Disclaime: I own nothing but Gaia, Titania, Aeron, and any other original characters that I may create along the way :-) Everything else belongs to it's owner!

Summary: This is the sequel to Midsummer Knight's Dream and covers the events of the film. I suggest that if you haven't read Midsummer Knight's Dream that you do so before reading this one, as I'm not one to recap. Reviews are welcome, and appreciated. Thanks!

A/N: Back again! This is a slightly difficult story because I don't want the reader to loose interest while I cover the events we already know about. I'm going to try to add some originality to it, and I may stray from the movie for a bit, so hopefully there'll be some twists and curves. Enjoy!

Seven knights, six Sarmatian men, a Roman commander, and one, only one, a female Briton. Similarities, they did not have, though as she sat atop her grey mare on the top of a hill overlooking the Roman carriage of Bishop Gnaeus Germanus, she blended well with the men around her. Lady Gaia was clad in trousers and tunic, her chocolate brown hair held back with a bodkin, and her deep brown eyes swept keenly over the knights around her. Her glance fell first upon her Roman commander, Arthur, who sat directly to her right. He was tall, dark, and handsome, though his beauty was veiled by a weary expression and a somber demeanor.

Next to Arthur was Lancelot. Dear Lancelot; as cunning a scoundrel as he appeared to be, his dark eyes smiling in shameless guilt. To Lancelot’s right was Bors, the brazen barbarian clad in his Sarmatian armor, watching the scene below him with enthusiasm. Gaia smiled at his interior fervidness and his exterior brutality. She turned her head to her left side to behold the four other knights.

Her eyes immediately met with the eyes of the man directly next to her; Tristan. The scout looked to her, his deep, nearly black eyes searching her figure while a small smile formed on his lips, at which her heart leapt greatly. His semi-braided hair hung loosely around him, making him look every inch as mysterious as he truly was. She smiled an innocent smile to the man, who soon resumed his more natural position of surveying the land ahead of him. On the left of Tristan sat Galahad, the youngest of the knights, Sarmatian to the core. His tongue was sharp, but his blade sharper, and he handled his weapon with speed and precision. Galahad had been abed for nearly a month after nearly being killed in battle, but he had long since healed, though he could still be heard telling the story to a bored barmaid or an unsuspecting child.

Then, there was Gawain. His blonde locks, mangled and long, fell unceremoniously around him and his blonde beard was in dire need of a shaving, but he still, somehow, remained pleasing to the eye, his eyes always lucid, his demeanor always pleasurable. And, situated furthest to the left was Dagonet, the quiet, insightful, mastermind of a knight. He was tallest, that was easy to discern, but his quiet manner and soft speech made it easy for him to go unnoticed.

Gaia smiled and breathed a breath of fresh, British air. It was musky, the sky clouded over as it always was in midsummer. The island was a massive wetland when the summer came round, but that did not make her hold disdain for her birth country. She fought for Rome, yes, but she also protected the ground that she was born to, swearing to let no evil poison it. And this was the end; for one short year she had fight alongside these knights, fought against her own people, the people she had been born to.

Now, as they watched the brougham of Gnaeus Germanus in the distance, they watched their own freedom, for the Bishop had returned to the Roman post in Southern Britain with the release papers for Arthur’s knights, discharging them from their duties and allowing them safe passage throughout the Roman empire. Gaia was lost in a reverie of wonderful memories of the last year of her twenty-four-year life, remembering when the knights first found her, beaten and tortured by her father’s men. Gawain’s soft voice was the awakening to her as she continued her daydreams.

“The Bishop’s carriage.” He smiled over at the other knights.

“Sheer Roman beauty,” remarked Bors with a smirk.

Tristan’s deep, rough voice erupted softly as he swore in a whisper and all eyes turned to their scout as he peered narrow-eyed into the distance. “Woads.” Seven pairs of eyes followed the gaze of their scout, but none could discern a single blue creature in the distance.

“Are you cert-“ Arthur began to question his knight, but was answered as an arrow shot from the wood, narrowly missing one of Bishop Germanus’ Roman guards.

