Disclaimer: I own none of the King Arthur characters. I only own Sansa.
Part 2
Chapter 4
Lancelot woke suddenly, in the middle of the night. His mind was fuzzy, and he rubbed at his bleary, sleep-filled eyes as he tried to figure out what had woken him. He found the space next to him empty. Lancelot ran his hand over the space where Sansa had been sleeping at his side. The space was still warm, telling him that she had not been up long.
He groaned, sliding the furs back, turning and setting his bare feet on the cold stone floor, and going in search of his lover. "Sansa?" he called quietly, hearing a soft cough.
"I am here," her heavily accented voice replied. Lancelot crossed the room past the screens, and found Sansa sitting before the dying fire. Lancelot moved around the couch, and took a seat next to her.
Sansa's face was pale, and covered with a light sheen of sweat. "I was hungry," she started, her breath short. "And I did not wish to wake you, you were sleeping so peacefully…But I only made it this far," Sansa continued, looking quite embarrassed as she finally caught her breath.
"Say no more, love." Lancelot murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sansa's lips, and rising to his feet. Going to the kitchen area, Lancelot made up a plate of bread and cheese for Sansa, carrying it over to her. Sansa flashed him a grateful look and ate in silence, settling down in the curve of Lancelot's arm as they reclined on the couch.
"Do you miss Cynric much?" Lancelot asked suddenly.
Sansa gave him a look of surprise, and squirmed a little, adjusting Lancelot's arm around her to a more comfortable spot for her aching side. "Yes. My brother raised me, for the majority of my life. He always knows what to say…when the world seems too big and I too small." She answered, thinking specifically of the pact he had made with her, just before he left.
Lancelot accepted this without comment, simply nodding. "And your father?" he questioned after a pause.
This time, Sansa shook her head. "As I said, Cynric raised me, mostly. After my mother died ten years ago, my father became a cruel man. It was like women had no use anymore, to him, and by extension, I became useless." She murmured. "But, before my mother died…he was a loving father. He taught me to swing a sword- and that no man who could not defeat me in battle was worth my time or affections. That man, I miss. But he died, ten years ago." Sansa continued.
Lancelot frowned at her solemn words, and decided to change the subject. "So, am I worth your time, my little Saxon? I do not think I could defeat you- for I do not think I could bear to raise an arm against you," Lancelot said in a sickeningly sweet tone.
Sansa laughed out loud at him, handing the plate to Lancelot to place on the floor, and she turned in his arms, carefully, to face him. "You are worth my time; my little, dirty, Sarmatian," Sansa cooed, pausing, as Lancelot let out a bark of laughter. "For it need not be a battle of arms that you defeat me in. We have other, more pleasurable battles that we can and have engaged in…" she trailed off, trailing her slim, tapered fingers up and down Lancelot's bare chest.
"Is that so?" Lancelot rumbled, a smirk gracing his lips.
Sansa nodded, her lips pursing thoughtfully. "Though, if you wanted to marry me, you would have to defeat me in a battle of arms before any ceremony could take place," she added with a grimace.
Lancelot smirked, again, filing this information away for future use. "Well, why don't we save that for foreplay on another night, love, when you are fully healed." Lancelot responded, flipping them over, and trapping the slim blonde's body beneath him with a gentleness that paid mind to her healing body.
Sansa giggled in delight, dragging his lips down to hers and lacing her arms around his neck as he made himself comfortable with his hips cradled between her legs. "Speak no more," she bid him, nibbling on his bottom lip, making his eyes flutter close in bliss.
"Whatever you say, my lady," he breathed.
"What did I say?" She demanded in mock outrage. Lancelot opened his mouth to answer, before catching the look in Sansa's eye, hurriedly shutting his mouth and moving to devour her lips once more.
When he had moved to press butterfly kisses lower and lower, Sansa rasped, "Goodboy..."