Burning Both Ends of the Night

Category/Rating: Het (canon), T
Characters/Pairings: Percival/unnamed, Lancelot
Summary: Percival needs work and a place to stay, and she needs help in her fields and around the house. Neither knew the passion they needed from each other.

AN: This was inspired partially by Garth Brooks' song "That Summer." It's mostly a fluffy/romantic piece that takes place after Percival's village was destroyed and before he met Lancelot. I am contemplating a sequel. So, let me know if you'd be interested!

Beta'ed by the wonderful Nance. Cover art by ExcaliburMaiden

I don't own Merlin or the song lyrics used to set the stage for this piece.

I went to work for her that summer
A teenage kid so far from home
She was a lonely widow woman
Hell-bent to make it on her own
We were a thousand miles from nowhere
Wheat fields as far as I could see
Both needing something from each other
Not knowing yet what that might be...

~Garth Brooks, "That Summer"

The young man readjusted his small pack. It was more accurately a threadbare blanket, wrapped together to hold what little he had left and attached to a leather strap, slung over his shoulder. Dark circles haunted his dry eyes. His tears had already come and gone many times in the days since he was left homeless. His family was now a memory in the dust under the blood-soaked boots of Cenred's army.

A small village...peaceful and quiet, much like his own home had been...appeared on the road ahead of him. Green hills and farms outlined with terraced rock walls, were tilled and ready for the coming season.

All but one. A slender woman cried out. Her hands were worn and bleeding from the hard labor of trying to prepare her small plot of land. She was much older, and judging by the way she worked alone, she had no one to help her.

Most of the fields were owned by wealthy noblemen and lords, where the peasantry was allowed to work and sell the fruits of their labor to pay for their taxes. Each family was given a small piece, but if a person was alone, like this woman seemed to be, it was hard to make ends meet. If she was not able to harvest a good enough crop, she could be subjected to eviction and another family would be given the land for the next season.

He paused for a moment and his heart ached. He recalled days of working beside his family in their own small farm. By this time they would have already begun the planting, much like the other farms surrounding hers. It didn't take him long to decide to put down his satchel.

The woman was trying to wrap dirty swatches of rags, torn off her apron, around her hands, before she reached once more for the hand plough. She jumped, startled by the large, young man who touched her hand.

"Let me help." He said with a smile and took the tool from her.

"I couldn't accept your help. You probably have work of your own that needs attending. I can manage." She protested, at first. Looking up, she met his clear blue eyes and smiled bashfully. "You're not from around here, are you?"

He shook his head, as he began working. "I'm from Kelefshire...or, I was."

The woman gasped softly. "We heard what happened not three days ago, from a passing rider. I am so sorry. Are you all alone?"

His strong arms were making short work of turning the soil with the plough. Dark, rich loam sent an earthy smell into the air as it appeared from the hardened ground. Weeds and grasses that had taken root through the winter months soon began showing their roots to the sunlight.

He only nodded, uncertain that his voice wouldn't crack if he spoke of his home.

"My son moved to the city a few years ago to study. I can offer you a place on the floor where he used to sleep and perhaps some meager food in exchange for your help, but nothing more."

The young man turned toward her and grinned. He'd been wrapped up in his grief, and his desire for vengeance was a pipe dream. He had neither the skills nor the means to take on an army. Working on a farm was one of the few tradeskills that he possessed. "That sounds perfect."

She followed behind him, tossing aside the upturned weeds and loosened stones. They worked in silence until the sun finally began to set.

The woman chuckled. She looked back on her field, while she wiped the dirt off of her hands. "I can't believe it."

Her farm, which only that morning had seemed a daunting task to begin, was more than halfway done.

"Tomorrow, we should finish the rest of it and it'll be ready for seed by the day after." He said with a voice that was filled with pride. Sweat dripped from his body. It had felt good to be useful and to put his hands to work. The physical work had pushed back the pain and gave him something to focus on.

The woman bit her lip and nodded silently. He was tall and strong. His broad shoulders were twice the width of her's, if not more. It had been years since she had looked at a man. Boy, she told herself, for the man next to her was young, perhaps just a slight bit older than her own son.

