Percival fed another small branch to the fire as he relaxed against the fallen tree trunk that someone had rolled closer to the firepit a few years ago. The patrol tended to camp out here each time they went on this particular patrol route and sometimes ended up sharing it with other travelers. Thankfully the routes were changed at random intervals so no bandits could plan an ambush. The last time they had met up with a wood carver on his way to Camelot with his wares and Percival bought a delicately carved wolf pup to put on the mantel over his fireplace. Percival had the last watch and enjoyed seeing the sunlight creep up over the horizon. He'd have to wake the others soon, if their own internal clocks didn't do it for them. For now, it was time for him to reflect on things he had noticed recently.
It had been a few months since Lancelot had sacrificed himself to close the tear between worlds. All of the knights felt the loss of their friend keenly. Percival's eyes shifted from the horizon to the head of black hair wrapped up in two thin blankets across the firepit. Some of us were even more affected by it, he thought. Merlin had been quiet of late; not so quick with a jest. His smile was, perhaps, a little less blinding. There were shadows in his eyes that even Gwaine and his juvenile pranks weren't able to banish.
Percival let his mind wander back to when he had first met Merlin. He'd returned to the inn he and Lancelot were staying at after they had escorted a master goldsmith from Essetir to Mercia with their pay and found Lancelot packing his meager belongings.
"Ah, Perce, I have a quest for us." Lance had looked almost joyous at the prospect. He had explained that a messenger had arrived from his friend, Merlin, asking for his help retaking the city of Camelot.
"How did the messenger know where we'd be?" he had asked Lance, who had brushed off the question as unimportant. It really hadn't mattered, actually. Percival knew he'd follow Lance. He didn't have any other jobs lined up and he and Lance had found they worked well together. "Will we get paid? Or is this another 'let's do it because it's nice' job?"
Lance had smiled sheepishly, "We'll probably get a good camp stew out of it."
Percival just shook his head as he started packing his own things. "Alright. But I at least want a damned good stew out of the deal."
When they finally caught up with Arthur and his little band of fighters, he'd kept mostly quiet, trying to find his footing around a prince. Imagine that, Percival, the son of a farmer, suddenly fighting with the heir to a throne. He found himself observing the relationship between the prince and his manservant the most. It was fascinating to watch them. It was like watching brothers, men who had known each other and grown up together and were so close they could read each other's minds. When he had realized they had only known each other for four years, he could hardly believe it.
One would have thought that the prince would have been the glue that bound everyone in the small group they forged, and in a way, he was, but it was strangely Merlin who seemed to be the soul of the group. Gaius, Gwaine and Lancelot gravitated toward him, as did the prince. Merlin kept their spirits up and was brave when a person armed with nothing but a smile should never be.
Percival shifted as he heard a sound from the woods to his left, his attention diverted from his thoughts. A minute of careful listening saw him relaxing again. A small family of deer was grazing. He watched the doe and her two fawns poking their heads up and down as they ate with a smile.
His eyes went back to the fire after a minute or so. Across the way, Merlin's still form caught his gaze and his thoughts drifted back to his young comrade, because comrade he was. Merlin may have been Arthur's manservant and not a knight, but Percival was convinced he absolutely should have been knighted along with the rest of the commoners who helped retake Camelot.
Lancelot talked about his friend quite often when the two of them were on their jobs escorting merchants. He told Percival about how he'd forged papers to allow him to be knighted, illegal as it was. Percival heard the story of rescuing Gwen from the Hengist's hands, and how without Merlin and Arthur, the two of them would have been quite dead. Lancelot had maintained a great amount of respect for the manservant. He hadn't even thought twice about running to the man when the letter had arrived. Hell, he was almost all packed even before he had been paid.
There had to be more than bonding over facing a few life or death situations and forgery that made Lancelot so fond of the boy. If it hadn't been for Lancelot's obvious infatuation with Gwen and the time he'd spent at that brothel in Maygard, then Percival would have wondered if the love between them was something more than platonic. After having been around the two of them for a year, he saw the mutual respect they shared was not unlike that he had shared with Lancelot, the affections of brothers-in-arms. The group they had formed wasn't related by blood, but they were all true brothers in soul.
