Merlin

11:00 Hold town hall

Arthur

11:30 Wash the floor in the King's chambers

12:45 Get food for lunch with Gwen from the kitchens

Merlin was determined to win this challenge. To beat Arthur at his own game—or really Merlin's own game since he created the servant's challenge, but the finer technicalities didn't matter because Merlin would win.

Merlin would not lose because he insulted the townspeople by banging his head against the throne in exasperation.

He wouldn't, really.

He was close to doing it.

It wasn't that he didn't have respect for the issues the commoners faced, he did after all grow up as a peasant farmer and was still a commoner himself, today excluded, but there were so many issues brought to him during the town hall that could be solved with any sort of compromise between the two opposing parties.

He had already heard four different disputes over ownership of a chicken and he was only halfway through the town hall. It was exhausting.

And to top it all off, Arthur's throne was incredibly uncomfortable. Hard as a brick. It took all of his will power to pay attention to the person currently speaking and sit still without fidgeting.

He would never admit to it aloud, but Merlin had gained some respect for Arthur's abilities to assume an air of attention and look like he knew what was going on at all times. Merlin was sure he was struggling to portray an attentive king at the moment.

The only reprieve from the monotony of the whole ordeal was that Gwen was seated beside him. He couldn't send her looks to let her know exactly how he felt at the moment, but she took the attention off of him whenever she contributed to the conversations about the various issues presented. And since she was a wonderful queen and a wonderful friend, she spoke often to save Merlin from having to speak too much.

The two hour session was dragging on and Merlin was forcibly trying to prevent himself from bouncing his leg. He felt like he was vibrating with the need to move. He couldn't understand why sitting in the throne was so much worse than standing in the back while serving. Maybe it was because whenever he felt fidgety he could refill Arthur's goblet or shuffle slightly without anyone noticing. Whatever it was, Merlin would give anything to be holding a pitcher at a feast instead of being on the throne.

Finally, after what felt like three lifetimes, Gwen announced to the people in the room that they would be taking one last request before breaking off until next week. Merlin gave a wide smile; he was ready to cry tears of joy. He didn't though, not in front of all the people in the throne room.

The last two citizens stepped forward and bowed. Merlin gestured for them to explain what brought them to seek council with the king.

It was another dispute about a chicken. Merlin barely contained a groan.

Another trip was made to the pump to get another bucket of water. Arthur was sure he had hit double digits for the number of buckets of water he had carried today. If he never carried another bucket it would be too soon. He truly didn't know how Merlin did it; the man had no upper arm strength whatsoever and yet he managed to lug heavy buckets around all day every day.

He was halfway across the courtyard when it happened. He tripped. The bucket of water caught on the stone in front of him and he stumbled, splashing half the water all over his legs.

"For the love of—" He cursed, mostly under his breath because it wasn't proper for a king to be swearing, even if he was currently acting as a servant.

Harold laughed aloud. "You'll have to refill that or you won't have enough for the floor."

Arthur muttered some threats to the servant as he turned back towards the water pump. Merlin was clearly a bad influence on all the castle servants.

Ten minutes later, Arthur was kneeling on his own floor, scrubbing a rag in small circles to clean up the dirt and mud that had accumulated over the past few days. Harold had left him for the hour to complete his own work, since Arthur didn't need supervision while he was cleaning.

Arthur rounded his back, trying to stretch out the pain that was beginning to settle there. It helped slightly, but soon enough he was trying again in a failed attempt to ease the ache in his lower back.

The rightful king sat back, his knees folded under him, feeling very much like a child again. He surveyed the room. It had been a half an hour and he had finished over half the room. He thought that it was pretty impressive, but it was already lunchtime according to the schedule Merlin had written. There was no time later on where he could come back and complete the chore, so he would have to work through lunch.

With a sigh and a renewed vigor, Arthur continued to scrub at the floor; he would win this challenge, he was the King and the King always won. He would not be beaten by some chores.

