Part II: Percival and Sarra
Chapter 4: Percival
Percival was not a complicated man. He was a very simple man, with simple needs and desires, and simple joys.
For instance, the nighttime. The cool fresh breeze – chill now, this far toward winter. Sky darkening with twilight early enough to give them a couple of hours lounging around their campfires – three total, to accommodate all fifteen of the king's attendant knights – before tucking into bedrolls and dropping off to sleep. There was also, maybe a star or two already out, but hidden behind the thick leaves of stubborn oaks and the spiky fingers of the dramatic maples, going from gorgeous to bare in a fortnight of windy autumn days.
He rather enjoyed being sore – tired from the day's ride, with his belly full and the expectation of good rest, still on Camelot's side of the border. Crouched next to the fire to stir the ashes a bit before adding more wood, he also liked the heat on his face that felt as orange as it looked on his hands.
And the company, of course. One reason Percival understood Gwaine's trips to the tavern. It was easier to hold involuntary recollection of the tragic past at bay when one wasn't alone, but actively making more and better memories.
Percival glanced past sparks and through fire-haze and amended, nearly alone. The king had been preoccupied, this trip more than any other Percival had ever accompanied him on. Silent, still lost in his thoughts, seated on a log across from him. Uneasy ones, if Percival was any judge; it wasn't his place to ask.
Leon might've, but he'd remained in Camelot as acting regent, and Lancelot with him to learn what he needed to know about governing a castle and town. Percival smiled to himself, relaxing back, his elbow propped on another fallen log that helped to form their camp-circle. He was very glad for his good friend; Lancelot had carried a certain melancholy that deepened or sharpened, sometimes, to see Guinevere, last year. Percival understood that, without having to be told the whole history, though it was not an emotion he'd ever experienced before. It bothered him a bit, the thought that love might just happen to a man, without his choice, whether the lady in question was a good match, or not.
Merlin also might have questioned Arthur on his thoughts. But he and Gwaine were out of sight, ostensibly gathering firewood. And anyway Merlin had been lost in his own thoughts all day, too; it made Percival a little nervous, remembering the days Merlin had spent locked in his cousin's web-spell.
A pair of boots strode authoritatively behind Percival and stopped next to his right elbow. He startled, looking up as if one of the senior knights might have cause to reprimand him for duties neglected.
It was Sir Bors, glancing down at him expressionlessly, before focusing on Arthur, and Percival relaxed again. He liked Bors; the man wasn't friendly, but unemotional and fair. Taciturn, an attribute sometimes valued in a senior knight, but…
Arthur stared into the fire, slowly twisting his silver ring around his left forefinger, giving no sign he'd noticed the senior knight's presence. Bors exchanged another glance with Percival, acknowledging the king's mood, then stepped over the log to straddle it, just beyond Arthur's arms'-reach.
"Sire," he said.
Arthur grunted at least partial attention, permission for the knight to speak. Percival thought briefly of excusing himself, but Bors hadn't ordered him off, by word or look – and might actually prefer him to remain, as… some sort of tacit support.
"The men have noticed…" Bors began again, "We've noticed. Your preoccupation, my lord. And I would hesitate to interrupt you in your thoughts, except… well, if your worries touch on our safety in Mercia, we'd perform our duties more… efficiently, with what information you have."
Arthur stared at Bors blankly for a moment, then his mask cracked momentarily into wry amusement. "No, it's not Mercia I'm worried about, not yet anyway. Nor Alined. It's…"
He paused, and though Bors seemed relieved, he didn't excuse himself to leave again, either. "You'll forgive my observation, sire, but if you're distracted by issues best left behind, while you meet with these kings… you might not like the treaties you return to Camelot with, once your head clears."
Arthur grunted again, scooping up a twig from beneath one of his boots. "What do you suggest, then?"
"Talk to Merlin," Bors said bluntly. He was one, Percival had learned, who recognized the worth of Merlin's service and position as Arthur's unofficial councilor, and encouraged rather than begrudging the relationship.
The twig snapped.
"Merlin is the issue," the king informed them. Percival pushed straight; he couldn't see Bors' expression, but Arthur evidently didn't like what he saw, turning to visually scour their surroundings. "Where is he, anyway?"
