ă â ⏠⢠(Because I am greedy and I love your Percival :P )
â ă for a childhood storyÂ
He was sixteen, the first time he surprised someone with his strength.
Even so young, he was a far cry from slight. He'd been labouring on the farm since he was twelve or thirteen -- whatever was needed. Ploughing, sowing, building; if he didn't know how, he learned. If he couldn't manage, he kept trying until he could.
The barn was old, shored up a little more every year but never quite fixed. When Rosanna had gone in, to milk the cows, she'd laughed and said one day this old thing'll fall down ---- and then what?
They hadn't expected it to happen quite so soon.
He remembers the splintering noise, the panicked sounds of the animals. Remembers the shouts of the men as they'd heard the sound of stupid, panicked cows pressing together, hooves battering against the ground.
No amount of shouting could rouse a response from Rosanna, and they couldn't get in -- not with the beams and the rubble piled up in front of the door. They stared at it, worried expression turning darker as they tried to figure out if clearing the mess would bring more of the structure down.
Percival had circled the building. There was a milker's entrance in the back, nothing more than a low doorway designed to let in some fresh air, and for full buckets to be passed out of, to keep them from being kicked over by the cows.
Open, but blocked by the hulking slant of one of the buildings old oak beams, he could see a huddled figure pressed against it. Gentle fingers reach out and the call of she's here! brings the men running.
They talk about cutting the beam, about coming in from the main door, and all the while Rosanna keeps her hands thrown over her head, trembles and shakes.
Percival reaches in takes her hand, and tells her that she's going to be fine, she's going to be safe now. Slowly, and by degrees, she seems to come to herself -- but still the men are talking, nothing to be done, arguments breaking out between them.
He doesn't really think it through when he ducks through the door, squeezes himself (with difficulty) under the small space of the beam. She looks at him with wide, scared eyes as he adjust his shoulder against it, begins to push upwards.
There's a grating sound, dust dislodged, and a startled cry as someone notices what's going on. Another ounce of force, another shift. He moves slowly, worried about bringing the whole thing down atop them.
He'll be bruised, later, and aching -- but it's worth it for the way that the woman crawls desperately towards the space that's forming, pushes herself through it and into freedom, sobbing.
â â for a story about their family/home lifeÂ
There's only the two of them.
Father gone before he had the chance for more sons, or daughters, leaves Percival the man of the house from an impossibly young age. He grows up quickly. because he has to, and while there's help on the farm, there'll never be help at home.
She tries, his mother. Cooks what he brings home, overfeeds him, but there's always a note of panic when he leaves the house, always a protectiveness that goes too far.
(Maybe, spin his treacherous thoughts, if she'd let him use a sword, she'd still be  a l i v e.)
â ⏠for a bad memory that still haunts themÂ
He remembers once they hanged a man in the village square.
Times were hard and days were dark and fear spread through men like panicked cattle. He remembers he'd tugged on someone's sleeve and asked what the man had done.
He remembers the weariness in the woman's eyes as she'd told him stolen a chicken to keep from starving.
He remembers screaming that it wasn't fair as the man's feet twitched and dance.
He remembers that no one listened.
â ⢠for a good memory that makes them smile
It was almost startling, how quickly Camelot became a home -- how quickly the knights became a family.
They'd been out on patrol, him and Leon, circling the dark walls of the city with a quiet patience that they shared, words mostly unnecessary. When the badger had stumbled from its sett, growling its annoyance at being disturbed, Percival had cursed out loud, heart thundering and sword drawn in an instant, and Leon had laughed.
Don't you dare tell Gwaine he'd said, and Leon had put his hand over his heart and said your secret's safe with me; what are brothers for?
And the next day, when Gwaine and jumped at him from around a corner and asked what's wrong big man, scared of a few badgers?, Percival had cursed Leon instead and given Gwaine a shove as he'd said you told him? You promised!
And Gwaine had grinned and elbowed Leon in the ribs and thrown out what are brothers for, eh?
God, they were annoying. But they were his family, and he knew it.
