i did it for us

It was a bright sunny day when the funeral was canceled. 

From across the kingdom, as soon as they’d gotten the news, scholars had come to bid farewell to one of the grand library’s two custodians. A snaggle-toothed middle-aged earth pony mare with an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what book you’d like, Turnover had lovingly taken care of Canterlot Castle’s library alongside her husband, Oakewood, a unicorn stallion known for failing to uphold the no-chatter-and-shenanigans rule he himself had imposed.

When asked once why she’d hired them, why entrust them with her most precious of books, a grinning Queen Twilight Sparkle had only one thing to say: “The library hasn’t had a moment of peace since they came.” 

Everything those two did, they did together. And they did a lot together. For example: 

Portfolio and resume reviews on Monday evenings for those struggling to find where they belonged, with Turnover asking the right questions during mock interviews; Ponish Naturally on Wednesdays, where creatures from abroad could come and practice their conversational skills and soon regret it when subjected to Oakewood’s terrible jokes; and most importantly of all, storytime with foals every weekend afternoon, so tired parents could remember what a romantic date even was while the bookish couple got to deploy their very best dramatic readings. 

If love was a thing you could see, a tangible feeling you could grasp in your hooves and feel all around you, it was with them. In their smiles whenever they walked past each other, in the way they would complete each other’s thoughts, in the way the two thermos behind their conjoined desks were always warm and always full no matter when one of them stopped by to sit. 

It was this—well, it was so many things, so many, the process never getting easier for her, never, ever, ever—but it was this most of all that Twilight mourned when they told her one night, long after library doors had been closed, that Turnover was sick. 

And there was nothing to be done. 

“It’s all right. We will be all right,” Oakewood had said even later still, when it was just him and Twilight in the dead of night, Twilight—not for the first time—seeing tears in his eyes, but for the first time seeing them for another reason than him laughing hardest at his jokes.

“I’m sorry, Oake,” she replied through blurry eyes, having long accepted that the tears would come every time.

His voice was quiet but firm as he spoke. “None of that, your Majesty. Except for you and our dear princesses, death comes for us all.” He paused and then added, “Well. Almost all of us, I suppose.” 

For the first and only time since she’d hired them, just as the illness was worsening, Turnover and Oakewood used six of the hundreds of days off they’d let accumulate, having previously waved them off despite their monarch’s protests. 

It was during this week that Twilight sent letters out to all and anypony she could think of who the couple would want to be there, which it turned out was many. 

This was a practice she’d become familiar with, one that Princess Celestia had once prepared her for. Death was inevitable. Death should be inevitable. It should, and thus she went through the motions of preparing for it, as she’d done so many times, but, well, as previously stated…

When, on one bright sunny morning, a delighted Oakewood returned in the company of a miraculously cured Turnover, Queen Twilight Sparkle was overjoyed to find herself canceling a funeral. 

“Love,” Oakewood replied when she’d asked how this was possible, tears in his eyes. “Love kept her here.” 

“Love,” repeated Turnover, her voice so sincere and earnest Twilight only just noticed the mare hesitating to take her husband’s hoof when he extended it. “Love kept me here.” 

About three weeks later, Twilight attended a session of Ponish Naturally, quietly monitoring Turnover to ensure all was well. It was a fun session, creatures from abroad clamoring to practice their ponyish on her, and she only just noticed that when Oakewood unleashed a particularly terrible joke, Turnover was amongst the ponies laughing out of obligation. 

Two weeks after that, a dinner was held for all of the staff working at the castle. It was a joyous affair, one and all relieved the table was not missing a very important pony, and Twilight only just felt a passing pause when Turnover asked to be seated between two other ponies, neither of which were her husband. 

Two more weeks went by, and when she attended storytime with foals, it was no longer a coincidence that she noticed how warmly Turnover suggested an adventure book instead when a little excitable filly requested Poneo and Filliete be read. 

“Turnover,” she asked during a pause for snacks, following the mare when she went to fetch more sandwiches from the castle kitchen, “are you feeling well? Is—Is everything all right?” 

“But, of course, your majesty!” the librarian had replied with a laugh, snaggle-tooth on full display, waiting as cooks filled her trolley with plates. “My acting can’t have been that bad!” 

