Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Spamalot have squeezed a fanfic out of me. I haven't written fanfiction in ages, but I have been obsessed with Sir Lancelot and Prince Herbert lately, and this story just wrote itself.

TRIGGER WARNING: this story has the characters discuss topics like domestic abuse and childhood trauma. I don't claim to be an expert on the subject matter, but I have tried to treat it as delicately as I could. Bottom line is that Lance and Herb love each other and that's what I wanted to convey.

Also, I have never written slash or fluff before, so this story has been a terra incognita for me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a car.

Revelations

-1-

The hunting party had broken up in teams, with Sir Lancelot leading his, and infiltrated the royal woods.

"Stay close to me, Herbert!", Lancelot said to his husband.

The prince was riding Sugarcube - a beautiful white steed he got as a wedding gift from King Arthur.

It was the knight's suggestion that Herbert accompany him on his hunts, and the young prince, having been locked up in the Swamp Castle his whole life, loved the idea of leading an active outdoor lifestyle. He was still new to this, and had much to learn about horseback riding, tracking, and all the things that put "man" in "huntsman".

But only after a few months, Lancelot was proud to see how far his husband had come. How confident he was getting, no longer cowering in the presence of other, stronger men, and giving orders like the royal that he was.

What Herbert still lacked in hunting instincts, he more than made up for with his archery. Lancelot swelled with pride when the young prince put more experienced huntsmen to shame with his bow and arrow.

His physical health was improving, too. Color was returning to his cheeks, and his frail, rachitis- stricken body was getting plenty of exercise.

Today, they were hunting wild boar, and Lancelot's whole body began to tingle at the thought of coming face to face with the magnificent beast.

But underneath all the excitement there was a nagging thought that Lancelot shouldn't have let Herbert come along on this hunt.

"I don't think you should be coming with us this time, Herbert, darling", Lancelot had said when his party was planning the hunt, "The boar is a strong animal with sharp tusks and a devilish temper. Better huntsmen than myself have met their maker trying to slay that beast."

"I'm not afraid of the boar, my love, for you will be there to protect me. How else am I supposed to learn to hunt?"

Once the prince set his mind to something, there wasn't much Lancelot could do, except instruct Concorde - his right-hand man - to keep an eye on the prince, and never let him come to any harm under the penalty of getting his naughty bits cut off.

Lancelot wished he could teach Herbert how to use a rifle, so that he would be better protected, but then he remembered that they lived in the Middle Ages and that gunpowder wouldn't be introduced to Europe for hundreds of years.

Following the call of the knight's horn, Lancelot's team ventured deeper into the woods. It wasn't long until the hounds caught the scent of the boar, and soon the team was following their excited barks.

This was living! The chase, the danger, the anticipation of the kill - it filled Sir Lancelot with the kind of excitement he could only experience in a battle.

Now that the quest for the Holy Grail was over, and there was no promise of war in the near future, hunting was the next best thing. It was also a good way to stay in fighting shape. To keep your blade sharp and your instincts sharper.

Once in a while, Lancelot turned around to confirm that his husband was riding next to him and seeing the young prince sweaty and flushing from the exercise filled Lancelot with a different kind of excitement.

But somewhere in the rush, Lancelot forgot himself. Lead by the canine yelps and driven by his own blood lust, Lancelot pressed his black stallion to gallop faster, and he completely forgot about his husband.

The sound of the hunting horn somewhere far away caught the knight's attention. He came to a halt and turned around to find himself alone. His body tensed, with the old battle instincts telling him that something was wrong.

The horn sounded off again. Lancelot's heart sank, for this was a distress call.

Lancelot didn't waste another second. He turned his stallion around and galloped to where the call was coming from. Soon, he could hear shouts and cries. He strained his ears but couldn't determine if one of those panicking voices belonged to his beloved.

He couldn't know what had happened but all he could think of was that his team had encountered the boar, surrounded it, and it attacked one or more of the men.

The distress calls brought Lancelot to a small clearing. What he saw made his heart tighten in his chest.

The huntsmen had surrounded the boar. All this time Lancelot had been chasing one animal, while his men were ambushed by this monster.

