'd rather have you angry with me than see your tears," he responded with a shrug. "But I see that it is too late for that," Cynric observed, as the first tear leaked from her eye.
His words seemed to set her off, making Sansa throw herself into his arms as she wept. Cynric patted her on the back, before extricating himself, gruffly. "It is best that I go now, sister," he told her, as Arthur and Guinevere moved towards them. Arthur, to say goodbye, and Guinevere, to comfort the weeping Saxon Princess. "Remember what we discussed," Cynric bid the half-Roman, half-Briton Commander as he mounted his horse.
Arthur nodded, moving back a step to where Guinevere comforted Sansa, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders. "You have my word," he said solemnly.
Cynric looked back to Sansa, who now stood straight, with Guinevere and Arthur's support. Her eyes were filled with tears, her lower lip trembling; as she stared straight at her brother. "Little sister...try not to be too stupid while I'm gone," he told her.
From that, Sansa gave a hoarse little laugh. "You as well," she replied, her grip on Guinevere's arm tightening as Cynric gathered the horse's reins in his hand, readying to leave. The Woad, in turn, drew her further into her arms, pressing Sansa's face to her shoulder. But Sansa strained from her friend's grip, to watch her brother, her blood, her best friend; leave her. She watched until his figure faded from sight, and then she wept again.
After Cynric left, Guinevere and Arthur took Sansa deep into the Fort, where people scurried about, still trying to rebuild their lives since everything they knew had been razed by Sansa's people. Arthur led the women into a sumptuously furnished Villa. "This was home to the highest of Roman commanders, until Rome drew out from Britain. Now this will be the home of the Knights, as well as you, Lady Sansa." Arthur remarked, taking the Saxon's arm, and leading her down one hall. "This is all temporary, though. Because Merlin and I have been discussing a more permanent alliance," he continued, finding Guinevere with a noticeable glint in his eye. "And if all goes swimmingly, we shall be constructing a new home for Britons and Woads alike, should they wish to join us,"
Sansa looked up at Arthur, her interest apparent, but seemingly dazed. "And Saxons?" She asked with the raise of an eyebrow. Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking quite intently at Sansa.
"You, my dear, are welcome among us forever, if you like," He assured her, but the firmness in his tone made Sansa suspect that her brother had shared her doubts with the Roman. "Here is my chamber, Sansa. And this one across from it shall be yours." Arthur told her, with a gentle smile.
Guinevere took Sansa's other arm, with a grin. "I spent half the night re-decorating it, Saxon, so you best like it," the Woad informed her, the pair sharing a smile at the nickname. Arthur and Guinevere guided the young woman into the room.
Her chambers were quite large; she had several areas tucked into the space. There was a lounge in front of the fire place, as well as a dining area, the other half of the room divided from view by dressing screens. Arthur and Guinevere guided her past them to find a grand bed, and a bathing area on the opposite side. "So you have some semblance of privacy," Arthur remarked, referring to her protest the night before.
"Thank you, it's beautiful," Sansa murmured, still in awe of the room. The floors and walls were granite, covered by exquisite rugs and tapestries. The tub for bathing was carved from granite as well, not some simple wooden basin. Her bed was quite large, covered with red sheets and plenty of furs. Everything about the room screamed 'expensive'. "Where did you get all this?" Sansa asked, sighing with relief as Arthur helped her to sit on the bed.
Guinevere gave a slightly guilty grin. "I went through the other rooms here. All of them had been abandoned, so there was plenty to choose from." She answered, moving to sit down next to Sansa. "Arthur, would you be a dear and ask the maids to bring hot water for a bath? I think that is just what Sansa needs, along with a good meal," Guinevere suggested, shooting the Commander a sultry look, causing his stoic expression to soften.
Sansa looked between the two with a confused expression, the wheels in her mind whirling.
"Lancelot, Arthur wants you in his study," Galahad remarked, disturbing the dark-haired Knight from his daydreaming.
"Oh? What for?" He asked, leaning forward to place his hands on his knees, looking up inquiringly at the youngest Knight.
Galahad shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Nothing urgent, I think. Arthur looked far too relaxed for anything else," he replied, before strolling on his way.
Lancelot sighed, before easing himself to his feet. He had gotten no sleep last night after the attempt on Sansa's life, and he certainly couldn't even try, without Sansa at his side, so he could assure himself of her safety. So after this sleepless night, Lancelot's muscles were tight as well as tired. He weaved his way through the fort, till he came to the villa that had housed Arthur and the other high-ranked Romans. It was now empty except for Arthur, who had given word days ago that the Knights could move from their dank, paltry barracks to the richer surroundings of the villa. The Knights were hesitant to do this, even if they knew the other Romans would not return.
Across the hall from Arthur's study and chambers was an open doorway, with maids coming and going with steaming hot buckets of water. Lancelot peered into the chamber with curiosity, to see Sansa sitting in front of a roaring fire, a plate of bread and cheese in her lap. At her feet sat Guinevere, and judging by the easy smile on Sansa's lips, the Woad was keeping her in good humor, which Lancelot was glad for.
