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Merlin had five minutes to find Arthur's true love, wrangle a kiss out of her, and save both the prince himself and the whole of Albion as they knew it.

Another day, another kingdom- and life-threatening disaster—Merlin was starting to think he should write a book.

He skidded around the weathered wood enclosure of the tourney yard, and he allotted himself two wracking coughs in the resultant cloud of dust before he raced up the rickety stairs to the ladies' box.

They were all murmuring concernedly, casting nervous glances at Olaf around silk fans and their own clasped hands, and he focused his speech on the most worried among their number.

"All of you," he panted, "who have ever been interested in Arthur—you've got to listen to me. He's in grave danger."

"I think we noticed," Lady Martha replied dryly, nodding towards the Arthur-shaped impressions in the tourney field's dust. Then, as Merlin opened his mouth, she took a shrewder look at him. "He's not usually like this at all. Is there something wrong with him?"

"Yes," Merlin wheezed. "Very wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Provided that he lives through the next round, he's going to marry Lady Vivian, and that means none of you will ever get to be with him. How wrong is that?"

"Wrong!" came the startled chorus, delicate hands fluttering everywhere.

"Right," Merlin said. "But you've got one last chance to convince him Vivian's a lousy choice. He's in his tent preparing. My suggestion is that all of you line up, go in one-by-one, and kiss him to see if he won't change his mind."

It was either a brilliant plan or an incredibly stupid one. He didn't think Arthur would mind too much either way, given the extremely impressive quantity of snogging he'd get out of the deal.

The unsettled women looked to Lady Martha, who stood and planted her hands on her hips.

"Don't much care if he changes his mind," she declared, grinning, "but I've always wondered what he tastes like."

With a rousing cheer that caught an extremely confused Uther's attention— how did he like being the one with no idea what the hell was going on?—the ladies flocked down the stairs and stampeded towards the tents, tittering all the way, leaving a colorful trail of dropped handkerchiefs and other favors in their wake.