As the sun rose and the sky was splashed with vibrant colors, sleepy servants attending their duties were treated to the sight of the king's manservant sprinting through the halls, dodging and ducking under laundry baskets and platters of food. His hair was hopelessly mussed, and he hopped, pulling on a boot with one hand while simultaneously trying to tie his neckerchief with the other.
Not noticing the prim, dark-haired form stepping out of a doorway to his right, Merlin barrelled straight into the man's outstretched leg and tripped spectacularly. He yelped in surprise as his boot flew one way and the uncooperative neckerchief was thrown into the air by his flailing arm. He managed to fall on his side, but still groaned when the impact jarred ribs sore from the previous day's "training" session. The neckerchief lazily fluttered down onto his face.
The man in the doorway raised an eyebrow and sniffed at his fellow servant's unprofessional appearance as the man in question slowly sat up, peeled the neckerchief from his face, and grinned sheepishly up at him.
"Oh… hi, George. Didn't see you there. Well, I mean, obviously I didn't or I wouldn't have tripped over your leg. Sorry about that." Merlin ran his hands through his hair nervously, making it stick up at even more impossible angles, and looked around. "Did you happen to see where my other boot went?"
George's other eyebrow joined its fellow at his hairline as he pompously replied, "I believe your boot is three paces to your right, under the window."
Merlin stood gingerly and walked over to the window, where he found his boot and put it on. He then turned and smiled at George as he tied his neckerchief.
"Thanks. Sorry again about running into you. I was going to Arthur's chambers to…" here his eyes widened in horror as he realized the time "...wake him for the dawn training! Oh, the clotpole is so going to put me in the stocks again. Sorry, George, see you later!" Merlin shouted over his shoulder as he resumed his mad dash through the corridors.
Behind him, George blinked, shook his head, and muttered something about incompetence and brass that needed polishing before turning down the corridor toward the kitchens.