He had not expected her tears at Cynric's departure. He had not thought that she would miss him so.
Without either of the women seeing him, Lancelot crossed the hallway to Arthur's door, where he knocked, before entering. "You wanted to see me." He said as greeting.
Arthur was at his desk, rifling through papers. "Ah, yes. Sit down, Lancelot." He replied, his eyes flicking up to his best friend for a moment, before shuffling said papers to the side. Arthur seemed distracted, but not worried or sad, Lancelot noted.
Lancelot flopped down into one of the overstuffed chairs angled to face Arthur's desk. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, dryly, examining his fingernails, before lifting his gaze to meet Arthur's.
"No," Arthur answered, seeming reluctant to continue.
"Then let me rephrase. Is there something you wish to talk to me about?" Lancelot questioned, beginning to become irritated, and a little bit worried.
"I talked to Cynric this morning. He expressed some concern about his sister," Arthur finally commented, turning his gaze to Lancelot.
"Such as?" The dark-haired Knight prompted, a bitter sneer gracing his lips. He didn't like that Cynric had gone to Arthur. He would rather have his lover's brother to come directly to him, if he had any concerns. Especially if they were about Lancelot himself.
"He wished Sansa to have her own chambers, to be kept safe and comfortable at all times," Arthur began, the expression on his face telling Lancelot that he did not wish to be talking about this.
"You mean chambers separate from my own," Lancelot supplied, feeling a surge of anger rise in his chest- but he squashed it down. Arthur hesitated, before nodding.
"It's not about you, Lancelot. It's, well, about any man. Cynric, and understandably in my mind, does not wish for his sister to be sharing her bed with anyone before wedlock," Arthur explained. "He fears for her heart," he repeated more softly, making Lancelot's eyebrows draw together. "You hold Sansa's heart, Lancelot, provided you don't squander it."
Lancelot's gaze shot up from his lap, his dark eyes burning into Arthur's green. "The two of you think I'm going to break her heart, don't you?" He demanded, jumping to his feet, sore muscles or no.
Arthur shook his head as he stood, holding out his hand in a calming gesture. "This is just a warning between two friends, Lancelot. For if you don't heed it, I am sure you will regret it," Arthur retorted, his eyes following the pacing of his friend's figure. He was besotted, Arthur could clearly see that. But if it was love- as Lancelot claimed, that was not so clear yet.
"Then tell me. What is this warning?" Lancelot requested, stopping to run a hand through his hair.
Arthur settled back into his seat, and motioned for Lancelot to do so as well. He remained standing. "If Sansa is not wed by the time Cynric returns two years hence, he will take her home to Saxony, and have her marry his choice there," Arthur informed him.
This time, the only indications of his rage was the flaring of his nostrils and the clenching of his fists at his side. "And does Sansa know this?" Lancelot questioned, through gritted teeth. Arthur gave a slow shake of his head.
"And she will not know," Arthur replied, giving a warning look to his friend. "This information is for you alone, to decide if you wish to act on it,"
"And if she won't have me?" Lancelot wondered.
"Then I suppose she'll have made her choice." Arthur answered, solemnly. With those words, Lancelot turned on his heel and left. He stalked across the hall to the chambers which he knew held Sansa, and barged in past the closed door.
Lancelot moved past Guinevere, who sat on the lounge opposite the fireplace, who protested as he moved past her. He moved past the dressing screens that masked half the room from him, and peered around in search of one certain Saxon woman.
He found her curled on the bed, her head lifted and her expression regarding him with a sleepy curiosity. Lancelot went straight to the bed, kicking off his boots before climbing in beside her, happily letting her wrap her thin arms around him. "Is there something wrong, Lance?" She mumbled, her accent heavier than usual. It seemed to be that way when she tired.
"No, my love." Lancelot answered, gently pulling the woman into his arms, tugging furs over them to keep her warm. "Go back to sleep," he bid her, pressing his lips to her forehead. Sansa seemed to accept this answer; and snuggled closer to his chest, and his warmth. "Do you love me?" Lancelot suddenly asked, making Sansa lift her head, giving him a dazed expression. Her pale blonde hair was rumpled all on one side; her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She looked so confused; so utterly adorable.
He didn't want to ask her again, so he just waited for her to answer. It seemed to take a few moments for the question to sink in, and he knew it when she rolled her eyes at him. "Of course I do, Lance," she murmured, sending a wave of relief through Lancelot's whole body, as she settled back down against his body.
"Say it," Lancelot bid.
Sansa lifted her head again, to look Lancelot in the eye. He could see the exhaustion and frustration in her eyes. "I don't know why," she said dryly. "But I do love you," Sansa assured him, finishing the conversation swiftly by pressing her lips to his lightly, and then burrowing back into his arms.