Chapter Text
"Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love." William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II Scene 2
Year 100 Fall 03
“I come seeking the Storm Knight!”
And just like that, Lettie’s quiet afternoon is over. She’s sitting next to Django on a bench in Peach Plaza. It’s become their afternoon tradition over the last two seasons. Just for an hour or so. She’ll sit next to him while he reads and she’ll do whatever she wants. Sometimes she’ll read herself. Sometimes she’ll do bookkeeping. Her favorite thing to do is knit if Carol has yarn for sale.
It’s peaceful. Django seems perfectly content to simply sit in silence with her during their time together. Or if Lettie is in a talking mood, they talk. About anything and everything.
Basically, it’s a chance to get some rest. Her brain doesn’t go into overdrive when Django’s near.
“Oh for the love of Peach,” Django mutters under his breath. “Not again.”
Lettie looks over to the plaza entrance. There sits a young man on horseback. She blinks. She blinks again. To put not too fine a word on it, the young man is beautiful. Long, bronze-colored hair blowing in the wind. A strong, chiseled jaw. And wow. Those certainly are shoulders.
Hey, Lettie might be divorced, but she’s not blind. Besides, it’s been more than a year since Aadit left her. ‘To keep her safe.’ Not that she really felt safe when the Rogue Knight was running around and scaring people.
The fact of the matter is that he left and never plans on coming back. And well. Lettie wants to live her life. Maybe get married again someday. Have a family. She can dream.
“Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” Lettie says. “Want me to handle it?”
News of the Storm Knight’s return traveled quickly thorough the Free Alliance and even beyond. At least a couple of times a season, a well-meaning fan or historian comes to Portia, looking to talk or even train with the fabled knight.
Who is Django.
Lettie still can’t wrap her head around that. But then again, she can’t wrap her head around her pacifist ex-husband being the Rogue Knight, either. Knights. Why can’t they just be who they say they are?
“This is why I wanted people thinking I had delusions of grandeur.”
Lettie grins. Django’s plan worked for a long time. For more than five years, everyone thought that Django was exaggerating about being a knight, when it turns out he’s one of the most famous knights there is. The Storm Knight.
He gave up that anonymity thinking to save Lettie’s life. Not that Lettie actually thought Aadit was going to kill her. But at the time? In the middle of battle? Lettie wasn’t so sure. And she really likes being alive.
“Hey, you,” Lettie calls out to the young man. She waves him over.
The man dismounts his horse in one smooth motion and walks over to their bench. “Thank you, my lady. Do you know of the Storm Knight?”
Lettie snorts and mutters ‘my lady’ under her breath. That’s one thing no one will ever accuse her of, being a lady. “Possibly. You’ve got to understand. We’re pretty protective of him. What are you hoping for if you meet him?”
The man gets to one knee, holding his fist over his heart. “I come seeking his wisdom. My name is Tarrif. I am a squire of Melinda of Tallsky. She has given me a quest, to find other knights and learn from them. Once I’ve done that, she will consider me ready to be knighted myself.”
“A quest. Django, this young man is on a quest,” Lettie says. She puts her hand on Django’s shoulder. “Tarrif, This is Django. I’m Lettie.”
“Lettie. Django. It is an honor to be in your company.”
“An honor! Your mentor certainly taught you manners. Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lettie says, putting her knitting down next to her. If she’s gonna troll, she needs to focus with her entire being and not be distracted by knitting and purling. “Let me tell you a bit about the Storm Knight.”
“Lettie,” Django mutters, laughter in his voice.
“Quiet, Django. Tarrif here wants to know about the Storm Knight. Well, first off, you should know, is that he’s very knightly,” Lettie says, trying to sound wise. She fails, because Lettie is probably the least wise person there is.
Tarrif closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I would expect no less. His exploits are legendary.”
“And he is very storm—“
Django taps Lettie’s shoulder and she grins. He stands up. “Ser Tarrif, I am Ser Django of Portia. I am best known as the Storm Knight. But please. Just call me Django.”
His voice sounds resigned and Lettie wonders how much this takes out of Django. Being treated almost as a museum exhibit. Or a living relic. It must be exhausting sometimes.
Tarrif’s eyes go wide as he stands. “Lady Melinda told me stories of your heroics. She said she once met you outside of Barnarock, where you saved her from a band of Enforcers.”
“Good ol’ Bardock. I haven’t given him any real thought in years. Melinda was being humble. She saved herself,” Django says.
Lettie sits back on the bench and wonders about some of the stories Django must have. He’s told a few, but mostly keeps the actual details pretty under wraps. Reading between the lines, being a knight isn’t nearly as glamorous as people think.
“Will you teach me? You will find me the most willing of students,” Tarrif says, practically vibrating. Almost like watching a puppy beg for pets.
Django nods and Tarrif’s smile lights up Peach Plaza. “I will never turn away someone looking for knowledge. That being said, I run a business, so I won’t be able to teach you day in and day out.”
“I will happily accept any crumbs you are willing to give as each one will be a feast!”
“Django, did you talk like this when you were a squire?” Lettie asks. She can’t help it.
“Probably,” Django says. “Perhaps you’ve noticed the inherent drama of being a knight?”
“Fair,” Lettie says. “Drama on.”
Django puts his hand on Tarrif’s shoulder. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning. At dawn, here in Peach Plaza. I suggest you get a room in Happy Apartments, which is just across the way there.”
“I’ll procure a room at once. Are there food carts nearby?”
“Your best bet is to eat at the Round Table. We don’t charge an arm and a leg for meals. Next year, there’s talk of a general store opening up, so people can cook more of their own meals, but that won’t be for a while.”
“Thank you, Ser Django of Portia,” Tarrif says, sounding as serious as Lettie has ever heard a man. “I will not let you down.”
“All I ask is that your heart and mind be open to learning new ideas.” Django sits down again. “Tomorrow at dawn, Ser Tarrif.”
Tarrif nods. Right away, Lettie realizes his dilemma. “See that house right next to the path? There’s a stable there. We’ll take good care of your horse.”