As the horses neighed and whinnied with fear, a mass of blue men flooded from the woods in the south, crying their Woad cries and swinging their barbaric weapons. Arthur did not have to tell his knights what was to be done; after fifteen years of battling Woads, they were learned to say the least.

Arthur drew his sword and goaded his horse into a swift canter, leading the men and woman down the hill and into the throng of fighting Woads and Romans. Lancelot cantered without a weapon until they neared the battle scene, in which time he dropped both reins, applying pressure with his calves to steer his stallion, and reached both hands behind him, drawing out two twin blades. He swung them playfully with a malevolent smirk, before plunging into battle, maiming a Woad before dismembering another.

Galahad had drawn his sword, as well, and was easily bringing death to Woads from atop his horse, while Gawain had dismounted and was on the ground with his axe, showing his brazen brutality and gritty fighting skills. Bors had dismounted as well, holding his knives and screaming his deafening Sarmation war cry; Dagonet was exactly the opposite of his friend and brother-in-arms, silently killing with his large axe.

Tristan and Gaia, however, had not followed Arthur and his knights into battle, but in stead had quickly grabbed their bows to fire at hidden archers in the woods. Tristan had fallen several that Gaia had not even seen in the trees, while she kept half an eye on the other knights, constantly counting them and making sure none were harmed by her father’s brutal people. Finally, when they could no longer spot any hidden enemies, they rode to the battle itself.

Gaia immediately dismounted, sending her chestnut mare, Latona, away from the battle. She dared not endanger her beloved steed, and preferred to fight in the way she had trained herself: using the earth at every possible moment. Tristan dismounted as well, unsheathing his curved Sarmatian blade and immediately taking out three Woads in three swift movements.

The battle wore on as Dagonet threw himself into a pond with several Woads, Bors’ screaming continued to pierce the air, and the other knights moved their weapons with haste. Gaia had worked her way to the bishop’s carriage, finding Lancelot and Galahad fighting near to it. She stood very near to the doorway of the carriage, which was hidden by a closed curtain, and noticed the bishop’s secretary, Horton, laying underneath the carriage. She shot him a curious look as he wept and prayed and flailed in horror. She wondered how the bishop could be cold enough to dismiss his secretary from the shelter of the carriage, and immediately felt sorrow for the man cowering under the wooden boards. She bent down quickly shooting him a warm, knowing look and a small smile.

“Be silent,” she said lightly, “and they will not harm you.” He immediately pushed his head to the ground, covering it with his hands, nearly suffocating himself in an attempt to silence his shrieks.

Gaia frowned a bit, malevolent thoughts forming in her head towards the bishop. She decided to put this energy to a better use than fuming inside of her, and directed it to the approaching Woads. She swiftly swung her sword as she watched them running to her, their beaten British swords raised in anger as their screams pierced the ears of those around them.

Gaia was no longer a Woad-friend, and she was not in the least bit unnerved by it. She held great disdain for her father, and greater disdain for the people who worshiped him as if her were a British god. The thought of their ways brought a new wave of lividity to her, and she gave a cry of her own as she launched her sword into the first Woads midriff. He cried out and swung his sword in an attempt to slice into her waist, but she maneuvered around it with grace.

She continued to fight hard, killing Woads with every turn, every swift movement, and very soon, the ground was littered with hundreds of blue corpses. Gaia’s eyes moved hastily around, counting the standing men and breathing a sigh of relief at seeing every knight present and unscathed. Her eyes widened when she noticed a Woad approaching from the woods from behind Arthur, raising his sword as Arthur stood unawares.

“Arthur,” she screeched, and he immediately turned around, bringing his sword to meet the Woad’s own blade. He pushed the Woad onto the ground and poised his sword at his throat. The Woad willingly dropped his sword and held his hands up in surrender, pleading in his people’s language that Arthur do him no harm. Arthur stared at him for a moment before kicking the sword a good distance away and sheathing his own. The Woad stared at the Roman commander in astonishment for only a moment before rising and retreating towards the woods.

Gaia immediately turned her attention to the curtain covering the bishop’s doorway. Bors was holding it open, peering inside, and when he returned, he barked out a laugh.