“No, no. It was fine,” Twilight replied. 

“You’ve been coming around a lot, I noticed,” Turnover said after a pause. “Are you worried about me?” 

“No,” Twilight lied. “Yes,” she amended at her friend’s pointed look. 

“…Have you scheduled another check-up with Whisper Winds?” Turnover asked, her chastising tone contrasting the warmth in her voice. “Because I think he’s starting to grow irritated at having to tell you all my check-ups are coming out well.” 

“I haven’t, no,” Twilight replied immediately, only slightly offended. 

“Because he forbade you?” How she laughed as crimson swept over her monarch’s cheek. “Your Majesty… I’m fine. Hale and hearty! What happened to me might have been a miracle, but it happened.” 

“But was it that?” Twilight asked, the words leaving her mouth unbidden, more urgent than she’d wanted. “Was it a miracle?” 

“Queen Twilight.” Every word was as edged as the thin smile on the mare’s lips. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but I will ask you to stop.” 

Twilight did, a twisted shame burning her. 

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I just… I’m sorry.” 

Turnover’s blade softened. “It’s alright, your majesty. I know you care. But I’m fine. All right?” 

It wasn’t a question, Twilight knew, but she appreciated Turnover was kind enough to phrase it as such. 

“Yes,” lied the queen, remembering seeing only Oakewood filling in the two mugs perpetually at the couple’s desks. “All right.” 

It was… about two months later, if she had to guess—which would be correct because there was little guessing involved when she knew exactly how much time had passed since their ‘miraculous’ trip—that Oakewood privately approached her at her throne to break the news. 

“And they let her move in so soon, too, which is good!” he said, his cheer as empty as the apartment he’d described Turnover was moving into. “I was the first to see it. She wants us to stay friends, which I’m grateful for.” 

“That’s good,” she said, because what else could she say? Certainly not the thoughts running through her head. 

If love was real, if it was a tangible thing one could touch and see, it was them. 

Had been them. 

“Is…” How loathe it was to speak business, but she had to. “Is she resigning? Are you?” 

“No, no! Absolutely not,” he replied, aghast. “We love our work, and we work well together. We still care for each other, your Majesty. Nothing can change that.” 

“…Right,” she said. “I’m glad.” Eternity lived and died in a second. “Oakewood, I—” 

She cut herself off. It wasn’t her business. It wasn’t when she still didn’t know for sure. 

“You?” he pressed, regardless. He smiled, and it was warm, and she didn’t understand how. “It’s alright. Speak your mind.” 

“…Did something happen?” she asked. 

He shook his head. It was slow. “She fell out of love, that’s all,” he said, as if that wasn’t insane. If love was real, it had been them. It had been them. At her look, he continued, “Her brush with death, well… It changed her! Things like that should, don’t you think? One does not walk away from the grim reaper the same.” 

“No,” Twilight said. She knew that well. “One doesn’t.” 

And on that subject. 

“Oake.” Her tone was measured, trying to hide the gulf swallowing her whole. “Oake, did something happen on your trip?”

She saw him falter. 

She saw him. 

“…On the trip? No, it was—”

“Don’t lie to me.” She reigned herself in just as soon as the words left her mouth. “Sorry. I… Oake, please.” 

“Your Majesty.” There was no edge here. No anger, no annoyance. “What happened was a miracle. Please, understand. We wanted it, we—Please.” 

“Oakewood.” She was all but begging. “Please. If you—Don’t lie to me. Miracles like that, they—That’s not a miracle.” 

“You may think so, your majesty,” he said, and it was clear the conversation was done, “but it was to us.” 

A guard approached her a week later, when there was no one but her, just as she’d requested. 

“Your Majesty,” he said. “About the matter you asked me to look into. I have news.” 

“And?” 

Please, she thought. Please, let it somehow have been a miracle. 

“I’m sorry, but… It’s just as you suspected,” he said. “They went to see her.” 

“Twilight. We’re running out of time. Please. Don’t make me beg.” 

“I can’t. It’s not safe.” 

“I see,” said Queen Twilight Sparkle, the gulf taking over. “Thank you, Asphalt.” 

The guard hesitated. “Is there anything else you need from me?” 

“Yes,” she said, standing up. “Have my carriage prepared.”