Author's note: This story is especially for "Another Guest", because she asked me to write something new. This is an unusual story, and I am finding the experience of writing it quite satisfying. Please feel free to react to it, if you feel inclined to do so. Reviews are welcome.

-Mrs. Bonner

Guinevere walked. The cart was heavy. The sky was heavy. Dawn promised only darkness and heavy rain, as if nature, too, conspired to perpetuate a strange waking nightmare. It was fitting. She only hoped the sky would fall and wash her into oblivion.

In times of terrible grief there is a part of the mind that feels nothing. It remains observant and practical. It requires the most tormented of despairing souls to consider food and sleep and warmth. It is a peculiarity, an irritation, and perhaps also a blessing, for it refuses to allow one to die easily of a broken heart.

A part of Guinevere's mind honestly could not fathom what was happening to her, but the practical, unfeeling part of her mind made her move one foot in front of the other in compliance with the king's order of banishment.

Was this really happening? It was. It was impossible to understand. Where was she going? What would she do with all of these belongings? How far could she walk with the weight of them slowing every step?

Arthur. Thinking of him was like a hot knife slashing through her middle. Lancelot was dead and Arthur was lost and the world had turned from joy to sorrow in a single heartbeat. Yesterday was another life. Yesterday was no longer real. It was no longer relevant. All that was now relevant were cobbled stones beneath her feet, threatening to make her stumble if she allowed her mind to wander into the incomprehensible past.

After several miles Guinevere grew tired. She sat down on a rock to rest. New tears stung her eyes while her unfeeling mind babbled. It was her wedding day, she thought. And she did not know where she was going.

"Lady Gwen?"

Gwen looked up into the face of a farmer. He was out of context and she looked at him until recognition finally came to her. "You are William," she finally said.

He smiled and gave a handsome little bow. "The farmer, not the jousting champion – but then you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you?" William drew near, his face poorly masking his concern. "Lady, what can you be doing here? Is it not your wedding day? We were walking into Camelot to celebrate your joy." Guinevere then noticed the lovely, obviously pregnant young woman at his side.

Gwen could think of no words for him.

William knelt in the mud before her and met her downcast eyes. "Lady, it seems that destiny has brought an old friend to you on the road today. I can see you are in some sort of trouble. Will you let us offer you whatever comfort we can?"

Guinevere could not think of an answer, but William waited for none. He took Guinevere's hand and placed it into the young woman's. "This is Eliza," he said simply. Then he took Guinevere's cart and began to pull, quickly leaving the main road for a narrower one that led toward the sheltering woods near the river. Eliza held on gently to Guinevere's hand and led the almost-queen behind the farmer and the cart.

A powerful balm is kindness. And angels often come unrecognized. Guinevere allowed herself to follow.