Which she will. Her own horse, Cabbage, could probably use some company.
With one last nod, Tarrif jogs over to his horse and easily mounts up. A second later, he disappears.
Lettie waits. She knows what’s coming. She turns her head and Django is simply staring at her.
“The Storm Knight is knightly? And stormy?”
“I was just trying to build up your mystique,” Lettie says with a grin. “Okay and have a bit of fun. Do you blame me? Things have been boring since the last woman came here, the one that wanted you to pose for the statue.”
Django buries his head in his hands. “I had almost forgotten that one. Thank you, kindly, for the reminder.”
“I live to serve,” Lettie says. She nudges Django’s boot with her own. “You’re really going to teach him?”
“Like I said. I’m also going to make him work. Patrol with the Civil Corp, wash dishes at the Round Table, help McDonald on the ranch, that sort of thing. Always good lessons to be learned in manual labor.”
“Send him to me, too. I’ll have him help with the new and improved Dojo.”
Django shakes his head, clearly ready to start arguing this again. “You truly do not need to do this,” he says. “I’m completely content with what Mayor Gale originally commissioned.”
“Well, I’m not,” Lettie says. Which is the truth. Django deserves so much more than just a fenced-up area for sparring. “It’ll be ready by the First of Spring. No questions asked.”
“You’re remarkable, young one.”
Lettie beams at him. “Something we can finally agree on.”
Year 100 Fall 04
Why in the world did Django choose to meet at dawn of all times?
Django sits up on the side of the bed, taking stock of his body. Just the usual aches and pains of a man who turned forty-seven years old earlier this year. Ointment will help his creaky shoulder. Ice will be good for his knee. And hopefully having a squire to mentor will be a balm for his soul.
Since the time Django came to Portia, he assumed he had left the Storm Knight behind. That he would never again have to don that persona. That he could finally just be Django. He reveled in his anonymity for the first five years he lived in Portia.
Oh he noticed the way people rolled their eyes when he said he used to be a knight. Heard some of the whispers. It was exactly what he hoped.
Then the Rogue Knight attacked the town. And for one horrible moment, Django thought that the Rogue Knight was going to kill Lettie.
So Django stepped in. Threw away his hard-earned freedom and took up the mantle of the Storm Knight again.
All for the woman he fell in love with the moment he saw her two and a half years ago. A love that’s not meant to be. And since a knight only loves once? He will never love another person for the rest of his life.
At least he has her friendship. Django can’t think of a greater gift than that.
He pushes the thought of Lettie aside and takes a deep breath. He says his morning prayers, thanking the powers that be that he’s alive for another day and given the chance to make a difference in this world.
It’s still on the dark side when he leaves his house, early enough that there isn’t another single person on the street. In a couple of hours, Portia will be busy with people going about their day. But for now? Django is alone to enjoy the solitude.
Tarrif is waiting on the bench where Django sat yesterday. Gods, there are days when he doesn’t even remember being that young. While he might miss having the body of a nineteen-year-old, he certainly wouldn’t trade his experiences for anything in the world.
The moment Tarrif sees Django, he stands up and starts to jog towards him. “Hello, Ser Django!”
“Son, I told you. It’s just Django,” he says. There is a time and a place for titles, but Portia is not one of them as far as he’s concerned. “Walk with me.”
His plan is to walk out to the Eufaula Desert, to take in the barren beauty of the place. Maybe throw in a couple of metaphors about sand. Today, he truly just wants to get to know Tarrif a bit. Find out what sort of man he is, which will give Django the key to the type of knight he will be.
They start to walk past Lettie’s house. “You won’t need your sword today,” Django says. He points at the stable, which has a weapon’s rack. “You can place your weapon there. I promise you it will be treated with respect.”
Tarrif looks conflicted, which Django understands. No knight wants to be parted from their weapon. He places his sword in the rack, giving it a little pat before walking away.
“Now, how did you end up as Melinda’s squire? I met her, maybe fifteen years ago?”
A time before he put down roots in Portia. Roots he hopes never to have to dig up.
“She’s my aunt,” Tarrif says, somewhat sheepishly. “My dad, her brother, died when I was a child. Then one day my mother left me a note and vanished. I was eight, I believe. So Melinda made me her page, so she could raise me.”
Which showcases a very different person than the rash young woman Django remembers. “Did she tell you the real story about our meeting?” Django asks.
“You saved her from Enforcers?” Tarrif says. Already the affected speech from yesterday is gone. Django knew it was just for show. He probably did the same at nineteen.
“Lesson one. There is a difference between exaggeration and straight-up concealing the truth,” Django says. “Now, I am prone to exaggeration just like any other knight. It’s what we do. Make our lives seem bigger than life itself. But it’s never good to exaggerate when the other person knows the truth.”
“So you didn’t save her from Enforcers,” Tarrif says.
“Turn left here,” Django says as they start walking past Amber Island. Tody is there, fishing away, hopefully catching enough for everyone’s lunch and dinner tonight. “Your mentor stole a relic from an Enforcer, and they wanted it back.”
Tarrif grins. “The frisbee? Okay, she told me that story. She didn’t mention that you were there, though. She did tell me that you told her that a knight’s greatest strength is their ability to show compassion and their desire to help the people around them.”
Huh. That certainly sounds like something Django would say. Imagine a knight remembering all of that, and even better yet, passing that knowledge down to their squire.
“Those are certainly wise words, no matter who said them,” Django says. “Our ability to fight shouldn’t overpower our ability to help people.”
“Easy to say when you’re the Storm Knight,” Tarrif says. He looks over the Portia River. “I wonder what powers I’ll get from The Well.”
“You’ve decided to drink? Even knowing the dangers?”
Whatever lies beneath The Well is what grants knights their powers. Some knights, to be fair. Not every knight who drinks gets a power. And not every knight who drinks lives to tell the tale.
