The horse Arthur stole from the stables of the castle was fast and strong. Merlin lay over her back, infront of Arthur, still unconscious.
They rode all day and all night and Arthur panted and wept and willed Merlin not to be lost. He couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.
They finally came to a place the prince recognised; a small town called Ariborm. The sun was just beginning to set as they cantered through the thatched houses and cropped grasses of the town. Not many people were around at this time of day.
Arthur asked for directions to Camelot and supplies. He did not tell them who he was, and was thankful that he wasn't recognised as the prince.
They set off again. It was only half a days ride to Camelot, and Arthur urged his steed on, all through the following night, the stars pressing down on them and the darkness like a spell. It had finally stopped raining, drawing back into a light drizzle which whipped in Arthur's eyes.
They finally reached the long track down to the gates of Camelot.
Arthur's horse thundered down the path, tears on his cheeks, Merlin jolting in front of him.
The gates to the kingdom reared up before them. Arthur let out a long, deep breath.
They were home.