"Gathering firewood with Gwaine, my lord," Percival answered quietly.
Arthur loosed a hard, irritated sigh, flinging the broken twig into the fire. "Then Gwaine will know. And then, everyone will know."
"Sire…" Percival hesitated, but couldn't not defend his friend. "Gwaine would never reveal your confidences, or your secrets."
"Yes, I know," Arthur said impatiently. "But this isn't my secret – it's Merlin's."
"He has many of those," Bors remarked. "Perhaps it's best to –"
"No, you don't understand," Arthur said. "It's… it's too ridiculous, is what it is. You'd think by now I'd trust his loyalty implicitly, but…"
"There is no one more loyal to you than Merlin," Percival protested softly, still a bit confused. What had happened to make Arthur doubt their young friend?
"But," Arthur continued, as if Percival had never spoken, "what if he marries?"
"Merlin wouldn't marry," Percival said, after a moment. Still confused. "He doesn't look at the girls, doesn't encourage or seek any kind of female attention…" Except the cook, possibly, but Percival was sure that didn't count.
"Maybe he should," Bors said bluntly.
Arthur and Percival both stared at the older knight. The idea was so odd; Merlin was very focused, and busy, he had multiple priorities and scant time to attend to them all, and Bors thought he should add a wife to the list?
"Why," Arthur said, with a dangerous quiet edge to his voice – that didn't seem to disturb Bors in the slightest.
"Because. Unmarried, he causes certain… questions, among the townspeople and servants, some among the knights and nobles, also. Questions that might be laid to rest if he were to have a wife, and begin to raise a family. He's young yet, there's no rush – but there are folks who'd breathe a little easier to see another level of normalcy to our sorcerer – that's not with their young daughters, who find him attractive."
"There are girls who find Merlin attractive?" Arthur said incredulously.
Percival raised his brows when the king looked at him, as if for corroboration of Bors' absurd assertion – why should Arthur be surprised by that?
"Perhaps when you look at him, you still see the scrawny mouthy peasant he was when he first came," Bors said. "But he hasn't been that for quite some time. Has… he indicated a desire to marry?"
Merlin hadn't said anything to him. Nor yet to Gwaine, as far as Percival was aware – though if he'd like to avoid all the good-natured but ribald teasing sure to come his way, Gwaine would be the last to know if Merlin fancied a girl enough to consider a proposal.
"Quite the opposite," Arthur said. "That's part of the problem. He's convinced he will never love a- a woman."
Percival suspicioned Arthur had been about to say another. Which meant, Merlin had loved someone once…
"I'm afraid I don't follow, sire," Bors said.
"Nemeth," Arthur said. "You're aware they want to to seal our alliance with a royal marriage. And we accepted the offer, with several suggestions for a husband, the princess' choice." Bors nodded; Arthur glanced at Percival to include him, and didn't hesitate or indicate he should be elsewhere. "Well, when the party departed, they left me with a counter-proposal. If there were no objections, the princess thinks she'd prefer Merlin to all other candidates."
Bors sat back on the log, hands gripping his knees. Percival looked into the heart of the fire, calling the princess' image to mind. She was graceful and intelligent and attractive, seemed compassionate also – he'd seen her several times in company with Gwen and Lady Ally, seeming to be enjoying herself, and that was revealing, also. But for Merlin? He spent so much time trying to meet the needs of those around him, Percival would hate to see him with a woman who presumed on his generosity, and demanded more.
"Is it political, do you think, my lord," Bors said.
Percival blinked. What?
"I don't know," Arthur said between clenched teeth; evidently the thought had occurred to him, and was part of his dilemma. He looked at Percival again, and evidently his lack of comprehension was plain, for the king went on to explain. "Nemeth has always been a friend to those with magic – they're made welcome there, and from what I'm told, they have little issue with rogue sorcerers or magical law-breaking. Gedref is something of a sanctuary, a strange and confusing place that acts as a shield between Camelot and Nemeth, one that my father could never cross – but didn't quite give up trying. They may very well have concluded that Merlin is the most powerful man in Camelot –"
"Which he is," Bors said placidly in his growly voice.
Arthur shot him a glare. "And that by marrying their princess to him, they have a claim on his loyalty and his power."