The fire snapped and Percival's mind led itself to the snapping of branches that conveniently laid out bandits and other assailants whenever Merlin was on patrol with them. That sort of thing never happened otherwise. Percival's mouth quirked. He really isn't as careful as he should be about hiding his magic, the big man thought.
Percival personally had no problems with magic, but he understood why Merlin hid it, even if he didn't quite understand why Merlin had moved to magic-hating Camelot in the first place. Growing up in Mercia, magic wasn't exactly encouraged, but it certainly wasn't forbidden, either. There had been a hedgewitch living a few cottages down from Percival's family in his village who had treated every kid as if they were her own. Maggie was taken by a fever the winter before Cenred's bandits attacked the village. Of course, every good example of witch or druid Percival could think of was countered by one of the many sorcerers who decided take potshots at Camelot, such as Morgana.
As if he could hear Percival thinking about him, Merlin started moving his long limbs. Somehow he didn't have as much trouble getting up when he was out on patrols with Arthur and the other knights as he did when he was in Camelot. Percival figured it was because he actually had a bit less to do, even if he did love to gripe about riding for so long. He watched the young man blink away the sleepy fog of night and stretch. Neither said anything as Merlin shuffled off to the woods to relieve himself. When he came back, scratching his chest, he sat next to Percival and poked the fire to stoke it a bit higher. The porridge he'd placed on the edge of the firepit last night just needed to be heated up a bit now that the oats had absorbed all of the water he'd left in the pot. Percival handed him the spoon, all of this occurring in comfortable silence. They had danced this particular dance more times than Percival could remember.
The knights had all gotten used to each others' little idiosyncrasies. Merlin liked to do all the early chores silently, as if he was saving his words for when the rest of the group was awake, at which point he would begin his prattle and not shut up. Arthur was always the last out of his cocoon. He'd be grumpy and grumble for at least an hour after he was woken up, even though it was obvious he considered the few times he'd been able to shake the duties of Regent and accompany his men on patrol as a relief from the expectations and demands of court. Elyan was quiet, but that was only because Gwaine was usually trying to see just how much he could rile the normally easy-going brother of the prince's paramour, and Elyan was generally trying not to smack the brunet upside the head. Leon woke up ready for anything. He was annoyingly perfect no matter what he did.
Percival smiled a bit at that thought. Leon took too much too seriously. He was still at Camelot with Elyan since the two of them had just gotten back from a long patrol that had wound its way through some of the more southern areas covered by the Camelot garrison. Arthur had told him to relax for a day or two, but Percival was fairly sure he'd be training just as hard as he did in a normal day. Merlin lifted his brow when he saw Percival's mischievous smile. Percival grinned and just responded, "How much do you want to bet Leon is making Elyan train today? Even though Arthur gave them the day off."
"Sucker's bet, Perce. Not taking it." He poked the porridge a bit more. "Breakfast is pretty much done. You want to wake our sleeping beauties?"
Percival snickered. "I'll wake Gwaine and Kay, but you get Arthur."
Merlin grimaced briefly, then grinned. "What say we leave him there and just ride on without him?"
The big knight just grinned back as he stood and headed off toward the trees himself, nudging the still forms of Gwaine and Kay as he passed them. He wished his parents could see him. They would wonder at the idea of their son, the son of a simple farmer, living in a castle, and serving Camelot as one of its valued knights. He hoped he was making them proud. Percival listened to the curses coming from his prince as Merlin woke him up and shook his head. He washed his face in the stream that ran by the camp and got ready for the day's ride, patrolling the land he had come to love; a land that he'd intended to just visit, maybe get a few days wages for service if he survived. He looked back to the camp as he heard Gwaine bellow his name. "Get back here if you want to fill that big head of yours with some of Merlin's porridge."
Yes, Camelot was home and his brothers were waiting for him.
In my head canon, Merlin isn't as careful as he thinks he is and a few people have noticed the strange coincidences that happen around him. Percival is always the quiet one and, to my way of thinking, observes more than people think he does.