This one is for all you lovers of Monty Python, Spamalot, and good old-fashioned fluff!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a bike.

The backstage of Camelot Theater was buzzing with activity. Every member of the cast and crew felt that light electric current going through them as they were getting ready for the dress rehearsal of Sir Robin's latest musical. Oh, the excitement!

But there was one actor who wasn't joining in on the fun, and who, instead, chose to hide in his dressing room.

"Curtains in fifteen minutes!", said the stage manager.

Prince Herbert took another glance in the mirror, looking for some way to improve his make-up. But it was no use. No amount of powder or mascara could make Herbert look anything other than a frightened rabbit in an ugly black wig. I'm going to be laughed off the stage. Worse: they'll pity me. Oh, why did I ever let Robin talk me into this?

Robin was a mad genius to put this show together. In a time when the Church dictated what plays could be produced, and the Classical arts were straight out forbidden Robin wrote, directed and produced a musical based on the old Greek myths. Adjustments had to be made, of course: gods were made into kings and the show itself was almost completely devoid of any naughty content. And all the parts were still played by men. Which is where Herbert's problems began.

"I don't want you to feel any pressure, old buddy, but I wrote this musical with you in mind.", said Robin when he was handing him the script, "I can't see anyone else playing this part."

No pressure indeed!

But even before Herbert finished reading the script, he had made a decision. A decision he was now regretting with every fiber of his feeble being. Why did he think he could be an actor? Why did think he could sing onstage? In the privacy of his own castle, inside thick stone walls - no problem! But in front of other people? He let out a small whimper as his stomach tied itself into ten different knots.

Herbert was terrified of letting down his friend. He had been working so hard for the past eight weeks, getting the choreography just right and taking singing lessons on the side. It was enough to get Herbert to learn all the lines, and the steps, and to not sing off-key, yes. But it wasn't enough to make him feel like he could do it.

It had been Herbert's dream to perform and to sing ever since he was a little boy, but now that his dream was one dress rehearsal from becoming reality, all he wanted was to remove the make-up, crawl under the make-up table, and hide there for the rest of the night. Or better yet, for the rest of his life. And that made him so angry with himself. A bad dress rehearsal means a good opening night, isn't that what they say? Then why was he so nervous?

"Get a hold of yourself!", he said to the pathetic figure in the mirror, "Be a man!"

"Who are you talking to, darling?" Herbert's head snapped up at the sound of his husband's voice.

"Lance is that you?", Herbert realized that the door to his dressing room had been open this whole time, "I'm just- going over my lines!", Herbert said, fidgeting with his tunic.

"Are you dressed?"

"Yes."

"Damn! Well, I'm coming in anyway."

Before Herbert could protest Lancelot walked through the door.

"Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes!", Herbert said taking in the vision that was Sir Lancelot.

Though he wasn't a fan of high fashion Lancelot still looked dashing in his off-white tunic and his long blue cloak which he fastened with a sapphire brooch (Herbert's birthday present, if anyone should ask). Even in his casual wear he still looked like a warrior: legs wide apart, chest out, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. No, dashing was not the right word to describe this man. Smoldering was more like it, but still not close. Drop-dead-gorgeous-with-a-side-of-hot-damn! was closer still, especially in those wool tights-

[The entire Spamalot fandom]: Get on with it!

Anyway, Lancelot came into Herbert's dressing room, and Herbert said,

"Have you come to rescue me from the life of musical theater?"

"No, I came to wish you good luck. And, maybe, watch the show from the wings?", in the eight weeks that they had been rehearsing Herbert wouldn't let his husband come and watch. Though Lance didn't push, the curiosity must have been killing him. Which was only making it harder for Herbert.

"It's only dress rehearsal, Lancey.", he tried to shrug it off.

"I still want to be there when you're honing your craft. Gosh, you look beautiful! I especially like the wig.", he ran his fingers through the wig as if it were Herbert's real hair and pushed one stray lock behind his ear.

"You're ruining it!", Herbert rushed back to the mirror, and started fussing with the wig, silently kicking himself for snapping at his husband.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a clumsy oaf.", Lance came up from behind and wrapped his arms around Herbert's shoulders. Herbert stopped fussing and, leaning against his husband, he allowed himself a few deep breaths.

"Who are you playing again? I'm not as well-versed in the Classical arts as Sir Robin."

