Disclaimer: not mine, although Percival's backstory is my own creation. Because, let's face it, besides his name there's really not a whole lot to make us think that our Percival is the Percival of the legends.
After the events of the Darkest Hour, the knights of the round table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers.
Note: recall if you will that Gwen and Elyan's mother was a servant to Leon's mother and thus they all knew each other as children. It's not terribly important but you may not understand one small part of this chapter without this info.
Twenty-two years old and I am not above saying: reviews are one of the greatest gifts you can give :)
To Honor the Fallen
Part II
Things weren't looking good. First, all the incessant worrying, and now Gwaine was staring into his wardrobe, utterly unsure of what to wear. Okay, trousers, shirt, yes- that wasn't the controversy. The question on his mind was whether or not to don his chainmail. This was, as condoned by Arthur, an official quest as a knight of Camelot. But... it also kind of wasn't. And it was a bit insulting to pretend that it was, right? Gwaine kicked his wardrobe, but it remained unhelpful. Finally he pulled the chainmail out and worked his arms and head into their respective holes, then fastened his cloak over top. He'd be warm, at the very least; early winter this year had been mild, but that could change at a moment's notice. Besides, over the past year foregoing chainmail had begun to make him feel... vulnerable, somehow. And Gwaine didn't need any more of that right now.
The others had dressed similarly when they convened at the stables. Good. A correct choice, for once in his life. He was greeting them all just as Merlin arrived with a bowl of apples and pears. They ate in silence as they loaded their horses with their bags, the sun rising pink in the distance. Meanwhile Gwaine tried to gauge the general mood. Percival seemed grim, but that was to be expected. Elyan was unexpectedly calm. Leon bore the same face that he did when departing for any quest.
Gwaine shoved the extra fruit in his bag when he was fairly sure that everyone was done. Then, nodding to Merlin, he swung up onto his horse and followed the others out of the citadel gates.
The route had not been hard to map. Leon and Elyan led the way, and soon Percival's horse fell in step with Gwaine's a few paces behind theirs.
"All right?" He called casually. His answer was a grunt, and the others were hardly more talkative. Gwaine respected this, though it wouldn't have been his first choice. If the others needed time to collect their thoughts, so be it. But he, on the other hand, would have preferred at least a bit of light chatter. Instead he took to humming tunelessly, listening to the hooves of his horse crunch the fallen autumn leaves underfoot. Silence persisted until they stopped for lunch.
Elyan was the first to break it with anything more than meaningless commentary on directions and the welfare of the horses.
"I told Gwen where we were going," he said suddenly, toying with the piece of cold chicken in his hands. "She gave her blessing. The two of them had a little thing, I think. Before she and Arthur."
"Before, for her, maybe," Gwaine argued. "I don't think he ever gave up on her, not really. Of course, she's not the kind of girl you give up on, is she? I've certainly never stopped thinking about her."
"Oy!" Elyan yelped, and suddenly the tension shattered. "That's my sister you're talking about. I don't need to hear these things!"
"Don't you wanna know how lucky a woman she is?" Gwaine winked. "Lancelot wasn't the only knight she's ever been courted by."
Elyan stared back at Gwaine, righteous fire in his eyes. "You do mean Arthur, don't you?"
"Oh right. Him too."
Leon burst out laughing at the anger wrought across his friend's face. "She's not an easy girl to ignore, Elyan. Good thing you're handy with a sword. Not that I think she needs protecting."
"Oh god," Elyan moaned loudly. "Not you too, Leon. Anyone else want to admit to having feelings for my sister? Percy? I think you're the only one left."
"I don't have feelings for her," Leon insisted. "Not like that. Not saying she's not pretty, mate, but she was always so much younger. Five or six years. She was hardly ten when I left for the Citadel. But I cared for her. I still care for her," he amended with a small smile. "She always tagged along after me and my friends like a little sister. But God, she fussed over me as well."
"That's right! Your lily mother, eh, Leon?" Elyan grinned as he seemed to deal a worthy blow.
Leon, time-tested, battle-worn knight of Camelot, blushed as red as his cloak.