It must have been almost five feet tall, with tusks longer than he had ever seen. The animal had two arrows protruding from its back, but the wounds seemed to have made it even angrier. It was wounded and desperate - you couldn't ask for a more dangerous animal.

Herbert's Sugarcube was nowhere to be seen. But on the other side of the clearing, cowering behind a large oak was a tiny figure. Lancelot could recognize those golden locks and those blue eyes from any distance.

The prince didn't appear to be hurt, but anytime now the beast would turn around and lunge at him.

Lancelot heard himself let out a war cry, dismounted his horse, and charged.

The following minutes were a blur. There were cries, there was blood, there was Lancelot's blade swinging to and fro. And, finally, there was a piercing shriek as the tip of the blade found its home in the beast's hairy neck.

As Lancelot's heart rate slowed down, the world began to swing back into focus.

"Sir Lancelot! Thank the Lord you're alright-", Concorde approached him, but something in Lancelot's demeanor made him freeze in his tracks.

The rest of the hunting team were bowing their heads in shame. They knew they had let their master down, and that their comeuppance would be brutal. Lancelot could strangle them with their own entrails right now, but he had more pressing matters at hand.

The prince was still hiding behind the oak tree, his face an alarming shade of white.

Lancelot hurried over to his husband. Kneeling beside him the knight caught the prince in a bear hug. He then looked him over, trying to assess the damage. There didn't seem to be any, thank God.

"Are you hurt?", he said.

The prince shook his head. He seemed to be too shaken up to speak and Lancelot knew he wouldn't get any explanation from him.

He turned around to face the bunch of traitorous cowards,

"Can somebody tell me what happened here? Why was the prince unprotected? What in the bloody hell happened to his steed?"

Concorde told him. No sooner had Lancelot galloped away from his team than they got cornered by the wild boar. It came out of nowhere, catching them all by surprise.

Herbert managed to put two arrows in the beast, and that was when it charged at Sugarcube.

The young steed, sensing danger, jumped, throwing Herbert off his back, and dashed into the woods.

"And then you came, sir."

Lancelot readied himself for a thrashing of a lifetime, but he needed to get his husband to safety and warmth as soon as possible.

"I will deal with you lot later.", the knight said.

He pulled the silent Herbert up to his feet and led him to his horse. He helped the prince mount the horse before taking his place behind him.

"Concorde, you ride with us. The rest of you go look for Sugarcube. And don't come back to the castle until you do!".

Lancelot took his horn from his belt and signaled for the other teams that the hunt was over.

On the way home, Lancelot's anger was replaced with guilt. What had he done! He got so caught up in the excitement that he forgot about his husband. You let him down, you excremental fool! This was all his fault. His men were to blame as well, and they would get theirs, he would make sure of that.

Lancelot was sitting behind Herbert, holding the reins with the right hand, while his left arm was wrapped around the prince's waist.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap both his arms around the prince, bury his face in the ruffled-up curls and beg his forgiveness. But the fearless knight was too ashamed to speak to his husband. Afraid of what Herbert might say to him. During the whole ride back to the castle, neither of them uttered a word, and Lancelot was reminded of a funeral procession. Thinking that this could very well have been one, made him shudder.

He wondered what was going on in the prince's head. He must have been scared out of his wits, and a part of Lancelot was looking forward to getting to comfort his husband, once they were in the confines of their private chambers. If he could muster up the courage to apologize first, so that he could atone for his mistake over and over again.

-2-

The two men were still silent when they entered their bedchamber. Lancelot started searching for the light switch, only to remember than they lived in the Middle Ages, and that electricity wouldn't be harnessed for many, many centuries.

The last rays of the dying sun were the only source of light in the room.

The window had been open the whole day, and the room was freezing cold. The thin pink curtains were dancing in the wind.

Usually, the servants would prepare the bedchamber for the masters' arrival, but Lancelot wasn't comfortable with other people invading their private space, so he and Herbert managed their own miniature household. The servants had this whole castle to themselves, anyway.

Lancelot shivered, and hurried to get the fire started in the fireplace.

He stroke the steel against a small piece of flint, trying to elicit a spark, but the tinder was damp, so the fire wouldn't get started. This was exactly what Lance needed right now. He couldn't keep his husband safe, couldn't make his men follow his orders. Now he couldn't even get bloody fire started! Herbert would get pneumonia, and it would all be Lancelot's fault.