Percival frowned and tried to follow the reasoning – it was clear, but… "Well, Merlin… chooses who to give his loyalty to, they couldn't… force that."
Arthur looked at him. Bors looked at him.
Percival added, "They can't take him from you, Arthur. He wouldn't let that happen."
The king put an elbow on his knee, and wiped his hand across his face. "I know. I know that."
Bors said, "So tell Nemeth no."
Percival couldn't help but wonder, what would happen to the alliance, then.
"I do want to see him happy," Arthur told them. "I know I'll feel that even more strongly, after I'm… married. Gwen says… Mithian is nice. That Merlin could be happy with her."
After a moment, Bors ventured, "Sire, perhaps…"
"What is it?" Arthur said tiredly. Percival could see why he'd been so thoroughly introspective all day – probably the last few days; maybe Merlin as well, since the departure of the royals of Nemeth – only Percival hadn't had occasion to notice.
"Isn't there a chance. That Her Highness made the wisest choice possible? She did not ask for your best warrior or your richest lord. Perhaps the magic is the attraction – though I would not be convinced of that; we heard stories of how he saved her life at the ruined castle. But your Merlin also has qualities that make a fine physician, and, I can imagine, what a woman might value in a husband."
Arthur's brows might have been higher than Percival's.
Bors added, with a rough defensiveness, "I have six children with my wife, sire, and four of them are daughters. I have had to learn something about the way women think, to maintain my sanity."
Percival swallowed his snicker with an effort.
"My worry may be entirely useless, anyway," Arthur said, releasing his inner turmoil enough to stretch the muscles of his upper body. "I could not order nor advise nor ask Merlin to do anything he didn't want to, or think was right. And he knows that. It's his decision, after all."
Percival wondered if maybe Merlin wasn't finding it an easy decision. He and Gwaine had been gone for a very long time.
"Please excuse me, sire," he said, arranging his long legs to lift himself from the ground. "I – think our fire could do with a bit more fuel laid by for the night."
Arthur glanced up with a rueful look – he probably knew what Percival meant to do – but nodded. Percival was glad his king trusted him enough not to warn him, don't tell Merlin any part of the conversation he wouldn't have reach Merlin's ears.
As he stepped over the log to head for the part of the forest where he'd last seen his two friends, Bors added a surprising, "Good luck."
It wasn't hard for Percival to locate his two friends.
Only halfway to true dark, and Gwaine carrying a torch, and the reason they were away from camp wasn't the bundle of twigs under Merlin's arm anyway. Gwaine didn't even bother with appearances, but Merlin almost couldn't help himself, Percival thought, watching him locate and lean for another piece of branch.
"No, nothing like that," the young sorcerer was saying. "Just one of the kitchen-maids, who cut her thumb on a carving-knife. And they didn't want to call Gaius away from Nemeth's official leave-taking."
Gwaine grunted, kicking fallen leaves as Percival joined them. "Maybe you should marry the princess then," he said, "get out of that kind of attention from the girls."
"So they can focus it back on you?" Percival guessed. Gwaine swung round at the sound of his voice, shadows from the torch dancing and twisting wildly.
Merlin didn't even turn, head bowed as he searched the ground for kindling – and internally, for peace, it might be. "Arthur told you?"
Percival strode to him, snapping twigs and rustling leaves beneath his boots, and took his bundle of collected broken branches, to free Merlin's hands and arms for more. Would that he could bear Merlin's other burdens so easily. "Sir Bors worried that Arthur was withholding information about the kings we journey to meet. Arthur put his mind to rest, telling him what he was actually preoccupied with."
Merlin grunted and shuffled a few steps, bending for another stick – then rejecting it for reasons best known to himself, tossing it away into the dim beyond the torchlight with rather more vehemence than absolutely necessary. "Arthur made sure I knew, it was perfectly fine for me to say no. And no one would say another word on the matter."
"Well, there you go," Gwaine said easily.
Merlin gave him a look without raising his head; Gwaine showed the palm of his free hand in surrender, and Percival was glad the look hadn't been directed at him.
"And then," Merlin added, "he thinks about it for the next three days." The young sorcerer stopped, facing outward to the growing darkness. His sigh slumped his shoulders in a way that bothered Percival, and the glance he exchanged with Gwaine was answered by a grimace.