One of the many reasons why Django decided to open a restaurant in Portia was simply because his spirit was tired. He lost two squires in a row to The Well and he simply didn’t have it in him at the time to lose another.
“Even knowing,” Tarrif confirms.
“No one outside of Duvos knights have drunk from The Well in three years,” Django says. Duvos forces all of their squires to drink, while knights outside of Duvos give squires a choice. More and more squires are choosing not to drink. Though it’s also true that there are far fewer squires these days than there used to be.
They start walking over the Portia Bridge, an absolute marvel of building. Django helped with the installation; most of Portia did. Thanks to everyone’s effort, there’s a beautiful new town, giving plenty of people a second chance.
“Were you scared? When you drank?”
“I was absolutely terrified,” Django says, not really remembering if that’s true or not. It’s what Tarrif needs to hear, though. “I think everyone is. Think about it. You’re standing there, knowing these could be the last moments of your entire life. Of course you’re scared.”
“But your powers…”
“Powers are only as good as the knight who wields them,” Django says. “Melinda chose not to drink, if I remember correctly.”
“What’s it like? Being able to control lightning?”
A new twist to an age-old question. He’s been asked countless times what it’s like to have powers, but hardly ever about lightning itself.
“First off, I can’t control lightning. It’s more like I make a request. I’ve only brought down a lightning bolt from the sky three times in my life and I hope never to do it again. It takes time and care to harness nature like that and it leaves me completely defenseless if I’m in the middle of a fight.”
Django brings up his hand and concentrates. Sparks appear as the cackle of electricity surrounds his curled-up first. “This is the lightning fist. With this, I can protect myself from steel and do some damage. I just gather the natural electricity in the air that surrounds me.”
Tarrif stops walking. Django turns and looks back at the squire. So young. So sure he has all the answers to the universe. One of the most important lessons Django will teach him is that his journey has only begun. He will spend the rest of his life searching for answers. What a beautiful way to spend a life.
“Did you decide beforehand? That you wanted to drink?”
“Until the moment the knights asked me, I had no idea,” Django says honestly. “But then I knew in my heart that I wanted to do everything I could to protect the people of Ethea, of Barnarock, of the Free Alliance. And it simply made sense to take that chance.” He slaps Tarrif on the back. “The next ceremony won’t be until Summer. You have plenty of time to decide.”
Tarrif nods as he looks out over the Eufaula Desert. They’ve walked past the wall of sand blockers, leaving only the desert in front of them.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Django says. “There are as many ways to be a knight and to help people as there are grains of sand in this very desert.”
Django starts talking of honor and duty. Tarrif hangs on his every word. Maybe teaching the kid won’t be so hard, after all.
Year 100 Fall 07
“Lettie? Is there going to be a party for me if I walk in there?”
Lettie takes Lucy’s arm. They’re standing outside the Round Table and yes. There is absolutely a party waiting in there.
Lucy is Lettie’s best friend in Portia. When she moved here, Lettie never thought she’d ever find a friend who was as sarcastic and petty as Lucy. She is an absolute delight. And top that all off with the desire to help people and a passion for teaching? Lettie simply could not ask for a better friend.
Last year, the school kids had Lettie set up a surprise party for Lucy, which is basically the sweetest thing in the entire world. This year, Lettie took the lead, because Lucy deserves to be celebrated every year. Not just one.
“A party? For your mouth, maybe. Django’s a really good cook, you know.”
“You are the world’s worst liar,” Lucy says, punching Lettie on the arm. She’s smiling, at least. That’s the important thing. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again.”
Lettie pulls Lucy into her arms. “Only the best for my not-girlfriend.”
They talked about it once last season. That maybe they should be girlfriends instead of friend friends. A great deal of alcohol was involved. At the time, it made sense. They’re both bisexual. They love each other, friend wise.
So they kissed. And promptly realized that there was nothing there. Not even the tiniest hint of attraction. Alas.
“If people are going to make a fuss over me, let’s get this over with,” Lucy says. She’s still smiling, though. Lettie knew Lucy would get a kick out of this.
Lettie opens up the door and beams as everyone yells ‘Surprise!’
She looks around the room. Tarrif is there, wearing an apron. Django warned her he was going to put him to work during the party. All the usual suspects. And even Higgins. Good. Her other BFF needs to get out more.
From the looks of it, Django made all of Lucy’s favorite foods. Pickled black fungus, sweet and sour tenderloin, spicy and sour potatoes, along with a lot of different juice choices. Not Lettie’s favorites, but considering this party is for Lucy? She’ll deal.
Django commissioned a phonograph a while back and has it set up in the corner, playing music while people eat and talk. Lettie flits around from group to group, cause that’s what she likes best. Getting a chance to talk to everyone.
There are some presents from Lucy on the counter. Including one from Lettie. Lucy has been admiring Lettie’s small dagger for long enough. When Lettie found another in Ingall’s Mine? She knew she found the perfect gift for her best friend.
After two hours, Lettie sits down in one of the booths, content to people watch for a bit. It’s amazing how people have changed over the last two-and-a-half years. Everyone seems happier, and more content than they did when she first got to Portia. Maybe some of that is just buying into Mayor Gale’s plans. Which he has many.
Next up for Portia? Turning the Hot Springs into a destination resort. Make the inn into an actual spa. Albert and Gust are already designing the buildings. Once that’s done? It’ll be time for Lettie and Higgins to get to work.
But until then, she’s content to simply work on her commissions. It’s a better life than she ever thought she’d get, growing up in Barnarock.
The party ends, as all things eventually do. Before long, it’s only Django, Lettie, Albert, and Sonia in the restaurant.
“Clean-up is the worst,” Sonia says, her hand resting on her baby bump. She’s due in less than a season. Everyone in Portia is excited. It’s been a quite some time since Dolly, the last kid to be born in Portia, arrived.
“Why don’t you and Albert go home?” Lettie says as she taps her foot to the bright jazz music in the background. “Django and I can finish up here. I’m the one who booked a party. Least I can do is clean up after myself.”