"What was that?" Gwaine demanded, delighted at this obviously embarrassing piece of information. It wasn't often that he mined Elyan for childhood stories of Leon; teasing each other was one thing, but there was no need to emphasize his background as a servant's son. But when information was volunteered, well- that was another matter.
Elyan, for his part, was grinning at this particular memory. "Go on, Leon, tell them," he coaxed. Leon sighed.
"Well, you know Gwen. She fusses over everyone. But I was one of her first, I think." The high color of embarrassment faded gradually to the gentle blush of a silly, pleasant thought. "She'd follow me everywhere- only six or seven years old, she was- reminding me to eat enough, bandaging me when I injured myself. She was like my little mother."
Elyan was breathing hard with the effort of not bursting into laughter. "But brave Sir Leon here couldn't get his t's right until he was old enough to grow a beard! So he called her his-"
"Lily mother," Leon finished quietly. "It was easier to say."
"That is one of the most precious things I have ever heard, gents," Gwaine roared, reaching over to slap Leon on the back. "Might shed a tear." On Gwaine's other side, Percival was chortling appreciatively, the first extraneous noise he'd made all day. The mood had lightened considerably, and Gwaine couldn't help but think that this was the first time since Lancelot's death that they weren't all handling each other like possibly poisonous spiders when left to their own devices. Things felt normal again- well, apart from the one voice noticeably absent from the dialogue.
"Is it odd, sometimes?" Elyan wondered absently. "That the son of your mother's servant ended up a knight along side you? And her daughter ended up favored by the prince?"
"It was at first, a bit," Leon replied thoughtfully. The chicken was gone by now, and Gwaine retrieved the breakfast fruit from his bag and began to chuck pieces at his friends with little caution. "But I've gotten over it," he promised with a laugh. "You and Percival are some of the finest knights I've ever stood beside; Lancelot as well. Your bloodlines mean nothing in this light."
"Oh hell!" Elyan laughed. "Me and Percy and Lancelot? How about that, Gwaine?"
Leon's face fell. "Gwaine as well. Of course," he added hastily, looking over at Gwaine for confirmation. But Gwaine was frozen, heart suddenly pounding, fingers sinking into the softened flesh of a bruised pear.
"You know," he said quietly.
"What?" Leon was blushing again, this time looking genuinely embarrassed.
"He knows what?" Elyan demanded, confused.
"How long?"
"A while," Leon admitted, finally giving up his attempts at denial.
"Gwaine?" That was Percival.
"It's okay," Gwaine said quietly. "If I can't tell you lot, who can I tell? It's instinct, you know. It's just habit by now, pretending."
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Elyan yelped, and Gwaine unfroze then, tossing the pear to Leon.
"Go on," he prodded.
Leon swallowed, shifted, seeming unsure if the permission was genuine. "You're a nobleman," he said at last.
"Yeah. Newly minted," Elyan joked.
"No." He shook his head. "Gwaine's of noble blood."
All eyes were turned on Gwaine now. That familiar instinct to bolt was mounting but he bit it back with a sigh.
"How'd you work it out?"
"No one's terribly fond of nobles." Leon's expression was thoughtful. "But you- you really hate them. You hate nobles in only the way someone of noble blood could."
Elyan's eyebrows were inching ever closer to his hairline. Percival's face was perfectly still.
"Well spotted," Gwaine huffed, trying to grin. "Not that it ever got me very far, take my word on it."
"What happened?" Leon didn't look pleased to be right, exactly- just very politely curious.
Gwaine shrugged. "My father was a knight. Died fighting for Caerleon when I was young. In those days my mother wasn't good for anything but being a knight's wife. My sister wasn't good for anything but being a knight's daughter. I was too young to get any jobs that paid anything much. Once we'd sold everything we could, we were left with nothing. Caerleon was no help." He knew he was scowling, and hardly cared. He sighed, holding the air deep in his lungs before expelling it in a gush. "Noble blood's not worth a whole hell of a lot on its own. Not like you can go to the market and bleed for your food." He paused. "How long have you known?"
"Since about a week after you were knighted." Leon shrugged. "I assumed if you didn't mention it, you didn't want it known."