"I'm Persephone, silly! The girl who was married off to a cruel king against her will."

"And in the end did she get rescued by a brave warrior with chiseled jaw and rock-hard abs?"

"No, but she made it work. Because she was strong and resilient."

"I still like my ending better.", Lance said in a voice that never failed to make Herbert's knees weak.

"Curtains in five minutes!"

Oh, Herbert could just scream!

Maybe Lancelot saw the anxiety in his eyes, or maybe he felt like he was intruding, because he said,

"Do you want me to go?"

"Oh, no! You don't have to go. I'll go. You stay right here until I get back."

"You want me to stay in your dressing room while you do your show? I'm no expert, but doesn't that defeat the purpose of going to the theater?"

"It's dress rehearsal, Lancey. You wouldn't find it interesting. It's too early."

"Speaking of things that are too early, I want to give you something."

"A good luck kiss?"

"Well, besides that. I was going to wait until our one-year anniversary, but I thought you'd like to get it now, on your big- dress rehearsal night.", he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small golden cross on a delicate chain. It caught the light from one of the candles, twinkling like a miniature star, "It belonged to my mother."

"It's beautiful! But wouldn't you rather wear it yourself?"

"I would, but the bloody chain won't fit around my neck. On you it looks perfect", Lancelot said as he fastened the chain around Herbert's neck, "Don't you think so?"

Herbert was looking in the mirror, but his eyes kept wandering to the tall, handsome man behind him. To this strong, fearless warrior who also happened to be the kindest, gentlest soul that ever existed on God's green earth. What did Herbert do to deserve such a husband? Surely, there was someone out there more worthy of Sir Lancelot's love and loyalty?

"I love it." Herbert said, touching the warm metal with his pale fingers, "Thank you."

Lancelot took Herbert in his arms again. Incidentally, this was exactly where the prince wanted to spend the rest of the night, and even though he knew they only had a few minutes to spare, as Herbert rested his head on his husband's chest and closed his eyes, he could actually feel time slowing down.

"You know", said Lancelot, "I loved my mother very much. She was the kind of person who could light up the room with her smile. I never thought I'd love someone like that again. And then I met you.", he let out something between a sigh and a laugh, "That came out all wrong, didn't it?"

"Not at all! I know exactly what you mean. I never got to know my mother, but I know that she's watching over me, and I know how much she loves you because you're so good to me."

He turned around to face his husband and gave him a kiss. A kiss that Lancelot was happy to return. It started off tender and sweet, but - as one would expect - it soon turned into a make-out session of biblical proportions.

"I'm going to miss my cue!", Herbert managed between the smooches.

"I don't care."

"I mean it, Lance! You have to go."

Lancelot sighed but ceased his labial activities.

"I'm sorry, but this wig does it for me, you know? Say, do you get to keep it after the show?"

"You brute!", Herbert pushed him away, pretending to be offended, and failing miserably.

"It's just that I realized that we never did it in your dressing room before-"

"Seriously, get out before I change my mind!"

"Curtains in one minute, people!" yelled the stage manager.

Outside, the theater was buzzing with activity, and Herbert didn't want to miss any of it.

"I better go then, so you don't miss your cue.", said Lancelot, giving him a light peck on the forehead. "Good luck, my prince!"

"In the theater we say, 'break a leg!'."

"What a perfectly violent expression!", Lance gave him a devilish grin, "I like it."

"My gentle brute.", Herbert said as he reached out to stroke his husband's cheek.

"I know, this old face needs some pruning.", Lancelot said, referring to his two-day stubble, "I promise I'll shave before your opening night, so that people won't think you're married to one of the knights who say "Ni".

"You don't have to shave to make me happy, Lancelot. I love your face. Stubble and all."

Lancelot kissed his hand before rushing out of the dressing room.

"Hey, Lancey!", Herbert called out, when his husband was at the door.

"Yes, my love?"

"Will you stay and watch the show from the wings?"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

Alone again, Herbert returned to the mirror to make a few final adjustments to his make-up. Lancelot was right - this wig did have certain sex-appeal.

"Herbert, you're up!", Sir Robin said poking his head in the door. The knight/producer looked like he was about to burst with excitement, "Are you nervous?"

Herbert felt for the knots in his stomach and, finding none, said,

"No, I'm alright. Now, come on, we have a show to do!"