“Come on, Blue, it’s a good morning for it, and you know it!”
Prince Blueblood would not consider calling it a good morning. It had all the trappings of being a good morning: he was with his boyfriend, it was a beautiful day, and he had gotten all his weekend work done last night. There was one teensy problem, though.
His boyfriend wanted to take him to some strange thing called ‘church.’ Needless to say, the idea of spending an hour on a weekend morning doing something that was neither leisure nor strictly productive stumped him; he was a Naval Office administrator. Religion was above his paygrade.
The befuddled prince rubbed his temples, not sure why his boyfriend was insisting on this when he’d never brought it up before. Granted, he’d never stayed over at Fancy’s house for a Saturday night before. It would usually be his own. “Fancy, for the third time, I’m not going! I’m still tired from all those reports from the Lord Admiral’s secretary I had to go through last night before bed...”
But his boyfriend was just as insistent, his piercing blue eyes giving him the sad, disappointed look that usually made his knees go weak. “Blue, it’s a sunday morning. We can sleep in after we get back, and then get some dinner later, alright?” His disappointed look turned into a charming smile. But Blueblood wasn’t going to fall for it. Not this time. “Does that sound good? A few more hours in bed, then some Dhal at that restaurant you love? I’ll ask for extra naan to take home for you-”
“As tempting as that sounds,” Blueblood cut him off, despite his mouth watering at the mention of his favourite red lentil curry, “Bribery isn’t going to work. Not this time.” He sighed, his gaze still firm. Well, as firm as can be delivered by a man in nothing but his underwear and an open dressing gown. “Sorry, but I’m not going. It’s your thing, not mine.”
Fancy Pants frowned. He stared down at the patterns on the carpet for a moment, before deciding to switch tactics. He looked back up at Blueblood, his expression just as stubborn as his boyfriend’s. “You said you wanted to be part of my life, right?”
“Yes, of course, but I don’t see why I’d have to-”
“Because this is a part of my life, too. Just like how I helped you go through those papers, or stood by you when it was time to christen those new ships, or stood with you for that speech on the anniversary of the launching of the first Equestrian fleet.” His expression softened, placing a hand on Blueblood’s shoulder. “Come on... just this once? You don’t even have to know what’s going on or participate- you can just watch.”
“Gee, you make it sound so utterly appealing,” Blueblood deadpanned, sitting down on the bed.
Fancy rolled his eyes, “Think of it as... an aesthetic experience, if nothing else.”
Now that got Blueblood’s attention. “Oh?” He said, trying not to look too interested. Despite his attempts, he had to admit his curiosity was a bit piqued.
“Yes, actually.” Fancy said, his charming smile back in full measure. “St. Andreas Cathedral is a Grade I listed building, built by one of finest architects Equestria could supply, decorated by the best painters and glaziers money could hire; and most importantly, staffed by probably one of the best choirs in all of Canterlot.” He put both hands on his boyfriend’s shoulder for emphasis, one pair of blue eyes meeting another. “Herbert Hoofells is their organist and in-house composer. And I know you love Hoofell’s music.”
Blueblood swallowed, thoughts bouncing back and forth across his head. On one hand- religious ritual and time away from bed on a Sunday morning. On the other- the equivalent of an hour-long choral concert, with his boyfriend, with music by his favourite composer, in what sounded like a gorgeous atmosphere... Why did this have to be so hard?!
In the end, however, aesthetic experience triumphed, “Fine,” Blueblood muttered, just loud enough for Fancy to hear him. “But only because you know I’m a sucker for the more... elegant things in life.”
Fancy chuckled, standing up once more. “Don’t I know it,” he said with a knowing wink, smirking a little when he saw the blush spread across his boyfriend’s face. “Get dressed like we’re going out to dinner, then.” As Blueblood rose from the bed and turned to head towards his dresser, Fancy felt a pang of guilt; did he really have to manipulate his boyfriend like this just so he wouldn’t be sitting in a pew alone? As moving as the liturgy was to him, it wouldn’t necessarily be enjoyable to Blueblood as well. And besides, he’d made it seem as if going with him was important to continue their relationship. He knew how nervous Blue could be if he misinterpreted something like that.
As he dressed in his own suit, buttoning the last buttons of his waistcoat, he knew he had to reassure his boyfriend before they left. It just wouldn’t be right otherwise. Before long, they both were ready, and Fancy turned to see Blueblood waiting by the door, looking handsome as usual in his white suit and blue bow tie, fidgeting nervously. Fancy knew what he had to do, and planted a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, his voice gentle as he leaned towards Blueblood’s ear. “Don’t worry; if you don’t like it, you don’t have to go again, okay? It isn’t that important you go with me, so don’t think I won’t love you as much or something like that if it bothers you, okay?”
