If there was anything at all that Langue had imagined in a worst-case scenario after coming clean with Blueblood, he had pictured him on a jeering headline with a picture of his flank being kicked out of the palace. After all, if any reporter had caught a whiff of this scandal, it would be the talk of Canterlot for many years to come. At the very least, even though he had the prince’s forgiveness, he didn’t expect that something like this would be kept under wraps for long.
Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time. He didn’t know how or by whom, but he expected that maybe someone in the royal family would hear that Blueblood had not only made him his first royal consort, but he pardoned him from his dubious past. Maybe an irate Princess Cadance would come to knock down the front door, or Princess Luna would appear in a nightmare.
What he didn’t expect, however, was that the very next day of him telling the prince everything was that he was stopped at the front gate by the guards who say that Celestia wants to see him.
When Langue heard that, he came close to having a heart attack. Being banished by Blueblood was one thing. Maybe having a shipping princess come storming one’s home would be alarming. Even imagining Princess Luna with all the stirring rage of her ultra-ego is terrifying. However, when Princess Celestia is asking to have an audience when one knows what they did the day before… Langue prayed that he wouldn’t be sent to the sun.
So the guards escorted him to the one room in the palace he’s never seen before - the throne room. He felt like he was being sent into the lion’s den when he reached those massive, golden doors that held up the kingdom’s seal. He almost expected to be pushed in when he was told to enter. Gulping, he walked straight in. Past the tall stained-glass windows, and flanked by streams of water that flowed out towards the gardens, Langue saw ahead of him a tall platform that held twin thrones. On the left was a blue-backed throne that was crowned with an empty crescent moon. On the right, however, behind a golden-back throne that was topped with the mighty sun was Celestia herself. Even without the platform, she was on, compared to him, she was a giant. The alicorn, white as snow and an ethereal mane that waves in an unfelt breeze were watching him. So at the foot of the platform, he bowed.
“Votre gracieuse Majesté. (Your gracious Majesty.)” Langue dared to look up at her frown. “This is… unexpected. To what do I owe this audience?”
Celestia didn’t say anything, her frown didn’t move.
“I realize we haven’t been properly introduced. I am-”
“Langue d'Argent, yes, I’ve heard of you.” She nodded. “My nephew told me about you.”
“O-Oh?” He gulped, “What did he say?”
“Before I answer that,” Celestia’s horn lit up for a moment where she summoned a pair of reading glasses and a file in a villa envelope. “Let me explain why I haven’t interfered until now.”
Wisely, Langue kept his mouth shut.
“And let me be clear on something. When Blueblood finally - finally came out to me before the rest of Equestria. He did so because he trusted me the most. And do you know why?” Langue shook his head. “Growing up, my nephew had parents who were… how I do put this elegantly…? Heartless control freaks. And that is me being kind, by the way. I cannot stress how much those two have damaged Blueblood. They controlled every aspect of his life from what time he should get up to how to eat, and even what to say on any given occasion. Even how to use the toilet in a certain, aristocratic way! And before those two had finally, mercifully died, Blueblood often turned to me because I was a better parent than they were. Of course, there were plenty of things that I wish I could have done differently, but the point is - he trusts me. In fact, when he came out to me months ago… he could barely get the words out. He was choked with so much shame and doubt that he came this close to bursting into tears… which he did after he told me he’s gay.
“Now,” she cleared her throat as she put the reading glasses on the end of her snout and opened the file. “I do love my nephew. He may not be flawless, but he is family to me. Yet, I know that Blueblood is his own stallion and I told him that at the end of the day, it is his life and he should live it however he wants to as long as he isn’t hurting anyone. It’s why I never once interfered when you or Blue have started dating. And though I did have my doubts when he told me about you months ago, I thought it best to give him space to have him make his own decisions.
“With that said,” she closed the file. “What Blueblood told me last night has raised a few red flags for me that I have no choice but to step in at least once.”
Langue’s legs were shaking.
“I will say that telling the truth to him was the right thing to do. Even going as far as to be willing to accept whatever punishment, to take up full responsibility for… what you were intentionally going to do, is something that shouldn’t be forgotten in all of this. However, the reason why I’m summoning you here is that from what I’ve read about you... You’re known to be a serial liar. Especially in Prance.” She looked up from her glasses. “You have seduced at least forty mares who they hoofed over their bank accounts, special titles, and used them to social climb.”
