Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the creators, actors or other people responsiblefor the filmKing Arthur and take no ownership of any of the characters except Gaia, Titania and Aeron. I'm not making any money, either, darn it.

Summary: A year after the events of The Last Midsummer, Lancelot finds himself responsible for one of the most disastrous love affairs of all time, and is left with the choice to do what is right or follow his heart. A bit of a parody of A Midsummer Night's Dream, except entirely different...

A/N: Hello, my friends! I'm alive! It's about time I got my rear in gear and wrote another Tristan/Gaia fic. Sorry this took so long, I hope there's still some people out there interested in this pairing. ;) Anyway, this one's going to focus more on Lancelot and his struggles, but I love my original character with Tristan and can't resist throwing some TG fluff in the mix. A lot of Arthur romance as well. My three favorite knights, basically, fightin' overgirls and all that good stuff. The first scene was inspired by a picture, the link to which is in my profile. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! R+R and I'll give you a cookie!

“Galahad, keep your heels down!” Tristan bellowed to the youngest of King Arthur’s knights, who was presently holding his horse in a steady canter as both rider and steed swept through a monotonous rectangular arena. Galahad, who had offered to saddle the newest yearling sent to Arthur from one of Briton’s ample villages, tensed at the command from the reserved scout as the horse moved into a speed too fast to be deemed even a canter.

Tristan’s eyes stayed focused on the young knight, oblivious to the others around him. Gawain and Lancelot found enjoyment in mocking Galahad’s impatience, making crude jokes with the other and finding pleasure when, as Galahad rode by, they could call out lewd phrases that would make the young knight’s teeth clench. Dagonet, second only to Tristan in reticence, sat on the crude wooden benches deep in a nameless reverie, as he always seemed to be doing. No one knew what went on in his head. No one except, perhaps, Dagonet’s only confidante, Bors. The raucous knight was presently no where to be seen in the barn, which was to be expected now that he had fathered twelve children with his new bride Lady Vanora.

Sir Jols, the newest addition to Arthur’s round table, was once a humble squire, but after the events that had taken place over a year ago, before the Saxons had been defeated and Arthur had become king, Jols had proven himself far more than worthy of knighthood. Now the dark-haired man sat with the four others of his title, lightly fingering a small blade with a carved golden hilt.

“Slow the damned animal down! Don’t let him take his corners like that, his footing’s hell on dry ground as it is!” Tristan ran a hand over his tattooed face. Although he was never one to offer advice to others, he knew equines like his own soul and could not stand to see them ridden incorrectly, especially horses as green as this one.

“Is that a knight of the Great Table I hear speaking with a tongue such as the devil’s?” Tristan smiled from under the curtain of untamed dark hair that framed his face. He turned his eyes from Galahad and his stallion to the woman entering the barn.

Gaia had been Tristan’s wife for an entire year come Midsummer’s Day, which was rapidly approaching. But to him it felt far less than a year. He had never expected himself to marry, but if he ever did, he had presumed it would not entertain him in the slightest. Indeed he was wrong. Every time he saw her, every time he heard her voice a new sensation ran through him and he could feel the air change. She was perfect to him; her dark eyes were like saucers, so full of a peace he would never comprehend, and her deep brown hair that somehow always managed to escape its bodkin and fall gracefully into her eyes. She would then swat at the loose strands with an alabaster hand and bite her large pink lips in annoyance. He loved her like that. When she didn’t know he was watching and he could admire her as she was.

“Come now, Gaia,” Gawain quipped, “You’ve heard worse talk than this. Er, you have met Bors, haven’t you?”

The lady submitted to him, a happy luminance exuding from her chocolate eyes as she inclined her head in acquiescence. She climbed the ascending benches to sit at the topmost part of this stadium-looking seating where Tristan sat looking pleased. Her pleasant features took on a look of unfortunate reproach as, halfway to her destination, she felt Lancelot’s firm gaze on her. She looked up to see Lancelot’s eyes slide down her body and rest on the low neckline of her dress where a modest amount of cleavage was politely displayed.

