Percival's Cruel-Original Writing

Percival gave a contented sigh when he woke the next morning. It was his day off, at last: no training, no patrol, nothing to do but relax and unwind. Today he'd… He sat up in bed. Do what? Percival couldn't recall the last time he had a full day off, perhaps after he'd been shot in the thigh with a crossbow.

Absently, he rubbed the scar above his knee. It still ached sometimes. He recalled the horror he experienced moments after the sharp bolt pierced his flesh and muscle. Death had not concerned him, but he was terrified the injury would disable him and King Arthur would be forced to dismiss him from service as a knight. But thankfully, Percival walked with a limp for a week and remained otherwise unaffected, save the occasional mild soreness.

He stretched and yawned as he rose

Percival took off after him.

"Slow down, Rion," said Percival with a chuckle, yet he understood the boy's delight. The thought of a day at the lake pleased him, too.

Rion stopped running, but seemingly unable to contain his enthusiasm, he marched in place, waiting for Percival to catch up. "And what about Sir Gwaine? Will he be along?"

"Yes. I slipped a note under his door. He'll come after his work's done. Soon, probably."

By the time they made it to the lakeside, Rion was in such a state his energy could not be contained. Vibrating with enthusiasm, the little boy struggled out of his clothing, down to his long drawers, and rushed for the lake. Percival caught Rion around the waist before he dove in.

"Easy there, my friend." Percival set him down. "Wait for me to take off my cloak and tunic and drop my sword belt, then I'll acclimate you to the water slowly. Rushing in headfirst without a plan is never a good idea, in any circumstance."

Rion's expression turned serious. "One needs a plan."

Percival stripped off his outerwear, but left on his trousers. "Always. Now, take my hand and we'll walk