I wrote this the beginning of May: it's based on personal experience and inspired by friends (namely the "bard queen").
The brave prince stepped off the plane. The crusader had returned home. Despite his anxiousness to meet up with those he loves most, he paused for a moment to draw a deep breath. Another adventure had passed, and now he was home. Though other adventures were no less important, no less significant, this crusade had lasted for a year -- a whole year in a foreign land away from so much familiar, never sure when would be the next contact with those he loves most. And now he'd returned home. Except Home wasn't where it was when he left his crusade. The Gypsy Kingdom had moved once again, which was fine, as long as their majesties were there as they've always been.
The brave prince stepped forward. Home. Home was waiting for him by the gate. A whole year. For one second everything -- his travels, his trials and victories, finally seeing Home -- filled him at once so he could hardly breathe. Then he released it and remembered the moment.
He'd made it to the gate. The prince being so tall did not have to look hard to see them, to see his precious Home craning, jumping up and down, prancing in place all in excitement to see their brave prince Home. A year. A whole year. And then he was in their arms. He looked at their faces, their beautiful faces: the warrior king, the fair and kind princess and the bard queen. Home.