“Your Majesty, if I can just-” Celestia held a hoof.
“The thing is, knowing all of that, I could easily - easily - arrest you for fraud. I could have you sent back to Prance in hoofcuffs to be turned to the authorities there. But the reason that I haven’t done any of that yet, was that Blueblood had been insistent that you have a change of heart. He tells me that you expressed remorse, that you told him that you’re paying back an ex of yours for what you’ve done. And even when first offered to be his consort, you immediately turned it down. If this is all true, I’d say that I have nothing to worry about.”
Langue’s eyebrow was raised, “But…?”
Celestia let out a heavy sigh, “Even though my nephew has given you the honor of being a consort - something that has never happened before, and knowledge of what you have done in Prance, it does raise some concern. After all, when choosing someone to be a consort, the very last thing any of us would want is to be taken advantage of. Many kingdoms in the past have been fairly scared or brought down entirely because of a weak royal who has a manipulative spouse behind the scenes that controls them like a puppet. And while Blueblood cares for you; it has certainly caught my attention.”
“Princess Celestia, I don’t want to hurt your nephew.”
“Bluey says the same thing, but I want to hear it from you. If anything, this audience is to let you know of two, very important things.”
“.... Which are…?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not asking you to stop seeing Blueblood. On the contrary, I encourage it.”
Langue blinked, “Even though I had given the prince all the reasons why he shouldn’t - you approve of this?”
“In theory, no. But in practice… I don’t know if you noticed this, but having you being around him has had a positive effect on him. He’s growing in confidence about who he is and in those times we talked, I can’t help but notice that he is becoming happier - more so than he has ever been in his life. So whatever you're doing on your end, you must be doing something right. Likewise, if what Bluey has told me is indeed true, even he’s doing something right as well. If he could take a con pony to turn over a new leaf for his sake - in other words, turn a liar into an honest pony - then I will not object in having such a relationship to blossom.”
“Why is it that I sense an exception to all you just said?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it an exception. Now I may approve of the relationship, but I want you to remember something. That stallion you’re courting, I believe that he does, love you. He trusts you as much as in myself or Luna - probably more so. Because he cares so much about you, that also makes him emotionally vulnerable. Completely exposed to being hurt by you.”
“Princess, are you threatening me?”
“Oh no. I don’t make threats - not even to my worst enemies. I make promises. And I’m known for keeping my promises.”
“What? If I make Blueblood cry would you send me to the sun?”
This got a laugh from Celestia. “You know, that is a common misconception. I don’t banish or turn ponies into stone just for the fun of it. Because what you need to know is that in general, I’m a forgiving mare who tries to negotiate before attacking; to find a peaceful route while leaving extreme punishment as a last resort. Concerning you… well, allow me to put this in a way that you would understand.”
Her horn glowed a bright gold, and in a flash, Langue took many steps back in fright. In the princess’s aura, was a monumental ax - bejeweled in comically big precious stones with a handle that looked like it had been carved out of a whole tree. Yet, most terrifying of all was the blade - big as a house, sharp as a guillotine blade, and decorated with etchings of broken hearts. This monster of a weapon was so tall, that the blade nearly touched the high ceiling.
“Faites mal à mon neveu, et je vous ferai souhaiter de vous bannir au soleil. Et avant de demander, oui, je l'avais utilisé une fois - sur mon ex-mari. (Hurt my nephew, and I will make you wish that I would banish you to the sun. And before you ask, yes, I had used this once - on my ex-husband.)”
As more surprising to Langue that Celestia apparently can speak Prench, it was more terrifying to him that she had the ax at all.
Looking between the mammoth blade and Celestia, he nervously smiled and said quietly: “C'est noté. (Noted.)”
With a smile, Celestia made the enormous ax of death disappear. “Wonderful! So now I got all of that out of the way, have you figured out what you and Bluey are doing for your next date?”
Langue looked on with disbelief, “Is this a normal thing for you? That you threaten ponies' lives one moment and then casually ask what their plans for dates are the next?”
“You would have done the same too if you had raised someone. But spill the tea, have you thought about it? It’s going to be adorable, I just know it is.” She added with an amused smile.