“Really?” Sonia asks, sounding exhausted. “Oh thank you. The little one has been bouncing up and down on my bladder all night. I swear they’re gonna be a world-class gymnast by the time they get out.”
Albert puts his arm around Sonia’s shoulders. Lettie would have never guessed in a million years how much being married and soon to be a father would change Albert. He’s truly living his best life now. And better yet, not being creepy to the women of Portia anymore. Truly a win-win scenario for everyone.
“Now, now, I thought we agreed junior would be an architect.”
Sonia and Albert clearly have had this discussion before. “Architect, builder, knight. The only thing I really want for them is to see the world. Everything else is secondary.”
Albert helps Sonia put on a cardigan when the music changes from a bright melody to something sensuous and slow. “Ah, babe, I love this song,” Sonia says to Albert. “We should dance.”
Lettie puts down the pile of plates she’d been holding and can only grin as Sonia and Albert start to do just that. Even with the baby bump into between their bodies, they look perfectly content in each other’s arms.
“Shall we risk it?”
Lettie looks over at Django, who’s holding his hand out, clearly asking for the dance. “Why not?” Lettie says with a grin. It’s been ages since she’s danced. Probably not since she left Barnarock.
Django’s hand is sure as it settles on her waist. He takes her hand in his as Lettie rests her other hand on his shoulder, just like she was taught back in school. Lettie tries to think about the last time she was this close to another person like this. And drunkenly making out with Lucy last season doesn’t count.
The Second Day of Spring, when she and Aadit had one final conversation, before truly ending things between them. They had one last kiss. She barely remembers what it was like, to be honest.
“You know, Sonia has the right idea. It’s a beautiful wish to give a child, to want them to see the world,” Django says softly.
Lettie nods. “I’ve only ever seen Barnarock and Portia. Probably should try to see a bit more one of these days.”
“I thought you came through Highwind,” Django says. “You didn’t stop to smell the roses there?”
“I was so focused on just getting out of Barnarock,” Lettie says, remembering how desperate she was, wanting to get out of Aunt Kendra’s house. Aunt Kendra meant well, but she was so set in her ways when Lettie came to live with her. No matter what she did, Lettie felt like she was in the way. “I just wanted to start my new life.”
Django looks down at her and their eyes meet. “Well, I’ve seen most of the known world. You know I don’t say that brag. But out of the entire world? There’s nowhere I’d rather be than in this restaurant, right here. Right now.”
There’s an intensity in his voice that goes down to Lettie’s toes. In a moment of clarity—and why Lettie has this moment now instead of when she could actually use it, like in building—she realizes that she’s attracted to him.
Attracted to Django.
Look, it’s not mean to state facts and to repeat what one has said about themselves. Objectively, Django is not the best-looking man. But that is absolutely the least important thing about him. Django is kind. And thoughtful. And does so much to help the people in Portia.
Add all of that together? Django is one of the most beautiful men Lettie has ever had the privilege to know.
And now her body is betraying her and subtly trying to tell her that her subconscious thinks he’s pretty hot. Well, her subconscious can take a short walk off a long pier, because she is gonna lock these thoughts in a box. Hide the box in the deepest corner of her mind and throw away the key.
The song mercifully ends and Lettie takes a step back, hoping she’s not being completely obvious. Why in the world would Django ever be interested in a scatter-brained builder like her? He’s the Storm Knight. He could probably be with anyone he wanted. Why would he ever think of her like that?
Sonia and Albert leave the restaurant, leaving Lettie and Django alone. The music is still playing, but Lettie starts chattering away about anything and everything. Her MO when she’s nervous. Look, she likes to talk. She’s not going to apologize about that.
Before long, Lettie and Django have the restaurant looking like there never was a party here tonight at all.
And her box? The one where she stuffed those thought about Django being beautiful? The box that she has absolutely no time to deal with? Tucked far back in the corner of her mind, most likely never to be thought of again.
Year 100 Fall 21
The door to the Round Table practically flies open. There in the doorway is Alice. Sweet Alice who never tries to bring any attention to herself.
“Django?” she asks, sounding shaken.
“Yes, young one?” he asks, putting down the glass he was drying. Sonia stands up from her counter stool, and even Ack, who is helping out more and more in the kitchen here, wants to be included.
Alice takes a deep breath. “There is a very unpleasant man standing in Peach Plaza asking for the Storm Knight. He’s demanding that you turn over Ack!”
“Hot diggity. I’m not a piece of property, you know,” Ack says, sounding understandably insulted.
“We know, Ack. No one is turning over anything,” Django says, taking off his apron. This is not something he needed today, but he’s always played the hand he’s been dealt. “Alice, I want you to find Tarrif and anyone from the Civil Corp. Tarrif should be in the museum today. Ask them to please join me in Peach Plaza.”
“Okay!” Alice squeaks before turning around and sprinting right back out of the restaurant again.
“Join you?” Sonia says as she practically hugs herself. “You gonna offer this guy tea and scones, boss man?”
“Sonia, if you want to leave and go home, I will completely understand,” Django says.
Impending motherhood has changed Sonia a bit. Softened her. She’s not the selfish woman Django met six years ago, who only cared about spending time with her friends and fashion. It’s been a joy to watch her grow.
Sonia shakes her head and takes Ack’s hand. “Someone needs to stay with Ack. Wouldn’t be fair to leave him alone.”
“That is a very kind gesture!” Ack says. “Your company will be very much appreciated.”
“I’ll be right back,” Django says, heading into the kitchen. He has a spare set of armor hiding in a cupboard, for exactly these types of situations. He doesn’t bother with the trousers, but he does put on a thin piece of chain mail under his brightly colored overcoat.
A little extra protection never hurt anyone.
Finally, he grabs his bronze sword, the one Lettie made him so many years ago. The balance could be better, but this sword was forged by her two hands, therefore it’s the sword Django will use until he has no other choice.
He heads back into the main room of the restaurant. “Why don’t you two go back into the kitchen, just in case? You know we’ll let you know when it’s safe.”