It didn't matter what she tried to tell herself, his body was a that of a man's not a boy's. She knew nothing else about him, other than he was perhaps one of the kindest souls she had ever met.

"Let's go get cleaned up, and I'll cook us some supper."

He'd had to stoop down to get in through the small door of the hovel. The dried mud walls and thatched room kept the night air at bay. It felt good to be inside a house again. The woman had directed him earlier to a nearby stream to be able to wash, and he finally felt human again.

She motioned to the table, where two bowls of steaming gruel sat. "It isn't much, but I haven't had a chance to forage through the forest for anything fresher. We have to make do for now with what remains of last season's grains."

Her eyes were apologetic, but he appreciated the gesture. "I have not been able to sit down to a hot meal since..." His voice began to break. He remembered the rambunctious family supper his parents and siblings had enjoyed the night before the attack.

There had been no warning that it was going to happen. Nothing to indicate the young warlord who had recently taken the throne of Essetir was marching toward their village. Cenred had no real motive behind his attack, except that the small township sat on the border with Mercia. King Bayard had declared the lands to be his and Cenred knew it was too far out to protect.

So, he chose to burn it to the ground instead, giving neither king what they wanted.

He looked up when he felt the woman take his hand. Her blue eyes glistened with empathy for his grief, and he knew she'd experienced her share of sadness throughout the years. He felt himself flush at the contact. The woman was beautiful and her face had an ageless quality that made him wonder how old her son was.

There could have been any number of reasons for the boy to have been sent away. If his father had died, he may have gone to the city to find work as a servant or apprentice. Percival felt a pang of sorrow that the child and mother had been separated, but he had seen it before with neighbors. Sometimes, it was the only thing a mother could do to try and save their child from the hardships of life, including selling their children into indentured serfdom.

"What am I to call you?" She said, offering him a line of thought away from his sorrow.

"Percival." He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly shy. "My name is Percival."

Over the following weeks they had her field planted. He hunted, and helped her gather fresh herbs and and plants in the nearby forest. Percival hauled water from the well to nourish the crops. He repaired her roof, and took on many of the duties a man of the house would have normally assumed.

With each passing day, his grief lessened. Together they laughed and joked, and worked side-by-side. He became known in the small village, and not only assisted the woman who had kindly taken him in, but others as well.

Percival stood at least a full head above everyone else, and his massive size lent to a greater strength for which all who made his acquaintance were thankful for.

The woman watched him, as he worked one day helping a neighbor move a large stone. Sweat glistened off of his upper body, bared to the sun. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt a tightening inside of her.

It had been years since she had even considered looking at a man in such a way. The village was filled with families and friends she had known for years. No one had caught her eye, even if there had been any single men available.

Percival caught her looking at him. His grin filled his entire face.

She pursed her lips and turned away; feeling her cheeks reddening with her thoughts.

Water ran in rivers off the thatched roof. Wind threatened to tear the grass mats clean off the small structure. Rivulets of rain ran down the walls, under the door, and across the hard packed floor of the house. The storm raged against the shutters. No person in their right mind would venture outside in that weather.

The rickety door slammed open with a gust, and a man entered the hovel. The cloak he wore was small on his frame. It had done little to protect him against the storm, as he came through the opening carrying needed firewood.

She quickly moved to secure the door behind him, before helping him out of the cloak.

They ate in silence as the roar of the winds buffeted against the house. Condensation in the hearth caused the damp wood to crackle and hiss.

As Percival readied himself for bed, he noticed the straw mat had been soaked through from a leak.

Before he could figure out a remedy, she offered a solution.

Taking his hand, she led him to the small bed that was suspended off the ground on posts, avoiding the worst of the flooded floor. Sitting down carefully, he felt the wood creak under his weight and wondered if it would hold.

He shivered when she began untying his wet tunic. Her calloused hands glided across his shoulders.

Reaching out, he took her hand and kissed her fingers timidly. She froze for a brief moment, and Percival wondered if he had crossed the line...until he looked into her eyes. Their sparkling blue depths spoke of a need he couldn't begin to fathom.

