And so, Percival did. He looked calm, if, perhaps, a bit humbled. Merlin looked closer, however, and saw the poor man's hands were trembling. Just a bit, but it was enough for the warlock's heart to go out to him. He didn't understand any better than anyone else what was going on. At least Arthur wasn't treating him like a criminal. Yet.
Percival paused before the doorway of the room. "The pressure plate is there," he said softly, pointing to it. "Make sure you step over it, or we'll all be stuck inside."
"Not something I want to relive," Merlin muttered, and Arthur nodded. Percival went in first, followed by Elyan, then Lancelot, then Merlin, and Arthur at the rear.
The room looked about the same as it had last time Merlin and Arthur were here, except with more cobwebs and dust. It was brighter than last time, too, thanks to Percival, apparently. The stone walls were practically glowing with life. The company made a half-circle in front of the throne, looking at each other. It was all a little awkward, really.
"Uh, why did we have to come here, exactly?" Elyan asked.
"This is where the king died," Arthur said, pointing at the throne. "He was the source of the magic. This is where it will be strongest. If anything is going to happen, it's going to happen here."
Lancelot looked at the throne, then at Merlin, then at poor Percival. "What's going to happen?"
Arthur turned to the big knight. "Percival, tell us what's going to happen."
"I don't know, Sire," he answered. And sniffed. "The smell is stronger here."
"It would be," the prince said. "I expect that's magic you're smelling."
"I don't have magic."
"I know. And you showed absolutely no sign of it until now. So, the question stands. What's going on, Percival?"
Percival sighed, growing anxious and frustrated. "I don't know!"
"You should ask," Merlin said suddenly, wishing the words back into his mouth as soon as he said them. All eyes turned on him. "I…I noticed grass growing when he spoke on the trail, and the walls got brighter when he was talking. The castle is responding to his voice. If he wants to know the answer, he should ask the question."
Percival swallowed, looking at the throne. Feeling quite sheepish, he cleared his throat. He stepped forward. His mouth opened and closed once, twice. He closed his eyes. When he next spoke his voice was strong and quiet, but not so quiet that it didn't reverberate around the room. "What's happening to me?"
The throne split down the middle with a loud crack. Splinters of wood and centuries of dust flew everywhere. The company coughed and hacked, shielding their faces. When the air settled, a ghostly specter was standing (floating? Specting?) in front of the broken throne.
The Fisher King.
He smiled at each man in turn, but it was Percival he held out his hand to. "My dear child," he said, his voice just as strong and sure as Percival's had been a moment ago. "I've been waiting for you a long, long time."
The men stared, jaws loose and hanging. The ghost threw back his head and laughed. The sound made Merlin grin in spite of himself. Death had clearly been good for him, as strange as that sounded.
Arthur came to himself first and—what else?—drew his sword. "Why have you come," he declared in his most noble voice. "What do you want with Percival?"
"Percival, is that his name?" he said with another smile. "I've come because I was called, by the question of the seeking mind and the family blood. Percival, you say?" He looked back at Percival. "You are my flesh and blood, Percival. By rights the land is yours, and the land has been waiting for a fresh, new king for centuries. You are my heir, and I have come to claim you as such. What do you say?"
Percival stared. He looked around the room, meeting each one of his friends' eyes, noting the sword in Arthur's hand especially, and turned back to the king. "I say…what on earth are you talking about?"
That's all for today. Tune in next time, when you'll hear Percival say...anything at all! (Seriously, would it kill the writers to give him some lines in season five?)