Blueblood nodded, faintly blushing and slowly allowing the tension in his stance to ebb away. “You.. you sure? I mean, you made it seem like it was, you know, a necessity to...”
“It’s not,” Fancy cut him off. “If you don’t like it, I can’t make you, and I’ll never make you go with me like this again. Sound fair?”
Blueblood nodded, visibly relaxing. A moment of silence, the two of them just looking at each other, before Blueblood pulled his lover into a tight hug. “Thanks,” he said quietly, before releasing him and smoothing out his suit. He cleared his throat, and turned to the door. “Let’s go then, shall we?”
“Oculi mei semper ad Dóminum, quia ipse evéllet de láqueo pedes meos. Réspice in me, et miserére mei, quóniam únicus et pauper sum ego...”
Blueblood soon discovered that his boyfriend’s aesthetic evaluations of the experience known as ‘church’ were, to his relief, correct.
“Ad te Dómine levávi ánimam meam: Deus meus, in te confide, non erubéscam...”
Though he wasn’t looking at him, he could practically feel the expression of pure joy on Fancy’s face as he looked on at the ceremony unfolding. A trio of robed ministers stood with heads bowed at the foot of a magnificent high altar, a quartet of kneeling figures on either side of them.
“Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto: sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Oculi mei...”
As the three ministers ascended the steps of the altar, Blueblood looked around the interior of the building. It was fairly large from what he could tell, narrow arches springing forth from slender columns to form the vaulting of the roof high above. Light in every hue imaginable shone through the high lancet windows upon the congregation in the pews, bathing them in a colourful wash of light. He didn’t know who or what they depicted, but they were certainly genuine works of art, for sure. Likewise, painted winged figures of great beauty stared down at them from the ceiling, some bearing trumpets, others spears. Some daintily carried harps, and others tightly gripped swords.
But as far as art went, most evident was the ethereal, solemn strains of the choir, standing upright in their stalls towards the front as they clutched their books. Though he had little idea what they were singing, it was certainly music to his ears; the low rumble of the basses mixed into the powerful clarion call of the tenors, the clear, bell-like tone of the altos commingled perfectly with the soaring voices of the sopranos like a section of flutes in perfect harmony with the cellos.
Oh, it was bliss for Blueblood- bliss and, dare he say it, heaven. It was gorgeousness at its very finest, beauty made tangible and audible.
“Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison...”
He caught a whiff of something sweetly fragrant, light and exotic. He turned his gaze back towards the altar to see one of the ministers standing at the front of it, swinging a censer on chains back and forth, sending clouds of pungent smoke into the air and wafting towards the congregation. He wasn’t quite sure but it was, but he knew he liked the smell of it.
As he closed his eyes, letting the smells and the sounds and the very feel of the place envelop him, he felt a warm hand grasp his own. He opened his eyes, and only had to look over for a moment to confirm his suspicions; Fancy was holding his hand, looking at him with probably the biggest smile Blueblood had ever seen on him in the entire time they’d known each other. His entire face was lit up like Hearth’s Warming (or as Fancy and other Christian types liked to call it, Christmas) had come early, and he gave Blueblood’s hand a light squeeze. Blueblood squeezed back, relishing the look on Fancy’s face; a look he usually only saw after a particularly special day out they’d had. It was a look that said quite plainly, Even if you don’t come back again, I love you so much for being here with me.
At that exact moment, the organ burst into full swell, followed by the male voices of the choir breaking into a grand, stately melody that resonated throughout the cathedral with ease, soon joined by the altos and the sopranos once more. “Gloria! Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus...”
The rest of the service passed in a similar way: the clergy would perform some ceremonial action he didn’t recognise, followed by another hymn by the choir. There were three readings from two different books; while he had no idea who “Jethro” or “Moses” or “Jesus” was (though he surmised said Jesus was the same as Christ, the deity Fancy spoke of), they were interesting in a strictly mythological way- that is, as stories on their own, rather than any kind of holy writ. The priest (at least he thought he was the priest) spoke of repentance and forgiveness and bearing good fruit from his high pulpit, before descending once more to join his fellow ministers at the altar.
“Credo in unum Deum, patrem omnipotentem, factorem coeli et terrae, visibilium omnium...”
Fancy joined in with the chanting as the choir sung, his melodious baritone harmonising well with the choir. Though he’d rarely admit it, Blueblood was quite taken with his boyfriend’s singing voice; it was certainly more manly than his light tenor, anyways. He’d quickly found out as he grew up that people calling his singing voice ‘pretty’ really got him flustered; though he didn’t quite mind it when Fancy did it.