Sonia clearly doesn’t need to be told twice and marches right to the back. Ack looks at Django. “Thank you,” he says, before turning around and following Sonia.
Django’s seen a couple of AIs in his life. Ack is the first one that he’s ever had the honor to call friend. And because of that? Django is going to make sure that no harm comes to him.
Peach Plaza is uncharacteristically quiet as Django leaves the restaurant. The sound of his boots on the stone path and the rustling of the leaves are the only sounds he hears.
Django turns. Leaning against the entrance to Peach Plaza is Enforcer Bardock. It’s been years, maybe almost a decade since the two of them last clashed, when Django found him harassing a caravan of refugees from Lucien. Something that Django simply couldn’t let stand.
The two of them have never actually fought. Only traded insults while Django reminds him of his duty as an Enforcer.
He’s not wearing the usual Enforcer uniform today, but perhaps that’s because of the bit of a gut he’s started to form. His posture isn’t as good as Django remembers. The man must be going through a rough patch. Django wonders if he can use that somehow.
“Bardock,” Django says. “I heard you came to Portia last year to say hello.”
Hearing that Bardock came to Portia while Django was on his quest to find the Rogue Knight terrified him. But according to the Civil Corp, he asked five people where the Storm Knight was. When all five gave not quite the exact same answer? He left.
“To find you,” Bardock says with a sneer. “Running away from your troubles, like usual.”
Somehow, Bardock has built up some sort of version of Django that simply doesn’t exist. Django’s never one to run away from his troubles. His troubles tend to be people that could seriously hurt someone in Portia, and that’s something he would absolutely never be able to live with.
Django hears another set of footsteps running towards him. A moment later, Arlo says, “Django. Care to introduce me to your friend?” Then in a much softer voice, one that only Django can hear, he adds, “Nora’s on her way to get the Minister.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Django can see Nora running up the steps towards the temple, taking them two at a time. Someone is clearly taking their roll seriously.
Good. A minister for the Church of Life has a far better chance to diffuse the situation than Django. Well, Django will just have to stall for as much time as he can.
Before Django has a chance to decide what to say next, Tarrif appears. “Apologies for being late,” he says, standing next to Django.
Tarrif’s been in Portia now for three week and Django likes to think they’ve been good for him. Instead of wearing his long hair down, it’s back in a practical braid. Maybe it’s projecting, but he likes to think that Tarrif is standing up a bit straighter then he did before.
“You know very well I’m not going to hand over Ack,” Django says, crossing his arms over his chest. “So why are you really here?”
Bardock starts to pace. “I’m tired of you getting in my way of destroying relics. Dangerous relics, that could kill all of mankind! We’ve lost so much. Yet here you are, trying to change the rules.”
Django certainly has not done anything of the sort. He follows the rules of knighthood, of engagement. It’s Bardock who keeps trying to entrap him.
“Ack isn’t dangerous.”
“That isn’t for you to decide!” Bardock roars. “That’s for—“
“The church to decide.”
Minster Lee is almost completely out of breath, no doubt from running down the temple steps. Even so, he walks up next to Arlo with his head held high.
“Captain, I just checked the latest Enforcer roster. Bardock the Blood Hunter has been excommunicated from the church. He has absolutely no authority as an Enforcer here.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Arlo says, staring hard at Bardock. “Looks like someone might be charged with threatening a citizen of Portia.”
Bardock pounds his fist in his hand. “This isn’t over, Storm Knight.”
One thing Django learned early on was not to make things personal. If he thought everyone fighting and attacking him was out for him alone? Instead of just after a knight? He’d lose his mind.
Bardock, here? Bardock has clearly made things personal and that can only end badly.
Django gathers the static electricity in the air around him and makes a lightning fist. “This is your invitation to leave Portia,” he says, taking a step forward. “And if I hear of any trouble in South Block, you and I are going to have a serious problem.”
“Bah!” Bardock yells, throwing his hands up in frustration. He turns around without another word and starts jogging towards South Block.
“Remington should be on patrol in South Block right now,” Arlo says. “He’ll be able to make sure Bardock leaves town.”
Only then does Django release the tension he’s been holding in his body. His electric fist fizzles out. He looks at the small group gathered around him. “Thank you all for your help. This ended just about as well as I could have hoped.”
“I’m supposed to go to Atara in a couple of days. For my try-out with the Flying Pigs. Should I stay? I don’t want any more trouble with that man,” Arlo says.
Django knows just how important that try-out is to Arlo. They’ve spoken about it enough over the last few seasons. “We’ll be fine. You’ve got good people in place here,” Django says. “You deserve some time off.”
Which is the truth. The Civil Corp has doubled in size in the past year. The official public reason is because of all the expansions planned. The real reason? People like Bardock the Blood Hunter.
The last thing Django wants is to bring trouble to his adopted hometown. But he takes great comfort knowing that if there is trouble? Portia will be ready.
Adrenaline is still coursing through his body and now that there isn’t going to be a fight, he’s fairly certain he’s going to crash soon. He knows his body. And if he’s going to crash? He wants to be sitting down for that.
He nods to the group then heads over to what he considers his bench. Once Django is sitting down, he closes his eyes and tries to meditate. To try to get the battle fever out of his system.
Time passes.
“Hey Django. Shoot, are you sleeping? You look like you’re totally sleeping.”
Django opens his eyes and sees Lettie standing in front of him. Which means it’s now the best part of his day. He’s not sure why she started spending time with him each afternoon, but he’s grown to cherish these moments where they simply sit side by side.
“I’m awake,” Django says, stretching his arms over his head.
She plops down on the bench next to him. “So Mayor Gale is nuts. Has anyone bothered to tell him that? His next big idea is to clear out the Collapsed Wasteland completely so Portia can start building there. Which means we will have to relocate a bunch of animals. Plus figure out the source of where all the imps are coming from plus fill in that giant hole. It will take years.”
Lettie looks over at him. She must see something in his face because her next words are, “You okay?”