“W-Well uh…” Langue gulped, still shaken up by the mother of all jumpscares. “Truthfully, I haven’t settled on anything yet.”
“Ah, then perhaps I could help you in that, at least, just this once. Tell me, do you know where Canterlot’s opera house is?”
“Oui,” he deadpanned, “I’m very much aware. Why?”
“I know the Canterlot Philharmonic is going to be performing Beethooven’s Sixth symphony tonight at seven - Bluebloods’ favorite. I could get some box seats so you two would be given privacy.”
Langue agreed to it - not because he liked the idea per-se - but more so that it would please the mare that could summon the monstrous battle-ax.
After the sun had gone down, Langue and Blueblood were escorted towards the Opera house. In many ways, at least to Langue, the very location had some levels of irony - being that the very place that he was sure would end the relationship entirely is now going to be the place to start it up again. Even when they got out of the carriage, Langue eyed a certain corner of the opera’s dome, almost half expecting to see some traces of that fateful date still up there.
He followed Blueblood into the grand foyer that made Langue feel nostalgic. A fantastic monument of stone, the staircase resembled that of clouds where gilded muses light the way. The floor was a blue marble that he swore had specks of gold that were trapped in the rock. Around them were towering columns that lead up to the next few floors. And above was a skylight that had frescos of each of the pony tribes with musical instruments. When they got there, the foyer was crowded with ponies - most of them the elite as Langue recognized, all in their finest, talking loudly about this and that. Of course, those that have noticed Blueblood enter did part away, making a courteous bow before the prince.
Up the staircase and through a lit hallway were at the very end of it is a gate that separates the very last theater box from the rest. Langue instantly knew what it was - it was a private sort of box where rich patrons of the opera would fence off a reserved spot. Sure enough, Blueblood pulled out a key to unlock, pulled the gate aside to let himself and his consort through before closing it behind him.
Then passing through a velvet red curtain, the first thing Langue saw was that there was a table that was right up to the small balcony that looked out towards the theater. One that had a candelabra and two silver domes on each end. Next to a table was a silvery tub filled with ice and a bottle of wine. Perhaps that is why they hadn’t had dinner yet as it seems Blueblood had theirs prepared ahead of time. Looking past it, he can see the baroque opera house where the seats were being filled up. And on the mammoth of a stage was the orchestra, tuning up their instruments.
“So I am being provided a dinner and a show,” Langue remarked.
“You can thank my aunt Celestia for this. She was going to come here but decided to give her personal box seat to us for tonight. Isn’t she generous?”
“.... Oui, she is.”
“Here,” Blueblood lit his horn, unhooking some thin curtains that separated them from the theater. “That’s better, now we have all the privacy in the world and have a ringside seat to some fantastic music.”
“And this?” he pointed at the silver domes. “Opera houses don’t offer five-star meals.”
“They don’t. This came from the palace that was prepared for us. Something light but no doubt would suit your tastes. So I had brought over a Prench classic.” Lighting his horn, the prince uncovered the domes to show a bowl of thinly sliced vegetables of tomato, zucchini, yellow squash, and eggplant.
“Ratatouille? Well, given that we are about to listen to Beethooven’s pastoral symphony, it only seems fitting.”
“Here, may I?” Underneath the table, the prince pulled out a thick, fluffy pillow and presented Langue to sit on. Once doing so Blueblood pulled out his seat that he then took out the chilled wine and proceeded to uncork it and pour the white liquid between them.
Before Langue could pick up his fork, he heard the audience applauding - no doubt that the conductor had walked out on stage and was about to conduct. For a minute or two, the audience stomped their hooves until all went quiet. Langue then stabbed his fork into some of the vegetables, waiting to hear the first few notes of the symphony to begin. Then, just as he tasted the flavorful mouthful of his meal, did the symphony begin those warm, pastel notes. Almost as if both the music and the food were complementing both senses at once.
For the next several minutes, he and Blueblood dined on - all things considering, a well-crafted meal and a nice performance. The prince seemingly more so. In the candlelight of the candelabra, Blueblood seemed wistful, probably more so than usual as far as Langue had seen from him.
“Is Beethooven your favorite composer?”