Blueblood pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked back at the altar as the previous chant faded away, observing the priest placing on it what appeared to be bread and a chalice of wine as the chorus offered the next hymn in solemn plainchant. “Justitiae Domini rectae, laetificantes corda; et judicia eius dulciora super mel et favum. Nam servus tuus custodit ea...”
He could also see Fancy beside him, his eyes reverently fixed on the crucifix above the altar. Curious, Blueblood let his gaze wander over the figure as well: it was nothing particularly special, though it had a certain simple elegance to it. The carved figure hanging from the painted cross was posed with eyes open, and wrapped in robes of purple, and arms outstretched, its eyes serene beneath a crowned brow. Though the image personally meant nothing to him, he had to admit it was an appealing piece of art, if only for the startling realism of the figure, rather than the vague distortion he saw on the crucifix his boyfriend sometimes wore around his neck when he thought Blueblood wasn’t looking.
“The Lord be with you.”
“And with thy spirit...”
The call, and accompanying response (in their own language, no less) from the entire church shook Blueblood out of his musings, and he found his attention drawn to the priest at the altar once more, with the other two ministers standing in a row immediately behind him.
“Lift up your hearts.”
“We lift them up unto the lord.”
He could hear Fancy’s voice joining in once more, as if he’d chanted those words a thousand times.
“Let us give thanks unto our Lord God.”
“It is meet and right so to do.”
“It is very meet, and right, and our bounden duty, that we should at all times, and in all places, give thanks unto thee, O Lord, holy Father, almighty, everlasting God.”
To be entirely honest, Blueblood had no idea what the priest was chanting actually meant; but he knew what it felt like. Everything seemed to be building up to some great, climactic moment that was drawing near, building more and more impatience.
“Who dost bid thy faithful people cleanse their hearts, and prepare with joy for the Paschal feast; that, fervent in prayer and in works of mercy, and renewed by thy Word and Sacraments, they may come to the fullness of grace which thou hast prepared for those who love thee. Therefore with Angels and Archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious Name; evermore praising thee, and saying...”
It started with a lone treble, his voice wavering slightly, before he was joined by his fellow sopranos, one by one. Then the altos added their voices to the ethereal melody, followed by the tenors, and succeeded by the basses. Soon, the entire choir broke forth into a harmony that sounded like the nearest thing to angelic it could possibly hope for, filling the whole church like the light from the windows.
“Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Pleni sunt coeli et terra, gloria tua. Hosanna in excelsis. Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis.”
The hymn faded away, the entire congregation dropped to its knees, and was nearly silent once more, save for the single voice of the priest at the altar, flanked by the ministers on either side. The priest held the round wafer of bread in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world, his head inclined.
“For in the night in which he was betrayed, he took bread; and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take, eat, this is my Body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ “
He lifted it above his head in full view of the congregation, the only response a few quiet murmurs from the crowd. He could feel Fancy tense up beside him as the bread was elevated, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the awe was for. He could gather that this was some kind of ceremonial sacrificial meal, the bread and wine offered to the deity they worshiped to commemorate the meal shared by the same God. Other than that, Fancy hadn’t explained much- at least not in terms he could comprehend. “Sacramental Union” and “Eucharist” meant little to one with barely a basic grasp of Christian theology. Though if the rapt look of attention Fancy had on his face was any indication, it was important.
“Likewise, after supper, he took the cup; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, "Drink ye all of this; for this is my Blood of the New Testament, which is shed for you, and for many, for the remission of sins. Do this, as oft as ye shall drink it, in remembrance of me."
The priest did the same with the chalice of wine, steadying the base of it that it might not fall. Again, he got the same response from the congregation: reverence and quiet awe. Finally, he lowered the chalice and spread his arms wide. “Wherefore, O Lord and heavenly Father, according to the institution of thy dearly beloved Son our Savior Jesus Christ, we, thy humble servants, do celebrate and make here before thy divine Majesty, with these thy holy gifts, which we now offer unto thee, the memorial thy Son hath commanded us to make; having in remembrance his blessed passion and precious death, his mighty resurrection and glorious ascension; rendering unto thee most hearty thanks for the innumerable benefits procured unto us by the same.”
The priest bowed low, making a gesture of blessing over the chalice and bread.
“And we most humbly beseech thee, O merciful Father, to hear us; and, of thy almighty goodness, vouchsafe to bless and sanctify, with thy Word and Holy Spirit, these thy gifts and creatures of bread and wine; that they may be unto us the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.” .
So that was why it was so important, why Fancy and the other congregants stared so reverently at common table-fare; it was a way of some kind of communion with their God, the bread and wine offered being to the congregation the Body and Blood of Him, and commemorating in a mystical way His death and rebirth. A quaint notion, if a harmless one, Blueblood thought. Though the idea of eating flesh and drinking blood of a Deity had to be taken strictly as a metaphor for bodily and spiritual nourishment by the sanctified bread and wine, right?