"Why not?" Percival wondered softly.
"Dunno." Gwaine shuffled backwards on all fours a few feet until he was leaning up against a tree. "Like the man said, they're not my favorite sort. Besides. Things are expected of nobles. If people don't know, they can still be impressed when I do things like bathe and show up on time and spend an entire week sober." He forced a smile. It didn't catch. Percival and Elyan were still staring, and Leon was still looking as scandalized with himself as a man could be. Anger tried to flare up inside of Gwaine, but he held it in check. "Everyone, please," he said, in a calm, clear voice. "Just eat your fucking fruit."
Everyone did; Leon bit quietly into his pear and the rest of them crunched noisily into their apples.
Gwaine was halfway to the core of his when Elyan finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Gwaine. I'm still confused."
"What?" There was more snap to his voice than he intended.
"Sorry, just..." Above his fruit, Elyan's dark eyes were glinting. "When was the last time you actually spent an entire week sober? I've been wracking my brains."
Tension drained out of Gwaine's muscles like water from a spilled bucket. He hadn't ever stopped to think- couldn't afford to, maybe- about how nice it would have been for his friends to know the actual story of his childhood. Now they did, and they hardly cared.
Ridiculous, maybe, but he couldn't help but send a silent thanks to Lancelot. He'd always been the one to foster friendship among them all. Now that legacy continued even after his death, through this quest.
Sleepy, full of chicken and apple, Gwaine was leaning back against his tree just as Leon pushed to his feet with a groan. "We really should keep moving," he announced, beginning to gather his things.
Gwaine moaned in protest. "I've literally just found the most comfortable tree in the Five Kingdoms."
Leon's smile was easy and lopsided, more relaxed than it had ever been outside the confines of the Rising Sun. "You're going to offend your horse," he warned.
Gwaine grumbled as he tossed his apple core into the trees, grumbled as he returned his plate to his bag, and grumbled as Elyan pulled him to his feet. In reality, though, he had no complaints. The joviality between them continued, making the second leg of the journey far more enjoyable than the first. Well, in all ways but one: Percival's participation in the fun had been short lived. He brooded as much now as he'd brooded all morning.
Lead by example, Gwaine decided, and made a show of being as gleeful as he could be. He veered Leon's horse off the trail with an apple stuck to a long, stiff twig and coaxed more childhood stories from Elyan, though none proved quite as amusing as had lunchtime's.
The winter solstice was scant weeks away, though, and darkness fell early. Leon's face was sour as he consulted his map.
"We're still a good three hours away," he grouched, glaring at Gwaine like it was all his fault- which of course it was, at least in part.
"We haven't got a timetable," Gwaine shot back irritably. He hoped fiercely that Leon wasn't suggesting they continue on into the dusk. A chill had fallen and even in his chainmail Gwaine was eager for a fire.
"No. I suppose not," Leon admitted, though he still didn't seem very happy about it. "If we make camp now and rise at dawn, we should be to the village well before midday.
"Yes please," Gwaine groaned. "I hath offended my horse and he hath re-offended me in turn." And it was true: there were few things worse than a full day's bumpy ride.
Setting up camp together was a still they'd honed over many months of practice, and hardly took long anymore. Soon the fire was crackling and Gwaine stretched lazily beside it.
Elyan plopped beside him, pulling dried venison from his pack and passing it around wordlessly. Gwaine took a liberal portion and began to eat it still reclining, earning himself a few coughing fits in the process. Halfway through he finally gave in and sat up. Leon and Elyan ate theirs with slightly better manners but no less enthusiasm. Only Percival abstained.
His silence could hardly have gone unnoticed by the others. Certainly it had been nagging at the back of Gwaine's mind all day. He was inordinately relieved, however, when Elyan took it upon himself to bring the issue to light.
He was, unfortunately, only about as sensitive as Gwaine would have been. Possibly even less. "Oy, are you ever going to stop sulking?" he grouched.
Percival was on his feet in a flash. "I suppose I'm just not as moved by this damn quest as the lot of you," he sneered, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. Before anyone could say a word he had stomped away from the fire, soon no more than a silhouette between the trees, outlined in the barest touch of light.