“Nice trick,” he said through his laughter. “That’s not the bishop.”

Gaia stared at him for a moment before glancing into the carriage. She, however, did not find humor in the sight which she beheld. A man clad in the bishop’s loose, cloak-like cope sat with wide, lifeless eyes that were filled with terror. A long, blue arrow protruded from his chest as he held his crozier in a death grip. Gaia had seen many sights, even watched her own brother die, but perhaps it was that she was unprepared, disillusioned by Bors’ keen behavior. She felt her breath catch in her chest as she beheld the horrific scene in front of her. She closed her eyes, fighting the anger that arose, unnerved that a Christian man could allow an innocent man to die in his stead.

As she returned her gaze to the now-all-unhorsed knights and the mounted Roman guards, she noticed Bishop Germanus seated atop a chestnut stallion, clad in the armor of the Roman guards. He sheathed his sword and rode swiftly to Arthur, the large smile on his face burning into Gaia’s heart as she remembered the fallen bishop decoy and the whimpering secretary. Immediately remembering that the last time she saw Horton was when he was nearly suffocating himself, she bent down to see him cowering, his head slightly raised and his eyes closed tightly in fear.

“Master Horton,” she said in a soothing tone, “all is well.” She fought back the scoff that she felt in her heart thinking again of the decoy. She held out her hand as he managed a small smile and clambered out from under the large carriage. His smile faded as he beheld the terrorizing sea of blue corpses around him and he nearly choked on his own breath.

“Dear God,” he half-whispered. “They can not be human!”

Lancelot, who was mounting his horse near the carriage, scoffed at the seemingly traumatized Horton. “I see you’ve gained courage since our last meeting,” he muttered under his breath. Gaia, who was trying her best to comfort the secretary, knowing all too well the effects a battle can have on the unarmed, the unprepared, threw a nasty look to Lancelot who only smirked, ignoring her unhappy demeanor.

Gaia scoffed silently at Lancelot’s lack of feeling, and turned her eyes across the field in search of Tristan. He had mounted his horse and was speaking with Arthur a ways away. He nodded to his commander before turning and riding to where Gaia stood.

“Everything well?” he asked concernedly, glancing at her figure with seriousness.

When his dark eyes reached her face, she smiled a small smile and nodded. “And yourself?”

“Good enough,” he said lightly, glancing around him nonchalantly before nodding to an area where several guards were nursing wounds, one of them lifeless. “A few Romans were injured, one was killed-”

“-two,” Gaia corrected, a bit hotly, as she pointed bluntly to the carriage. “Who was he?”

Tristan would have smiled if Gaia had not sounded so unnerved. “You are compassionate, lady,” he said, stifling the chuckle that arose. Even though she was the most breathtaking woman he had ever beheld, he thought she was even more beautiful when she was angry, though he would never tell her to her face. “He volunteered; was willing to forfeit his life for the bishop.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she replied as she looked at the bishop with great disdain. The wind whipped and the dark clouds seemed to gather tighter together as rain began to fall. No one protested this, happy to be relieved of the blood and sweat of battle. Gaia whistled and looked around for Latona, who came running at her master’s voice.

She helped Horton onto the horse of a wounded Roman guard, feeling that someone should show respect for the poor man, then she mounted her own horse and joined the knights, who rode back to the hill and continued to watch as the carriage made its way safely through the gates at Hadrian’s Wall. As she came up behind the knights, she heard Bors talking loudly, though she did not exactly avert her attention to him, knowing all too well what he was capable of saying.

“-a baby’s arm holding an apple,” said Gawain, Galahad, and Bors in unison. The group broke into laughter and they turned to Gaia, assuming she had heard their conversation and awaiting her blush.

“Spare me the details, I beg you,” she said as she waved a hand, dismissing the joke entirely. The men broke into another round of laughter at her unknowing, and set off down the hill.

A/N: Well, I had to include that last scene, it was just too fitting. I'm hoping to include Horton a bit more in thise story, as he was sort of invisible in the movie, though he was on the journey with the knights nonetheless. The same goes for Jols, as he actually made the trip to Marius's, but didn't get much acknowledgement from the cameras. So, it begins..