By the time Arthur had finished, he had worked his way through his entire break for lunch and only had a few minutes before he had to go to the kitchens to fetch lunch for his wife and servant. He deeply regretted giving them a two hour lunch break.

Harold was nowhere to be seen as Arthur made his way to the kitchens for the second time that day. It was just as hectic as it had been in the morning. He weaved in between various cooks and saw Mary. He winced and absentmindedly rubbed at his hand where she had hit him with the spoon. As reluctant as he was to face her again, she was the only servant he knew by name in the kitchens at the moment and he didn't feel up to learning any more names.

"I need to make up a picnic basket for Queen Guinevere and," he paused slightly, rolling his eyes, "King Merlin."

Mary eyed him, probably determining if he would steal more food. "There's a basket over there," she pointed across the room to a small stack of baskets in the corner of the room. "Ask Jacob or Lyla to help you fill it."

Arthur was about to ask who they were but Mary had already moved away to bark orders at someone stirring a large cauldron.

Arthur exhaled slowly. He'd have to ask every servant in here their name to find Jacob or Layla. He really didn't have time for that. He asked the servant closest to him. "Are you Jacob?"

The man turned to answer him above the noise in the room. "No I'm Brian. Jacob's over there."

At least he pointed in the direction of the baskets that Arthur was headed towards; the problem was there was a group of people all working on that side of the room, most of them men. Any of them could be Jacob.

Arthur kept asking. Andrew. Sam. Natalie. Pierce. Elizabeth. David. Layla. Layla! Someone who could help him.

"I was told to ask you for direction on how to fill a picnic basket." Layla was a tall woman, older than Arthur by about a decade. She had a matronly air to her actions and Arthur was thankful when she took charge.

"I can help with that." She plucked a basket from the top of the lopsided stack and pulled a lavender blanket from a much neater pile of blankets that sat on the table next to the baskets.

"As you know, a good picnic has a savory component and a lot of sweets, as well as a good, diluted wine and some fresh fruit." Layla rambled on about the proper balance in a picnic and Arthur nodded along, only vaguely connecting what she said to the picnics he had eaten in the past.

She had Arthur pick up sandwiches and pastries and various types of fruit off of different counters before they made their way to the wine shelf. The wine had already been diluted and put into convenient waterskins. Arthur grabbed the one Layla pointed to, not knowing why that specific one was better than any of the others.

Once they had finished, Arthur thanked Layla for the help and practically sprinted out of the kitchens to meet Merlin and Gwen in the courtyard. He stopped just out of view of his friends and took a moment to control his breathing. He would not show weakness.

Just as he stepped out into the sunlight, Merlin spotted him and waved. "You're late!" He yelled smugly.

"I am not!" Arthur argued.

Merlin looked to the sky and shrugged, clearly saying he still thought Arthur was late.

"How was your lunch?" Gwen asked.

Arthur scowled. "I haven't had any yet."

Merlin's eyebrows shot up and a smirk tugged at his lips, but—wisely—he didn't say anything.

Arthur shot him a look and pulled a face before retaliating to the unspoken comment. "How's—Clara is it?"

Merlin blushed immediately at the unexpected question. "Arthur!" Merlin knew of the handmaid's interest in him, but it was nothing more than a passing fancy and besides, she was much younger than him and could never know of his magic so there were multiple reasons it could never work.

Gwen, ever the kindhearted woman, saved both of them from themselves and offered Arthur a pastry from their basket, interrupting the immense teasing before it could start. "Arthur, why don't you have a pastry, you know they always overpack these baskets." She knew of Clara's little crush, as did almost everyone, but she also knew that she wasn't the girl for Merlin and he didn't need to be teased about it.

Arthur graciously accepted with a quiet "Thank you" and stole a kiss from his wife before she and Merlin mounted their horses and rode off towards wherever it was they were having their picnic. For Arthur's sanity, they had agreed days ago that Sir Leon would accompany them for protection.