He nods. Much better now, actually, that he’s seen Lettie’s face. But that is a secret he will keep close to his heart. She’s been through so much. The last thing she needs is to deal with the feelings of an old man.
“Got time for a story?” he asks.
“Always,” Lettie says brightly. She turns towards him on the bench, bringing her knees up to her chest. “Story away.”
“I just had an interesting meeting with an old friend.” Django looks over at Lettie and she’s already invested. “Let me set the stage…”
Django weaves his tale and as he looks at Lettie’s face, desperately tries not to wonder ‘what if?’
Chapter Text
Year 100 Fall 28
If someone told Lettie when she first moved to Portia that the highlight of her week would be a teenager’s birthday party, she would have laughed herself all the way back to Barnarock.
But here she is, sitting at the round table at The Round Table, toasting Toby as he turns fourteen years old. He’s still a little shit as far as she’s concerned, but he’s done a lot of growing up in the last three years.
Mentally and physically. Just last season, Lettie realized that he’s taller than her. Just by a centimeter or so. But still. Rude. That being said, she can start to picture the man he’ll be in a couple of years. Still probably up to making trouble, but wanting to help people more.
The banquet table is full tonight, with even more people in the surround booths. Django did things a bit different for this party. He only prepared one appetizer, main course, and vegetable for the meal.
And rounded it out with an entire dessert buffet. Seriously. His counter is completely full of various desserts. And not just the ones he makes. Martha added her fruit puffs and tarts to go along with different ice creams and puddings. Apple and pumpkin pie. And Lettie’s absolute favorite: Black Forest Cake.
Django stands up from the banquet table and taps his water glass with his fork. The restaurant quiets almost immediately.
He puts his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Being a knight is not a decision to be made on a whim. It requires a great deal of careful thought, to decide if knighthood is the best way to serve your community. For many years, that’s what I choose. And then I found Portia, and choose a different path.
“Toby here turns fourteen today. I have watched him grow from a child obsessed with adventure into a young man willing to risk his life for his community. I know you were terrified stealing the power cube from the All Source AI a year ago and you did it anyway.”
“I was,” Toby says with a nod as everyone starts to chuckle. “I really was.”
Django looks around the table. Making eye contact with every single person. When their eyes meet, Lettie feels seen. She thinks to that box, the one where she realized just how attractive Django really is, and gives it a few kicks, trying to push it further down. Those feelings are not something she needs today. Or ever, really.
“I humbly stand before you all to announce that in one week, I will officially be taking on Toby, son of Zach and Martha, as my squire.”
Everyone in the room starts cheering and applauding all while Toby sits there, looking absolutely dumbstruck.
“Really?” Toby asks, tears in his eyes.
Django nods. “I thought about this a great deal, young one. When I came to Portia, I assumed that I would never take on another squire. That part of my life had ended. Well, I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong.”
Toby perks up. “Does this mean I don’t have to go to school anymore?”
Lettie can’t help it. She lets out a snort. Of course that’s Toby’s first takeaway. Django glances over at her and gives her a grin. He’s probably thinking the same thing.
“Absolutely not,” Django says, his focus back on Toby. “Your education is more important than ever. Miss Lucy and I will be working out a curriculum fit for a knight.”
Toby turns to Martha. “You’re really okay with this, Mom?”
Martha takes Toby’s hand. “I don’t think I could let you go to anyone less than the Storm Knight,” she says. “Django will be the best guide I can imagine.”
Django gives Martha a half-bow. “I will not take your trust for granted, Martha.”
Toby’s pretty damn lucky to have Django as a mentor, that’s for sure. Lettie wonders if she would have liked to have been a knight. If a knight had taken her on as a page instead of going to Aunt Kendra’s. Yeah, she does not have the right temperament to be a knight. She’d probably be kicked out after a couple of weeks.
“I would like to propose a toast to my squire. To Ser Toby!”
Lettie quick picks up her glass of Seesai Fruit Mix and holds it up. “To Ser Toby!” she says with the rest of the group.
With the toast, dinner is complete. People start getting up and mingling and Lettie quickly decides to do the same. She makes her way over to Phyllis and Sam, who are talking in the corner.
“So can anyone top that news?” Lettie asks as a starter. “Toby’s entire life is about to change. Pretty cool.”
Phyllis tilts her head. “I’m not sure if this is as exciting as being a squire to the Storm Knight, but Dr. Xu has agreed it’s time for me to open up my own clinic.”
“Seriously?” Sam says, giving Phyllis a quick hug. “Phil, that’s fantastic!” She tilts her head. “Do we really need two clinics in Portia, though? I mean, yeah, we’re expanding, but that much?”
Lettie gives Phyllis a look. Because Lettie most certainly caught her drift, even if Sam didn’t. Because Sam is right. Portia absolutely doesn’t need to have two clinics.
“I won’t be in Portia any longer, silly,” Phyllis says to Sam. “My clinic will be in South Block. Mayor Gale is going to put up the commissions tomorrow. We’re hoping for an Spring Eighth opening.”
“That’s amazing,” Lettie says, because it’s true. Phyllis has earned this, absolutely no doubt. “When can I start calling you Dr. Phyllis?”
“Now, actually,” Phyllis says, looking like she can hardly contain her excitement. “Dr. Xu is going to make an announcement during the Snowball Tournament, when most of Portia will hear.”
“You’re leaving Portia?”
Both Lettie and Phyllis look over at Sam, who has a look of absolute devastation on her face. No, seriously. Sam looks like a puppy whose favorite toy’s been stolen.
Phyllis slips her arm in Sam’s. “I’ll just be across the river. You patrol in South Block every so often, right? And I’ll still come to all of Portia’s festivals.”
“Does South Block really need a doctor? Why can’t they just come to Portia?” Sam says as she kicks the floor with her boot. She is really not taking this well and Lettie’s kinda getting annoyed on Phyllis’s behalf. Sam is her best friend. She should be over the moon for Phyllis.