In a wave of frustration Lancelot kicked one of the logs, and the whole pile spilled out of the hearth and onto the carpeted floor.

"Herbert, maybe you should get under the covers to warm up, while I get someone to help me with-"

Lancelot turned around to find his husband standing in the middle of the room, facing the floor. He had taken off his shirt, which he was now clutching in his hands.

It's colder than in a witch's armpit and he's getting undressed?

"Herbert, what are you doing? Put your shirt back on before you catch a cold!"

And then the prince said something that rendered Lancelot mute,

"Then, you're not going to discipline me now?"

Lancelot stood there for a good minute, staring at his husband's sunken face. Words were forming in his head, but they couldn't make it out of his mouth.

"What are you talking about?", he managed at last, "Why would I want to discipline you?"

"Because I disobeyed you, Lancelot. You told me not to go on this hunt with you, but I didn't listen, and I got us all in trouble, and now Sugar-", he was beginning to ramble now, his voice getting several octaves higher.

"Herbert, stop!", Lancelot still couldn't believe what he was hearing. And then, it dawned on him.

You fool! Why didn't you think about this before? Lancelot knew what Herbert's upbringing was like. He wasn't privy to the details but having met Herbert's father and seen how he was treating the boy, he could make a few qualified guesses about what it was like growing up in the Swamp Castle.

Blood was rushing to his temples, and he felt his hands ball into tight fists. What hurt Lancelot the most was that Herbert was expecting his husband to hurt him. That he had already accepted abuse as fact and was ready to submit to it.

An image of his sword going through the Swamp King's dumb face flashed before the knight's eyes. If only they weren't thousands of miles away from the Swamp Castle…

Seeing his husband stand in the cold room, half-naked and with a look on his face that the knight could only recognize as fear snapped him out of his murderous fantasy.

Without saying a word, Lancelot walked over to his husband and put his arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

The prince's body tensed, but as Lancelot held him tighter, rubbing the prince's bare back with his thumbs, he could feel the stiff muscles relax, until the prince returned the hug, wrapping his thin arms around the knight's waist.

"You're shivering!", Lancelot said, not knowing if it was from the cold or from the stress, "Come here", he walked the prince to their bed. He pulled off the covers, and sat him down, wrapping the covers around him.

The prince was watching him with mild surprise but accepted the care without protest.

"I'll try to get the bloody fire started again", he said under his breath and hurried to the fireplace.

He took a deep breath that helped him calm down a bit, before putting the logs back into the hearth, and replaced the damp tinder. This did the trick, and, soon, the fire was roaring. The wood was cracking loudly in the hearth, and tiny shadows were dancing on the walls.

Lancelot rubbed his hands together, to get the blood flowing through them faster, and sat down on the bed next to his husband. He fumbled under the covers, found Herbert's trembling hands and took them in his.

The young prince was looking at his husband with that same surprise, but Lance was relieved that, at least, there was no more fear in his eyes.

"Herbert, darling, why did you think that I was going to hurt you?"

The prince shrugged his shoulders,

"Well, you told me not to go, and I didn't listen. I mean, my father used to say-", he voice was caught in his throat, and he lowered his head.

"I can't tell you what to do. Nobody can. You make a decision, and I need to respect it", he paused, "What happened out there wasn't your fault, do you understand?"

The prince nodded, but Lancelot wasn't convinced. He felt like crying at the injustice. Why was Herbert's father allowed to put this poisoned apple between the two lovers?

"Tell me, did I ever give you a reason to be afraid?", then Lancelot thought about his outburst with the logs, answering his own question.

"No, of course not!"

"Then why did you think that I could do something like that to you?"

Another shrug.

"This is what marriage is supposed to be like, isn't it?"

The knight lifted his prince's chin, looked him in the eyes, and said, measuring each word carefully, "No, this is not what marriage is supposed to be like, Herbert. I love you. And you never hurt someone you love. Ever."

In what world was it acceptable for one spouse to physically punish the other? And then Lancelot remembered that they lived in the Middle Ages, and that this behavior would be acceptable for at least another thousand year. This is what his parents' marriage was like, and Lance had spent a good part of his adult life trying to drown out the memories with blood and alcohol.