Elyan blinked after him, shocked and alarmed. He rose to follow but Gwaine stopped him with one hand held aloft. "No. I'll go."
Percival was still within view of the fire, but only just- and he was well outside its circle of warmth. He'd come to a hill that was just outside the clearing, still only sparsely treed. He sat just beneath the crest of the hill with his legs drawn up to his chest, hands on his ankles. As Gwaine approached, he pulled his cloak close around him, protecting his bare arms from the early winter air.
"Pride is a deadly sin," Gwaine advised, shaking his head mockingly. "I know you like showing off your muscles for the world to see, but one of these days you'll freeze to death."
Percival scowled, still staring at the ground. "It isn't to show off," he answered tightly.
"No? What the hell is it, then?"
Percival's sigh suggested terribly unflattering things about Gwaine's intelligence, or lack thereof. "Sleeves were too snug to move properly."
"My friend, you are a knight of Camelot," Gwaine chuckled, over-enunciating his words. "I'm sure the royal smith could come up with something for you. And the tailor, while we're at it. Or are you just used to it by now?" The teasing question hung unanswered in the air.
Gwaine settled down on the hard earth beside his friend, stretching his legs down the slope of the hill."You didn't eat," he remarked blandly, deciding not to comment on the actual moment that had brought them both there.
"My stomach's just a bit upset," Percival replied coolly.
"Oh. Keep your distance, then."
His answer was a noncommittal grunt.
Silence fell between them, winter night broken only by the foreign voices of unseen birds. When Gwaine finally worked up the nerve to glance sideways, he was briefly surprised at the tears streaming down Percival's face. Apparently, he cried as he did everything else- quietly- with no sniffing or sobbing or sad little exclamations of emotion. Personally, Gwaine liked to wail and carry on a bit; it was cathartic, wasn't it? But Percival just stared straight ahead, blinking slowly as tears ran one after the other down his cheeks, some dripping off his jaw, some sliding down his neck.
So much for not being moved by the quest.
It was awkward, inarguably, but Gwaine recognized that terrible bind when you couldn't bring yourself to ask for company but couldn't bring yourself to let go until you had some. It wasn't his style, but he'd seen it enough in others to recognize it. So he was fairly sure he'd committed himself to staying through to the end. And, though it came slowly, it came nevertheless, and eventually Percival wiped his face and sighed.
"I'll hug you," Gwaine muttered conspiratorially. "But you can never tell the others."
"'m all right. Thanks."
"You were his friend before any of us, Percy. Nobody expects you to carry on like nothing happened."
Percival swallowed hard, and Gwaine decided to stop before he provoked another round of tears from his friend. "It's late," he murmured instead. "You need sleep. Come back to the fire and we'll make Elyan take the first watch."
Percival gave a small, weak smile. "He hates taking first watch."
"I hate taking any watch, and yet you all manage to convince me to, every time."
Percival stared for a long moment. Gwaine hoped beyond hope that he was getting ready to cast one of his terrible jokes, but had no suck luck. "I shouldn't have come, Gwaine," he said finally.
"Yes you should."
"I can't say goodbye. I've never been able to."
"Stick with me," Gwaine promised dryly. "It's all I do."
Percival just blinked, face working oddly as he kept himself from crying again. Gwaine's legs were beginning to twinge with cold and lack of movement; he kicked them idly against the dirt, sensing that he and his friend weren't about the relocate just yet, despite best efforts.
Finally, Percival sighed and said, "Lancelot was twelve."
"Then his beard was all the more impressive."
Percival glared. "He was twelve when his village was attacked. Everyone dead- everyone. Twelve years old, he was completely on his own. I was eighteen and had a score of neighbors with me. I still lost months to a complete... darkness in my mind."
"I suppose Lancelot couldn't afford to," Gwaine said slowly. The cold was creeping in on them now, seeping into his boots and between his toes.
"Mm," Percival hummed.
Then he took a deep breath, blew it out, took another, and without pause answered every question that Gwaine had always hesitated to ask.