“Well, Mayor Gale is having more family homes built. Soon there will be just as many families in South Block than there are in Portia. They deserve to have a doctor nearby.”
“But what will I do if you leave Portia? You can’t,” Sam says. Well, whines is more like it.
Phyllis, understandably, seems to have had enough. “I can. This is the opportunity I’ve dreamed of. You know that. Sam, we’ll always be friends. Some distance won’t change that.”
Sam looks down at the floor and takes a breath. She looks up, as determined as Lettie’s ever seen her, and says, “No. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”
Hurt flashes across Phyllis’s face for just a moment. And it really is just a moment. Because the next moment? The next moment Sam is kissing her hard on the lips. Lettie worries for a second until she sees that Phyllis quickly starts to kiss Sam right back.
Lettie’s been lucky enough to have seen a lot of great moments in Portia. Planting trees in the desert. Opening the Harbor. Even fighting the Rat King. But this? Watching Sam and Phyllis kiss after they’ve both clearly wanted each other for so long? One of the best moments ever.
She cheers and isn’t surprised at all when the rest of the restaurant cheers right along with her.
Phyllis buries her face in the crook of Sam’s neck when they break apart. Sam’s arms are around her as she says, “Hey, Remy? Sorry, but I’m telling Arlo that the South Block Civil Corp office he wants built? It’s mine. Nothing’s gonna take me away from my girl.”
“I thought you’d never see reason,” Phyllis says, hugging Sam tight. “We’re moving to South Block!”
“Good thing I like the heat,” Sam says. She looks around at the crowd now gathered around them. “Um, so we’re gonna go. You all have a wonderful rest of the night. Bye!”
Lettie can only laugh as Sam and Phyllis all but run out of the Round Table, most likely to Happy Apartments, which is so much closer than Sam’s house. Good for them.
The party starts to dwindle after that. Before long, it’s just Lettie helping Django and Tarrif with cleaning. Sonia was sent home early again, considering she’s due in less than two weeks.
“Can I take some of the leftover Black Forest Cake home with me?” Lettie asks as she puts food into containers. Tomorrow, Django will take dee-dees around the countryside, dropping off the leftovers to various families.
“I baked extra just for that purpose,” Django says as he wipes down the banquet table.
“Seriously? That’s amazing. You’re the best,” Lettie says happily, continuing with her work.
“Django, can I ask a question?” Tarrif asks. He’s also putting food away, but the stuff that Django can sell tomorrow, like juice and ice cream.
“How many times have I told you to simply ask the question and not permission?” Django asks. The words sound harsh, but Django’s tone is anything but.
“The traditional age for a page to become a squire is fourteen. By all accounts, the lad should have been inducted today. Not a week from today.”
Lettie perks up at that. She likes learning about any sort of knight lore.
“You are correct. But it took me longer than I expected to make a decision and by the time I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get everything ready in time,” Django says, standing up straight and stretching his back. “He needs a leather-bound journal and a traditional tabard. I also bought him a scabbard from the craftsman who made my own first scabbard as a knight.”
“You’re excited about this, aren’t you?” Lettie asks. “Don’t try to deny it. I can tell.”
Which is true. There’s something lighter about Django. He seems more at peace with himself, which is something he absolutely deserves.
“No need to deny it,” Django says. “It’s a heady thing to be trusted with a squire’s future. I needed to be sure I was still up to the task.”
There’s absolutely no doubt in Lettie’s mind that he is. But she’s not able to make that decision for him. Only he can.
“Well, this is one of the best parties that Portia’s ever seen, as far as I’m concerned. Toby’s news and then Sam and Phyllis? Oh, I’m so happy for them.”
“Everyone deserves a little romance in their lives,” Tarrif says.
Lettie watches as Django nods. She briefly wonders what sort of romance he’s had before filing that away.
“You can keep your Vega 5s and Atara,” Lettie says, covering a slice of Black Forest Cake that will absolutely be her breakfast tomorrow. “Why would anyone want to live anywhere but here?”
Year 100 Winter 03
Django sees a spark out of the corner of his eye and sighs.
He’s sitting on his bench in Peach Plaza, trying to read a book. It’s new, one that Wuwa found for him in Vega 5. A History of Knights before the Time of Peach. Django’s only read a couple of pages, but he already knows this will keep him up past his bedtime tonight.
Just as he decides to ignore the spark, to keep reading, he sees another, bigger this time.
“Blast it,” Django says, standing up. He’s not much of a handyman, but surely he can change the power stone and fix whatever is happening to the electric box outside his restaurant.
He walks into the Round Table, a man on a mission. Ack, not Sonia, stands behind the counter. With Sonia so close to her due date, Dr. Xu has her on bed rest. Thankfully, Ack is more than willing to help out in the meantime.
Django’s always enjoyed talking to Ack. Especially loved learning about some of more popular dishes from the Age of Corruption. He’s never actually tried to make any, since he’s fairly certain some of the ingredients don’t exist any more. But it’s fun to think about.
He goes back to the kitchen, his own personal sanctuary. Here he has mementos of all of his travels. A silk banner from Seesai. Wood carvings from Logos. Even dirt from the Peripheries, the one time he adventured out there. Never again.
One wall is full of open shelves, where he keeps dishware and pantry items. In the corner is a ice box to keep his perishables fresh. Then on another wall, there’s a closed storage unit. Here, he’s fairly certain he’s got a spare power stone or two.
He does. Django goes back outside where the electric box is still sparking. As carefully as he can, he opens the box and reaches in to remove the power stone.
Which he quickly realizes is a mistake.
Django jerks back his hand, muttering a curse word under his breath. The darn thing just about burned him. Shaking his hand out, he stares at the electric box and wonders what to do.
“Django? Are you alright?”
There’s something about just hearing Lettie’s voice that calms him. “I picked a fight with this electric box and the electric box won.”
Lettie laughs, one of his favorite sounds in the world. “I’ve been in a couple of those fights myself. They always seem to win.” She looks at his hand. “Come on, let’s take a look.”
