Anyone familiar with the common Arthur legend will know that Percivale and Blanchefleur are not my own original characters. Nor is Bedivere.
Please excuse any inaccuracy to the film.
Percivale was neither the best nor boldest of Arthur's knights. He was not exceptionally skilled with the bow nor even the sword. He was the weakest sheep among the flock, mostly everyone thought. And, sadly, Percivale thought this as well.
He was always the one to make a blunder in the midst of a battle, to be the one who killed the least amount of enemies.
Even though he practiced. He practiced so hard and in earnest to improve his skills. He did not want to die one day as a nobody...he wanted to become a somebody. A somebody with a story or two of fame behind his name.
The only thing he was quite excellent at was scouting out the landscape. He was almost as good as Tristan. But Tristan always usually had his hawk with him, which was one advantage he had over Percivale.
It is said Percivale grew up in the wild wilderness near Wales. He lived alone with his mother, never seeing any human's company. Say, he only had the birds and beasts for companions.
But his father before him was indebted to Rome to serve as a knight; a cavalry soldier. So one day, deep within the forest, young Percivale saw men on horses. He was in awe to see them, for never had he seen any human before. And, well, he was delighted that they came for him for him to be made a knight. For Percivale wanted to be a knight. The wonder, honor and glory of it all fascinated him. He wanted to make something of his name.
But...he fared poorly in training to become a knight. Like said, he was not exceptionally skilled at all.
He bore the unpleasant taunts and jests from the other young knights. And soon, as he grew older and more skilled, he came to serve under Arthur Castus - as a knight of the Round Table. Years and years passed as the number of knights serving under Arthur dwindled in number. But Percivale kept standing strong, yet weakly. Everyone, himself included, knew that he was a coward. Astonishment overtook them all that Percivale had lasted for so long.
"It's 'cause he had good luck."
He pretended not to hear them all say this...
On one day, as the knights were on their way back to their usual outpost which they stayed along the wall, a nearby fort was suffering under a Woad attack. Of course, they could not let this pass by. They helped the fort in their defense against the rebellious Britains.
It was a long, grueling battle, but at last the fort managed to claim victory. But something dreadful and grievous had occurred, though. Bedivere had become lost to them.
Percivale dunked! And he stabbed with his long blade. After having been knocked off of his horse, he had to resort to fighting on foot. But terrible luck came upon him. He soon became ambushed by many more Woads than he could handle at once. He tried his hardest to fend them off - stroke after stroke, becoming tired by the second. He managed to kill one. But as he checked himself and his blade for more stabbing, a Woad raised his weapon to cut Percivale's head off clean. But then suddenly, Bedivere threw himself in front of the blow, saving Percivale's life, but losing his own.
He died instantly.
Percivale only naturally blamed himself for being so weak. The knights returned back to the outpost in mourning. Percivale, above all.
He knew a few other knights blamed him for Bedivere's downfall.
"Because he is so weak!"
There are no words in existence to be able to tell how miserable the unskillful knight felt. He stood lastly and alone before Bedivere's burial mound...the fallen knight's sword sticking upright from the earth. The blade which had saved Percivale's life.
Then, he looked across the grassy field where many souls were buried. And he saw her. The most beautiful maiden he had ever seen, as she stood before a burial mound herself.
The maiden became known to him as Blanchefleur.