"You really don't want her?" Percival said curiously.
"It's… not… I don't know her," Merlin told the gathering twilight. "I already loved somebody, and… Mithian's a princess!"
"Can't ask for better than that," Gwaine hinted, his humor gentled for the sake of their softer-hearted friend. And because he didn't clamor for the story of Merlin's already-loved, Percival assumed he knew it.
"But there's me, a servant."
"A sorcerer," Gwaine answered.
"Barely any kind of apprentice, and a good third of the population still won't meet my eyes –"
"A dragonlord," Gwaine insisted in a sing-song, and Percival smiled. Merlin did tend to think too little of himself.
"From Ealdor." Merlin turned to look at Gwaine, then. "You've been there, you've seen – let me tell you, it can't hold a candle to Gedref, much less the seat of Nemeth's power."
"We've seen Descalot, too," Percival put in. "They claim you kin."
Merlin spared him a glance entirely without humor. "What about my mother?" he said to Gwaine.
Percival had met Hunith, and liked her, as he thought most people did. She was quiet and sweet, but he suspected some no-nonsense steel in there somewhere. She'd have to have, to do what she'd done with Merlin for a son. Not unlike Gwen, he thought, and wished he'd gotten to know the Nemeth princess better.
"Your mother is friends with Camelot's future queen," Gwaine said evenly. "And Gwen is going to outrank Mithian. Your noble cousin loves Hunith like her own mother, too. And she has no problem sitting across the table from a Pendragon prince to discuss magic. She'll be fine. I'm sure Nemeth knew these things about you, Merlin, before the offer was made."
"That's what worries me," Merlin murmured. He swayed in place for a moment, thoughtfully, then stepped forward between them. "Should get back before Arthur sends out a search party."
"If you don't want to marry her," Percival said, remembering Arthur's worry of why Nemeth wanted Merlin – and perhaps that was Merlin's worry, too. "Just say so. Arthur won't force you, I don't think your decline of the proposal will even bother him much, really."
"No?" Merlin mused. "Nemeth borders Odin's kingdom. We need the alliance, and signatures are nowhere near as strong as blood, for ties of unification."
"Arthur would not want you unhappy," Percival offered softly.
Gwaine could have teased, and didn't.
Merlin snorted. "I'm better at hiding that than he is at hiding his worry. I don't know… Much may depend on these two kings, and what comes of Arthur's meeting with them."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
The next day, as the border disappeared behind them and they entered Mercia's territory, Percival was riding just off Arthur's right, when Merlin kneed his gray-speckled white mare up beside the king's mount. Startling Arthur, Percival thought, with his voluntary company – not that it was unwelcome.
"So I hear," Merlin said, clearly enough to be heard by Bors ahead of the king, Gwaine behind Merlin, and maybe Kay behind Gwaine. "That you're not withholding information about either Bayard or Alined."
Arthur turned to look at him, his body moving easily with the gait of his mount. "And you are?"
Bors glanced back; Percival met his eyes knowing that he was listening. Arthur and Merlin probably both knew it, too.
"Bayard's second visit," Merlin said. "After the troll incident."
"Troll?" Gwaine said, echoing Percival's thought aloud. He took in Bors' lack of response, twisted in the saddle to look back at Kay. Percival did the same a moment later, to see a badly-hidden smirk on the young knight's freckled face. "Hey, that's not fair if they know!"
Merlin continued, ignoring Gwaine for the moment. "You think I didn't realize that you and Gaius conspired to have me busy elsewhere, whenever you were in company with King Bayard. Out of sight, out of mind?"
"My father told me," Arthur said, "that Bayard can hold a grudge longer than he can give a speech."
Which was to say, Percival interpreted, a very long time.
"King Bayard of Mercia had a grudge against Merlin?" Gwaine asked. And he did not sound characteristically amused.
"Do you really think he'll remember that?" Merlin asked Arthur directly.
"Being accused of conspiring to assassination, and subjected to arrest in another sovereign's capital?" Arthur said. "I'd find that hard to forget – and those who were involved."
"What did he do?" Percival asked into the pause.
"A sorceress infiltrated Bayard's retinue and tried to poison Arthur," Merlin said, gathering his reins and adjusting his seat. "Uther blamed Bayard."