The truth was, Lancelot would sooner have all four of his limbs severed than lay a hand on his husband.

"Then, you're not mad at me?", Herbert's face lit up a little.

"Mad? No, I'm not mad at you, my darling. I'm proud of you. You, of all the men, shot that boar. You stood your ground. I was just worried about you. I thought you would get hurt. Or worse. But even if I were mad at you, I would never-", he didn't want to repeat the wretched word. Instead, he said, "Aren't you mad at me for leaving you behind? And for making you lose Sugarcube?"

"I could never be mad at you, Lancey", the prince said, stroking the knight's cheek.

Lance took his hand and placed a kiss on the soft palm.

"Yes, you can, Herbert. You can be mad at me. And you should. This whole ordeal was my fault. I'm the one who should be punished-"

"Don't say that, my love!", the prince put his hands on the knight's face, and said, "It wasn't your fault. And it wasn't our friends' fault either. Please don't cut off their naughty bits. For me?", the smile on the prince's face almost broke Lancelot's heart all over again.

The knight reveled in the idea of making someone suffer for what had happened to his prince, but he knew that he was reacting emotionally.

Lance knew he had problems handling his anger. He meant well, but once emotions were involved, they often took over, drowning out his judgment and common sense, until it was too late, and he was standing in a pool of bodies that not two minutes ago had been wedding guests.

He was a knight. A warrior. His anger, his passion, and his fearlessness - they were all the qualities he needed out there to survive. But in here, surrounded by people who depended on him, and in the presence of the man he loved more than anything - here, these qualities were not welcome.

"I promise.", he said, allowing himself a smile, "I just don't want to argue with you."

"I don't want to argue with you either, my love. Unless it's about the curtains."

This time, Lancelot burst out in laughter, and soon his husband was laughing with him.

The room was getting warmer, and Herbert threw the covers off his shoulders.

The two men embraced again, and to Lance's relief he found the prince no longer shivering.

"You poor thing, you must have been so scared", Lance said.

Herbert wriggled himself out of his husband's embrace, and planted a kiss on his forehead,

"It's alright, Lancey. I'm tougher than I look."

-3-

The search party returned after dusk. They couldn't find Sugarcube, so Lancelot sent them back to their quarters, and spent the better part of the night trying to console the heartbroken prince. And even though Lance felt bad for poor Sugarcube, there were worse ways to spend your night than trying to comfort your handsome husband.

Herbert and Lancelot's love was very physical. Even now that their honeymoon had ended the two men couldn't get enough of each other. When they weren't making love, there was still a lot of touching and stroking and handholding. Lancelot admitted that he never stopped lusting for his man, but he could tell by Herbert's responses how much the young man craved physical affection, so he did his best to give more than he took.

Even now, as they were lying under the covers, watching the fire burn, and Lance was slowly stroking the prince's curls he knew how much it meant for Herbert to be touched. To feel loved, and to feel wanted.

Only now was Lance beginning to realize how much he craved these things too.

He was still new to this. There was a lot Lance was going to learn about himself in the course of their happily ever after. The best part was that he was going to learn it with someone he loved. But even now, and especially after tonight's revelations, Lance knew one thing for sure:

There was a lot of violence both in Lance's past and in Herbert's. A lot of pain. But he wasn't going to let it ruin what they had now. Wasn't going to let his past hurt the only person who loved him unconditionally. Was there a way he could convince his husband of that? Or did he simply have to wait, until Herbert realized for himself that he no longer needed to be afraid? That that part of his life was over?

Despite all he'd been through, Herbert had this sunny disposition, this untainted look on life that was infectious. His kindness made Lancelot want to be a better man, and his unconditional love for the knight made him more grateful than he could put in words. So Lancelot want to protect his prince from the evils of the world. More importantly, he wanted to protect Herbert from his own pain, but didn't know how yet. This was going to take time.

Lancelot heard Herbert's breathing steady itself as the prince settled in for a peaceful sleep.

He kissed the back of the prince's head, burying his face in the thick curls, and taking in his scent. Taking in this moment.

A moment that he didn't want to end.

I can stay up until dawn!, Lancelot said to himself, as his mind drifted farther and farther away, to the sweet land of Morpheus himself.

The End