“Huh?” Blueblood asked, snapping back into reality from his thoughts.
“I was asking about Beethooven, is he your favorite composer?”
“Oh, well if I’m being honest, I learned more to Horseshoepin. But much like yourself, the time of it all depends on what mood I’m in.”
“For example?”
“Well, if I’m having a rather off day, I’d put on Shashtakovich’s more melancholic pieces like his string quartets. Or if all is well and I want to end it on something sweet, I’d put on Moztrot.”
“Makes sense,” Langue nodded, “and Beethooven?”
“.... I put him on when I have no words to describe that he put it so eloquently in sound like this. Do you know that this is my favorite one he wrote?”
“No, I did not,” Langue said, trying to sound innocent. “I would have thought you would have liked his fifth or ninth symphony.”
“They are good too, don’t get me wrong. But I have more of a personal attachment with this.”
“In what way?”
For a moment, Blueblood didn’t respond, as he paused for a moment to listen to the symphony as they reached a crescendo. “You know how you have a personal attachment with Buch? Because of your mother? It’s more or less the same with me and this piece. A form of comfort music when I was growing up. Something like a… what do foals call them again…? A security blanket.”
“.... I feel there is some missing context to that.”
“Of course there is. But I suppose you would want me to explain it?”
“Why not? I could go for a tragic backstory.”
This got a laugh from Blueblood. “I wouldn’t call it tragic, but it does sum up why I feel so attached to this piece of music. You have to understand that growing up, I didn’t exactly have much of a foalhood. As soon as I was able to walk and say my first word, my parents dedicated themselves to being the perfect prince. To be worthy of the term royalty from how I walked, how I talked, how I ate, and yes, how I listened to music.”
“In other words, you were a puppet.”
“I was going to go for a marionette, but yes. But you have to understand that when you were so close to the throne - especially near Celestia herself, there were high expectations. And still is. I had to be molded into the perfect aristocrat where I wasn’t completely useless. In a way, it’s how I got my cutie mark. A compass rose where it symbolized the ability to navigate and adapt to the world. But for me to get to that, I had to be shown that there can be something different than what I expected the world to be. And this symphony played a major part in that.”
“How?”
“You can thank my Aunt for that. Up until that time, all music I knew was either Baroque or Moztrot - especially Moztrot. My parents wouldn’t allow music that wasn’t created after the Age of Reason - after all, as someone who should be perfect, must therefore listen to perfect music. Not any of the common, vulgar music that came after Moztrot had died. And for a while, all I understood about what music is, what it could do was very limited. That was, until one day when Celestia agreed to look after me, she whisked me away here to hear something I never knew existed. It is in this very building where I heard Beethooven for the first time. And as a child, it was mind-blowing because I didn’t know that something so imperfect yet passion-driven could be this stunningly beautiful. So imaginative. Filled with colors that I didn’t know could exist in music. After the performance, Celestia got me a record of the sixth symphony.
“So in a way, this music was my foalhood. It opened the possibility that difference could make life more breathtaking, simply by going outside what one was familiar with.”
“So you didn’t just stop with Beethooven?”
“Of course not. Since then, my Aunt would give me records that I smuggled into my room to listen to. There I was able to hear all sorts of music from Horseshopin to The Beatles. From the rhythms of jazz to the exotic sounds of Neighpon. From a phonograph, I was given an ear to the world - and I wanted more.”
“I get the sense that Celestia did more good for you than your parents ever did.”
“At least she cared, more than I could ever say about them. She showed me that there was a world outside of a palace. That I should be afraid to like something different than what everyone else thinks I should. Without her, I probably wouldn’t have come out.”
“That is fine and good, but why is this your ‘security blanket?’”
Blueblood took a moment to pause as the orchestra was starting up the next movement. “Do you hear this? When I heard this for the first time, the second movement had done something that Moztrot couldn’t do for me - it made me feel secure. It was like going into a garden where you alone knew where it was, where you didn’t have to put up an act for anypony. Where you don’t have to worry about making sure your back is sitting up straight or that your clothes are spotless. Where all the mind-numbing talk, talk, talk of the adults was replaced by the gentle flow of water, the chirping of birds, and the waving, swaying branches of the trees. It is a place that I know doesn’t exist - except for here, in this movement.”