"Initially," Arthur added, a bit stiffly. Percival had noticed his tendency to defensiveness when his father was mentioned – and didn't truly blame the young king. "He apologized - and the second visit went smoothly enough, and the treaty holds."
"Does the grudge hold?" Gwaine said, with intense curiosity.
"Just…" Arthur's suggestion bordered on command, to Percival's ear. "Don't draw attention to yourself, this week."
"I promise to be as discreet as Alined's sorcerer," Merlin said.
The king snorted. "That jester? He was just a silly…" He trailed off – then turned to look at Merlin. Which was away from Percival, but he could judge Arthur's expression pretty well by the look on Merlin's face – as if he hoped to appease his sovereign's reaction to an offensive truth swiftly and sweetly. "Do you mean to say –"
"Yeah. Magic."
"He dared?" Arthur's voice rose, but it sounded like his teeth were clenched. "In the middle of the banquet, with everyone watching him?"
"It wasn't complicated stuff," Merlin said. "Except for the love spell."
"Love spell?" Gwaine said, interested.
Arthur was facing forward again, and Percival's curious sidelong glance was not enough to read the king's impassivity.
"Vivian," he said. "That ridiculous little man enchanted us?"
"Intended to start a war between your father and hers," Merlin said, watching Arthur watch the road. "I guess Alined doesn't love peace as much as he claims…" Arthur grunted, and Merlin ventured to add saucily, "You're welcome."
"For?" Gwaine pressed, when Arthur didn't object Merlin's tacit claim of responsibility for averting the crisis.
"Pushing Gwen at him," Merlin said, grinning when it became apparent that Arthur's temper wasn't going to be engaged over the occasion. "True love's kiss broke the enchantment. Though it took some arguing to get her to do it, after Arthur had been mooning over Lady Vivian."
Arthur let his head drop, shaking it in an attitude of ruefulness – still not disputing any point of Merlin's story.
True love. Percival wondered what that would be like.
"So what about this Vivian, what happened to her?" Gwaine asked.
"She's married now," Arthur answered distantly, lifting his eyes to alertness of their surroundings again. "Had a letter from her father this summer. Our treaty with them remains unchanged. He can't travel for health reasons but he'll sign a fresh copy if I prefer my name to my father's. Or we can journey to visit."
"Next year?" Gwaine asked. Because they all knew, after this expedition they were meant to detour slightly to Lord Godwyn's estate, and then it would be winter. No wars, no journeys, when the uncertain weather made the roads and distances perilous.
"Perhaps," Arthur said neutrally. "No issue was taken with our change in policy on magic, but they weren't keen on having Merlin or the dragon cross their border, so…" He shrugged, and Percival interpreted, Perhaps not, if peace and the treaty were kept.
"Breaks my heart," Merlin said sardonically.
"But," Arthur said, bringing the conversation back to the point, "If Alined has had a secret sorcerer for quite some time… Do you suppose that makes him more sympathetic to the changes we've made in Camelot?"
"I think he'd be happiest if I wore a belled hat and danced jigs," Merlin said. Gwaine snickered, and Percival suspected it was a deliberate attempt to lighten Arthur's mood. Merlin straightened at the king's look – again hidden, Percival was disappointed to note – and pointed right in Arthur's face. "No. Absolutely not."
"Too bad," Arthur said, very clearly and with an audible grin. "Bayard might expect a hat of some sort…"
Merlin flushed crimson, to Percival's surprise. And said with chagrin, "Damn you."
Arthur laughed right out loud, throwing his head back – and wore his best crooked grin for a significant time after. As long as Merlin pretended to be grumpy, anyway.
Percival, for his part – and he rather thought his fellow knights thought the same – took instruction from the conversation.
One king who might be inclined to take offense at Merlin's presence, recalling a humiliation at Arthur's father's hands. And the other who might assume that Arthur's tendencies for deception and manipulation and an unethical use of surreptitious magic matched his own.
No wonder Arthur preferred to worry about Merlin's matrimonial prospects.
Well, at least they now knew what they had to guard against in Mercia.
A/N: Sorry you didn't get to meet Percival's intended, this chapter. Next one, though – along with Arthur dueling Bayard's son, and Percival drinking a poisoned chalice… spoilers!