She twisted her palm and cupped his jaw. Leaning forward, she kissed his lips gently.

He closed his eyes and gave into the sensation her soft mouth created within him, as it stole his breath away. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her, and pulled the beautiful woman onto his lap.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and whispered, "I've never..."

"Shhh. It's alright." She reassured him. Delicate fingers threaded together around the back of his head and gently pulled him into another kiss.

Percival could feel the desire beneath the surface, rising from her like the storm outside. He allowed himself to reciprocate, wanting to explore her and discover more. Without hesitation she gave herself to him that night.

Lightning flashed outside the small hovel, but neither of them noticed. The maelstrom covered the sound of their joining, as she taught him how to make love.

After that, each night was spent wrapped in a lover's embrace on her small bed. When daylight would come, they would separate. It was a very small village, and prone to gossip. Her reputation would suffer if they were found out. She knew this well.

They cleaned up the fields after the storm, and he repaired the leaks in the roof for her, while they shared secretive glances.

Percival began thinking of the future and contemplated asking the woman to marry him before the season was out. "I was thinking..." he began and smiled when she stopped pulling the weeds to look at him. "We should start preparing for the winter."

She chuckled and brushed her hands together. "What makes you think you will still be around?"

For a moment, he was taken aback by her question.

"You are a young man, Percival. The world is open to you. Why on earth would you want to spend the winter with an old woman like me?"

"You're not old! You are beautiful and wonderful. I couldn't imagine spending the winter anywhere else...or even the rest of my life without you."

She shook her head. "I'm not interested in marriage, Percival. I appreciate your help over this summer, but maybe it's time for you to think about moving on."

His heart broken, they went back to work in silence.

Her reaction confused him and he thought back over the previous months, wondering where he went wrong.

Later that afternoon, a dark-haired stranger arrived in the village. He approached the woman with a smile and a hug. Percival wasn't sure who the man was. At first, he worried that he was her son, but the way they interacted didn't appear that way, nor was the man treating her with the familiarity of a loved one.

As they sat down for supper that night, she introduced him to Percival. The stranger's name was Lancelot and all she would say was that she had known him for a few years.

Lancelot said he was only passing through. He'd received a message from a friend he had in Camelot who needed assistance. It seemed Cenred's mercenary army had taken the city by force, with a deranged sorceress leading them. No one had actually seen the self-proclaimed King of Essetir in days.

Percival felt his blood rise. He told Lancelot about his own grudge against Cenred for the destruction of his family.

"You should go with him." The woman encouraged.

He couldn't understand why she was in such a rush to push him away, but it had become clear that his confession earlier had not sat well with her.

Lancelot gave her his regrets for not staying longer to help with the upcoming harvest, but she laughed and brushed him off. "Finding help to harvest is much easier with such a bountiful crop to share."

"I can come back," Percival offered, still hopeful that she felt the same as he did.

She blinked back the tears, before they could fall. "You have been a godsend this summer, Percival. You really should go, though. Avenge your family and help to ensure that no one else loses theirs in the same way."

Percival nodded sadly.

"I have something for you." She said, and crossed the one room hovel to a wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

She struggled to lift an awkward bundle wrapped in rough cloth, and he rushed to assist her.

He carried it to the table and she bade him to look inside the package.

A chainmail shirt - rusted and dented - had been modified and split down the front, and the sleeves had been removed. Two leather straps with buckles joined the front of the shirt.

His eyes widened when he saw it.

"This was left here long ago. I did what I could to alter it so that it would fit you."

"I can't accept this..."

"You can and you will. Tell him, Lancelot. I am not one to be turned down."

Lancelot laughed, "Indeed, she speaks the truth, my friend."

"You will need it to face the battles ahead. Take it and go with my blessing. Hopefully it will keep you safe."

He accepted reluctantly, and the next morning at first light, he joined Lancelot on the road toward Camelot.

She had left the house before he had awoken, and though his eyes scanned the village, she was nowhere to be seen.

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