While the Prince spoke, Langue was struck - not just by the music but how Blueblood put it so poetically. Although he didn’t care much for Beethooven, when he listened to what it meant for the prince, he could picture that garden in his mind. He could hear from the strings that gentle stream that babbled and the wind instruments that serenaded in the swaying trees. For a moment, he could see a young Blueblood in this imaginary garden. Alone but happy to play as a foal should.
“It sounds like you never had much freedom.”
“Well… I’ve only known two freedoms in my life. Art,” Blueblood reached out his hoof to touch Langue’s, “... and you.”
Langue could feel his cheeks becoming warm, feeling the prince’s hoof being rubbed up against his. “Freedom? Me?”
“In a way, being around you makes me feel like that foal who listened to this symphony for the first time. Unabashed and new, different but alluring. Though you proclaim to be flawed, it is nevertheless beautiful to just hear you talk.”
“So, you like me for my accent?” Langue chuckled.
“Don’t underestimate yourself on that. Every time you open your mouth, there is a lyrical flow like a professional violinist would play Moztrot’s concertos. Even times when you slip into your native Prench, your voice smoothly rounds every symbol, every word into a song that only Horseshoepin could create on a rainy night.”
“.... Are you sure you’re Blueblood and not a poetic changeling that is trying to get me to like you?”
Blueblood chuckled, “It would almost be funny if that were true. Just seduce you long enough until I get you into a cocoon to be dragged off to my underground dungeon so I could feed on your love for years and years.”
“Oh no, how would I ever escape the Changeling that will continuously suck me off… Oh mon Dieu. (Oh dear God.)” Langue hid his face, completely embarrassed that such a crude joke slipped out.
Blueblood tried to hold back his laughter - though blunt as it was. His hoof to his lips as his shoulders shook. And as much as he tried to suppress a laugh, especially one so loud that the whole theater could hear him, some of it did come out as a chuckle. “I’m sorry,” Blueblood apologized. “I’m not mocking you. That surprised me to hear you say that.”
“I’m very much aware of how that came out,” Langue said, now that the orchestra finished the second movement and was moving onto the more jovial third with the strings stirring up a festive mood among the theater.
Taking Langue’s hooves into his, Blueblood told him, “You see, normally if anyone else told that same joke to me, I would have been offended. Yet from you, it’s like I’m a young teenager again. Someone who gets a kick out of something naughty is the funniest thing in the world. I don’t know how else to put this, but around you, it’s like I’m given a second chance at being a younger self that I never got the chance to experience.”
“Feeling like a teenager again, huh?” Langue smiled, amused at the thought of it. “Come to think of it… after this symphony, do you care what else the orchestra plays?”
Blueblood raised an eyebrow, “Not really, given that we haven’t finished dinner yet either. Why?”
“If it’s not too much to ask, but after we finish eating and the symphony concludes, would you mind slipping away to my home?”
“What for?”
“Well, let’s say that you’ve inspired me in how poetic you are tonight that I want to capitalize it on something that’s also near and dear to my heart.”
Blueblood promised he would.
From there, the two sat there to finish up their dinner while the orchestra went through the festival-like third movement from the dancing strings, the stormy thunderous percussion of the fourth, and finally finished with the graceful, forgiving fifth movement that swoons over the wind and brass instruments. At the last, concluding notes, the audience applauded the orchestra, thus giving Blueblood and Langue their que to make their getaway. After blowing out the candles, the prince held onto Langue before lighting up his horn to cast a teleportation spell to be whisked away into his consort’s bedroom.
Once they appeared in Langue’s room, the prince asked, “So what is it you wanted to show me?”
Going over to his record collection, Langue quickly took out an album from the very back. “You say that Beethooven’s pastoral symphony was your personal favorite. And you explained what it meant to you. Well, as I said, you’ve inspired me to show you what I loved above all else.”
Going over to the phonograph, he cranked the handle, placed the record on the turntable, and placed the needle down before flipping the switch. Out from the horn, the sound of a piano playing slow, gentle chords flowed out.
Blueblood tilted his head. “I think I know this one… it’s Satie’s, isn’t it?”
Langue nodded, “His gymnopédies and other pieces. The first few movements are his most famous, and I love every note of it.”