Despite being irreligious, he was no stranger to the language of mysticism and metaphor; contrary to what some might think, he was, in fact, more than a pretty, royal face in a cushy administrative job. He didn’t quite get the whole notion of spirituality, but he did understand beauty, vivid allegory, and what made his boyfriend happy. And this combined all three of those.
Soon enough, the time came for what appeared to be actual eating and drinking part of the ceremony, and Blueblood started becoming rather nervous. Did Fancy expect him to go up to the altar rail with him? He had no wish to embarrass himself in front of the entire congregation by not doing the same thing as them; but it would feel wrong to participate that much in a ritual he didn’t believe in. Observing for mental and sensory stimulation was one thing: actually taking part in this was another. He reached over and lightly clasped his boyfriend’s hand again. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fancy, do I have, to, erm, go up-”
“No, you don’t, Blue; don’t worry. I wouldn’t make you do that; and besides, even some congregation members don’t always go up. You can stay here, don’t worry.” He squeezed Blueblood’s hand back comfortingly.
Before Blueblood could offer his gratitude, he was silenced by a sudden roll of timpani, followed by a fanfare of trumpets. The fanfare grew in intensity before the choir practically exploded into joyous song. “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us! Therefore let us keep the feast.”
With that, the priest stood facing the congregation with the bread and chalice in his hands, his voice just loud enough to make out. “The Gifts of God for the People of God. Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith.”
The sound of hundreds of kneelers scraping the floor was heard as Fancy and a large number of others rose from their seats, a single file line forming down the centre aisle to the altar rail. Blueblood reluctantly released his boyfriend’s hand as he stood, sharing one more glance with him before he joined the others in line. Blueblood himself simply sat back in the pew, closed his eyes, and let the anthem from the choir fill up his senses, basking in the stately melody.
“O God, unseen yet ever near, thy presence may we feel; and thus inspired with holy fear, before thine altar kneel. Here may thy faithful people know the blessings of thy love, the streams that through the desert flow, the manna from above.
We come, obedient to thy word, to feast on heavenly food; our meat the body of the Lord, our drink his precious blood. Thus may we all thy Word obey, for we, O God, are thine; and go rejoicing on our way, renewed with strength divine...”
The tell-tale wooden squeak of someone sitting in the pew beside him caused him to open his eyes again, and he turned to see Fancy Pants at his side. He looked so peaceful, Blueblood observed, a smile of his own spreading across his own face to match the one on his boyfriend’s. As he turned away for a moment, he was surprised by his boyfriend scooting closer, practically leaning into his shoulder. Before Blueblood could question if this was quite appropriate behaviour for this situation, Fancy said in an undertone. “Shh... just let me have this. The presence of God within me, and your presence beside me...” He sighed, his eyes still closed. “I can think of nothing better, you know? It feels like... like I’m just wrapped in love all around.”
Blueblood felt his heart melt at the honest, if cheesy sentiment, and his hand found itself resting on the older man’s own once more. They sat there, in silence, simply enjoying the warmth of the other’s presence as the penultimate hymn faded to nothing.
“Locus iste a Deo factus est,
Inaestimabile sacramentum,
Irreprehensibilis est...”
“So... did you like it?” Fancy Pants asked, scratching his neck.
Blueblood looked up at him from his plate of Dhal and smiled. “Well... I won’t be turning into a Christian anytime soon.” He saw Fancy swallow, and quickly went on before any misinterpretation could be made. “But... it’s definitely a... beautiful experience. From a strictly aesthetic perspective, of course, as you thought it would be.” He rolled his eyes at Fancy’s triumphant smirk, continuing. “That doesn’t mean next time I visit you on a Saturday night, you get to drag me out of bed early again-”
“Darn. And I was looking forward to more of your protests,” Fancy snarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“However, I would be quite willing to go with you on pre-planned special occasions.” He stated firmly, seeing the hopeful gaze the older man shot him.
“Like Easter?”
“Like Easter.” Blueblood nodded, repressing the urge to snicker at his lover’s expression. For a middle-aged man, he sure seemed to radiate almost childlike levels of joy when he was pleased. And he loved him for it.
Fancy smiled happily, his gaze locking with Blueblood’s once more, as the prince’s smile slowly grew until it mirrored his own. “I love you so much, Blue. Thank you,” he said, low enough to make it plain it was meant for Blueblood’s ears only.
“I love you too, Fancy,” he replied.
That night, the two of them lay in bed, asleep, and entwined in each other’s arms.
And God was smiling down.