Arthur glanced up as the other man approached, and didn't blink as he knelt. Unlike Guinevere, he was used to the treatment - it was actually rather reassuring to be greeted as such, rather than looked at like he was a lunatic. And it gave him a moment to examine the man. Perhaps there was something of Arthur's friend about him, although it was hard to see with his head bowed. He was certainly older than he had expected. But then time didn't seem to hold the sway it should do here, and he had spent enough of his life ordering around people older than himself to keep from feeling uncomfortable.
Arthur smiled vaguely. "Stand," he told him, a note of authority creeping into his voice. "If you're Percival's son you're a friend of mine, and I can't have you scrambling on the floor." He waited until the man had stood and stepped forward to grasp his arm briefly, the standard greeting of men of higher class back in Camelot and the surrounding Kingdoms.
"It's a pleasure," he told him, with a smile, before he released his grip and jerked his fair head, indicating the grounds and gardens that were spread around them. "Should we walk? It's too cold to be stood still. You can tell me a little about yourself."