“Really? I thought you would have gone with Debussy or Horseshoepin.”
“Yes, I love their works too, but this one holds a special place in my heart as you did with Beethooven.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh! Comment vais-je compter les chemins? (How shall I count the ways?) It is like… huh, much like you now I think of it.”
“Is that so?” Blueblood went up to him. “Why?”
Langue took hold of his shoulders. “Listen… Do you hear how effortlessly elegant it is? How patient is each chord, each note it is? For it doesn’t care to be stunning because… it knows it is flawless, just how it is. Each delicate touch of the pianist paints a different mood that is deep yet honest. It doesn’t try to dazzle you with a flurry of notes like snow in a blizzard, nor sparkle flashing fireworks - but just this… Direct notes of white, gold, and blue that shimmer and reflect like the sea at sunrise. The notes waltz together, not in a grand, stately way that tries to impress everyone at once - but at their own pace where all that effort is towards each other. It is moving because it allows it to become deeply in touch with every vibrating emotional string that lets it be. Not even the stars could reflect on such a mirrored surface as this because it doesn’t mean to give a perfect reflection of its love, but an impression that feels real.”
Blueblood didn’t know how to reply to something like this - because this went beyond just flirting. It was poetry without rhyme or meter. As improvised sounding as the recording itself, and yet hearing it was enough to make one dream.
“Even so,” Langue added, “there is one disadvantage that an impression lacks.”
“And what is that?”
“It is untouchable, an ideal in the mind. The things dreams are made of and yet,” he raised his hoof to cup Blueblood’s cheek. “What I’m feeling now isn’t a dream - but tangible. It is music that I could feel, that has a pulse, and more alive than any I’ve encountered. So real,” Langue drew close, one hoof over the prince’s back and the other on his face. They were wither to wither now, their faces mere inches apart. “So real, that has allowed me to do this.”
Blueblood wasn’t expecting Langue to kiss him - then again, he wasn’t complaining. Yet, this time it was different. Unlike the previous nights, he wasn’t the one to initiate it. Langue had closed his eyes, tilted his head, and felt their lips connect. At the same time, it felt that Langue was kissing it with a gentleness that one would hold a fragile, important artifact. Yet, the prince could feel that his consort was taking his time in this bliss while the impressionistic chords in the background blended together.
It didn’t matter if this took all night - or eternity - because Blueblood felt that Langue had taken his first step down the path that he took.
Pulling apart, Blueblood smiled as he felt his heart pick up excitedly. “That was beautiful.”
“Only the best for royalty, no?”
“Heh, it always astonishes me with how you can turn the simple act of a kiss into a performance.”
“Well, you can’t half-heartedly kiss, it would seem disingenuous.”
“Oh, I agree,” Blueblood kissed his cheek. “And I want you to be happy enough where you could be inspired to say something so poetic to me, Langy.”
Langue raised an eyebrow, “Langy?”
“Yes… I like the sound of it. Langy.”
“It sounds like an Istallion pasta.”
“Quite delicious-sounding too! I’d like my Langy with a glass of wine.”
Langue laughed, “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Why? Do you want me to, Langy?”
“I… Well… I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. At least, not out in public.”
“But don’t you want me to pepper you with kisses and call you Langy while the Canterlot elite gawk at us?”
“I don’t think we’re at that stage of the relationship to discuss fetishes.”
Blueblood burst out laughing. And a moment later, despite the blunt joke, Langue laughed too.
“By Celestia,” Blueblood said after calming down from laughing so hard. “I’m glad that you’re my consort, Langy.”
“Listen, if you’re going to keep calling me something so embarrassing, then it’s only fair that from now on, I call you Blu-Blue.”
“.... No, Bluey would be better.”
“Oh no! You don’t get to decide what pet name I get to call you,” Langue stuck his tongue out.
“Well if you call me that, then I’ll have to call you Lang-Lang.”
“Bo Bo.”
“La La.”
As much as the other stallion tries to be serious, they laughed at how childish they were. Until they slept in each other’s arms, they spent the night laughing. Not by mocking but from the joyous appreciation that regardless of how absurd all of this was, they would still be there for each other. That they’ve rechristened their relationship in laughter.