"I was one of four siblings. The twins- Henry and Gabrielle- were like me." He gestured vaguely and shrugged before elaborating: "Big. Fair-haired. Quiet. But Frederick was small. Dark. He could talk for hours. Frederick was everyone's favorite. We all looked out for him."
Gwaine was staring; he couldn't help it. He'd gotten a vague summary of his friend's backstory from Lancelot, but Percival had never before mentioned his family that Gwaine could recall. Now he'd given names and broad descriptions of three siblings in only the time it had taken to draw two breaths. His eyes were still trained on the man's face when he continued.
"When Cedred's men came, the twins and our parents held them off. Gave me time to get him to safety." Percival's youthful face was stonier than Gwaine had ever seen it. "I failed."
"What happened?" Gwaine asked finally.
Percival drew in a deep breath and sat up taller. "He was shot at a distance as we were escaping. I thought we could still make it to the mountains with the other refugees. I thought we could go there to tend to him. He didn't make it. We were at the base of the mountain when I felt him go boneless against my back. I knew he'd died before I even saw his face. I buried him there. I didn't let anyone help me.
"After Frederick died, there were about twenty of us left from the village. A man and a woman, Jonas and Meredith, were among us. They had no children of their own. When we were growing up, they would sometimes look after us. After the attack, they took me in again. We stayed in the mountains for weeks. I barely remember anything from that time; I slept all day. Meredith would wake me up to eat and sometimes wash, and that was all. I was more dead than I was alive. I didn't even cry.
"Finally we began depleting the fruit trees and game around us. We went out separate ways. Meredith and Jonas were going to live with Jonas's sister. They still couldn't leave me on my own. I hardly ever left Meredith's side. So I went with them. It was a foresting village, like my own had been. I worked for my keep. Gradually my mind cleared. I've never stopped mourning, you know. But I came back to myself.
"We stayed a year with Jonas's sister before I decided I wanted to leave. It was too difficult, being in a village that looked so much like mine had, but with all the wrong faces. They didn't want me to go, but they understood. So I set out on my own.
"It wasn't hard to find work, but I never stayed long enough to get to know anyone. I was all right with that. Until I met Lancelot. He told me that he didn't have anyone either, but he'd decided to learn to fight, and protect others from the same fate that befell his family. It seemed like a better thing to do than drift as I had been. So he told me I could come with him.
"He didn't speak of his family much. Just vaguely. Some nights were bad, and he would just sort of stare. I recognized the darkness in him. But he always came back quickly. He told me of his travels to Camelot, and how he'd failed as a knight- in his mind. But then, as he'd tell me, he saw Guinevere again, just by chance. And slowly he came to believe again that there was goodness in the world worth fighting for.
"When word arrived from Merlin that Lancelot was needed in Camelot, it was only natural I should accompany him. We both knew by then that I would follow him anywhere. And if it was Cedred's men we fought, so much the better. It's strange, though- I never thought it would be the place we'd finally stop."
And that said it all. Percival fell silent, gazing calmly forward, while Gwaine fought dual urges to throw his arms around his friend, or run away. Gradually, Percival turned and smiled. "Don't think I've ever seen you speechless before, Gwaine."
"Supposed we've switched roles," Gwaine choked out.
"Mm. Yes, I'm not sure I've ever said so many words back-to-back," Percival mused. He looked tired, and still a bit ill, but better than he had when Gwaine had found him. Gwaine himself, on the other hand, felt downright shaken. He was shivering, hard, and only partially from the cold. He wanted to say- what? Sorry? Thanks? Nothing he could think of seemed remotely well-placed or even useful.
"Should we go back to the others?"
Gwaine nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, swaying as the blood rushed out of his head and back into his toes. Percival, suddenly standing himself, caught him by the arm. "Gwaine?"
"What?" Gwaine snapped, twisting his wrist around inside Percival's giant grip. His friend's hand was hot as though with fever.
"It's all right. Really," Percival said calmly, the gentility of his words belying the tragedy he'd just revealed.
"Really," Gwaine repeated dumbly. Then he stumbled back down the hill to camp, curled himself up on a patch of ground as close to the fire as could be, and was asleep before Elyan could even begin to protest.