His eyes traveled back to hers and he smiled that smile she knew so well. The one that nearly curled itself like the dark hair on his head. Despite his audacious way of persistently tempting married women to enter into a ridiculous liaison with him, Gaia knew his heart was great and that the facade that presently graced him was merely an act to enforce his reputation of promiscuity.

Knowing this, she batted her eyelashes mock-playfully before drawing a quick hand up and smacking him across the mouth. As she ascended the rest of the stair-like benches and sat comfortably beside her husband, she left a smirking Lancelot to rub his stubbled chin with satisfaction.

“Good morning, husband,” Gaia declared happily, kissing Tristan lightly on the cheek as she sat down.

“Use your legs, keep him steady on those corners!” Tristan’s eyes had found their way back to Galahad, whose stallion was nearly falling over himself with every turn while Galahad put his every focus on the young animal beneath him.

As Gaia’s smile turned into a slightly offended frown, she felt Tristan’s hand wrap lightly around her arm as he turned his attention from the knight and kissed her fervently, his other hand finding its way to the back of her neck, pulling her into the kiss. She felt a fire run through her she had come to know quite well. Everything about him made her melt into his arms, and when he specifically paid attention to her, she felt like the proverbial Wicked Witch.

As his lips slid gently away from hers, she dared herself to open her eyes, and she was met with the giant dark brown orbs of his own.

“Morning,” he whispered back, and she could do nothing but close her eyes again and smile an incandescent smile that only he managed to provoke as her heart did a backflip inside her.

“Galahad, work with him! He’s making mistakes, not playing tricks! Ask first, then demand!” Gaia opened her eyes and stared dryly at her husband, shaking her head and smirking slightly.

“How like a man to ruin such romantic a moment,” she said to herself.

- - -

Guinevere stood on the parapets of Hadrian’s Wall in silent contentment, her beautifully decorated gown flowing out like a flag behind her. She had been the queen of this island for a year, yet still the fabric felt unnatural around her and she longed to be free of it, back in the simple clothing of the Woads, her people.

But there were no Woads anymore. No Sarmatians, no Romans, only Britons. Everyone that entered the borders of this island was considered an equal, as was Arthur’s want. But Guinevere could not help the dubious thoughts that entered her dreams at night. Thoughts of dispute and war, farmers and entire villages exercising this new law to a fault. Arthur dreamed of equality, but Guinevere knew that would not bring the peace he desired as well.

There was an uneasiness in the air. She’d felt it for some time. It was something more than fear of the things in her nightmares, it was something much more. Something far more personal that would affect few, but break her heart into a thousand pieces. She knew Arthur felt it, too, though he didn’t speak of it, and that was the thing that frightened her most of all.

She heard the sound of some approaching and turned to see the king ascending the steep stone stairway towards her. He smiled happily when he saw her, his soft eyes glowing with a warm light that one only sees when someone is in love. He was so different now from the way he had been a year ago. The heavy burdens he had carried as a Roman commander were gone. He had brought his knights to freedom, found the woman he loved more than anyone before, and now, as far as he was concerned, his life was complete.

Guinevere smiled a soft smile and turned back to look out at their island as Arthur reached her side. After kissing her cheek softly, he placed his hand on the small of her back and looked out on Briton’s countryside as well. The uncertainty that hung in the air was concerning to him, but the happiness and peace he had found with Guinevere was quick to overrun any fear he might have. He cherished the simple moments he spent with her, seeing how truly beautiful their life was.

“You have not eaten today,” he said finally, softly, his eyes slightly coy as he beheld his wife.

“You are observant, my husband,” she replied smartly. “Is it that, and not your hunger for my beauty, that drove you to come seek me?”

He laughed silently. “You’re beauty, my love, was a great encouragement,” he quipped, taking her hand and leading her away from the heavenly scene below the wall.

As they descended the steps, they did not see the ominous shadow whose eyes followed their every move with mischievous intent.

A/N: It starts. Both of my other Midsummer stories have had wars raging at the time, but there will be none of that here. Just romantic drama. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are love :)