She doesn’t wait for his response before walking right into the Round Table. Django is helpless to do anything but follow.
“Ack, can you go start prepping the take-home dinners?” Django asks as he sits down next to Lettie, at the counter.
“Of course, Mister Django! I’ll get started in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”
“Three is fine,” Lettie calls out after Ack. She looks at Django. “Sometimes I worry we take him for granted.”
“It’s honest work for honest gols,” Django says. He pays what he considers a fair wage to Ack each month and he’s confident that Lettie does the same. “He seems happy enough.”
“True. And he’s actually not visiting Lara-Statue as much, which is probably a good thing,” Lettie says. “Okay. Your hand. Let’s see the damage.”
Django holds out his left hand, which now sports a violent red burn across the back. Not all that different from a cooking burn.
“I’m assuming you have a first aid kit?”
“Behind the counter.” Lettie immediate stands up and starts walking. “I’ll be fine, young one. I’ve done plenty of field medicine on myself over the years.”
Lettie holds up the first aid kit in triumph. “Of course you have. But here’s the difference. I’m here and I want to help,” she says, beaming at him.
“You know, those are some of the most beautiful words in all of the English language,” Django says.
“What are?” Lettie asks as she opens up the kit.
“I want to help,” Django says, meaning every word. “Those words mean everything to me.”
Lettie opens up a tube of burn cream. It’s an old recipe that Django gave to Dr. Xu when the man first arrived in Portia. Thankfully, Dr. Xu is more than willing to keep Django supplied in exchange for the odd meal.
She takes a deep breath. “There is just something about the herbs around Portia that I love. They smell so good. Don’t tell Alice, but even better than her flowers.”
“Certainly more practical,” Django says. “Though flowers do have their uses.”
Lettie takes his hand and Django tries to memorize this moment. Her hands aren’t quite as soft as he imagined, but he supposes that’s the pedestal he’s put her on. She’s a builder. The chances of her hands being soft are slim to none.
She rubs in the cream and Django wonders when was the last time someone touched him this tenderly. Oh he’s had the occasional dalliance over the years here in Portia; he is just a man, after all. But he’s never once had a dalliance with someone who lives in Portia. Only visitors.
But not one since he met Lettie. And he’s not sure if he ever will again.
Django can only watch as she wraps his hand with a gauze bandage. “This isn’t your sword hand, is it?” she asks.
“I’m right-handed,” Django says, shaking his head. “Back in my younger days, I tried dual wielding. Let’s just say that didn’t go nearly as well as I hoped.”
Lettie finishes wrapping his hand and inspects her work. “Not as pretty as Dr. Xu or Dr. Phyllis’s work, but at least it’s protected.”
“Thank you kindly,” Django says, flexing his fingers. He should have no issue preparing and cooking tonight’s meals.
He looks at Lettie, who grins happily before resting her hand on her chin.
It was easier when she was married.
When Lettie was married, Django didn’t have to worry then. He could simply care for her from afar and be content to be a part of her life. Because he would never dishonor her choices. And at the time, she chose Aadit.
And Django keeps needing to remind himself why someone as lovely as young as Lettie would ever look at him twice.
But there are moments that he wonders what if. And those are the most dangerous moments of all.
She’s looking out the window, clearly contemplating something. “A gol for your thoughts?”
“Oh they are not worth that much,” Lettie says with a laugh. “No, I’m just thinking. You know Edison? That admin for the Civil Corp?”
Django nods. “They seem like they’re fitting in well.”
“Maybe too well,” Lettie mutters. She looks up. “They asked me out on a date.”
Maybe that’s the answer to Django’s problems. Maybe she’ll find another person to be with. Someone not twice her age, but someone much closer too it.”
“What’d you say?” Django asks, trying not to sound too interested.
“I asked if I could have some time to think about it,” Lettie says, scrunching her nose. “And that’s really an answer right there, isn’t it? Like I can’t even say yes to give it a shot. I need to think first. Django, you know me. I hardly ever think first.”
That is something he absolutely adores about Lettie. How impulsive she is. How she goes after the things she wants. It really is the answer to her question.
“If I might use the example of the electric box. The one that would have maimed me for life if not for your skillful nursing—“ He pauses for a moment when Lettie lets out a laugh. Truly, there is nothing better than putting a smile on this woman’s face. “There needs to be a spark.”
“A spark.”
“A spark. If there’s no spark, why are you wasting both of your time?”
Django’s felt that spark with her, he’s sure of it. He’s just smothered it over and over again. Maybe… maybe he should try to see if it’s still there.
But then he pushes the thoughts aside. If one person has finally asked Lettie out for the first time after her divorce, he’s pretty sure that will open the floodgates. He remembers the grumblings of several young bachelors and bachelorettes when she started wearing Aadit’s heart knot. Surely they’ll want a second chance?
“You know, you’re right,” Lettie says. “Hopefully I can let them down easy.” She walks around to the front of the counter. “I need to take off. Got a meeting with Gale soon.”
Django watches her head to the door. She turns and looks back at him. “You know, I always feel so much better after we talk. Thank you.”
“Happy to serve.”
For her? Always.
Year 100 Winter 06
Lettie brings Cabbage into a trot as they reach the dojo. Once they’re still, she sits up as straight as she can and looks over her handy work.
There are days when she still really can’t believe that this is her life. That she’s a builder and kinda becoming a famous one at that. It’s the most amazing life she could have asked for. Her dad might never win ‘father of the year’ but he did give her this.
She hops off Cabbage and ties her to the hitching post. Lettie finished her commission early today and since the research center hasn’t gotten back with the designs needed for her next project, she has some free time.
So she does what she always does with a little free time. She heads to the dojo.
Lettie isn’t sure why it’s so important to her that Django has a dojo worthy of him. The first one Mayor Gale commissioned was… fine? Maybe fine is the right word. But Django deserves more than just a fenced in area with some training dummies and a weapon’s rack.
And since Mayor Gale certainly wasn’t going to pay for anything more? It’s up to Lettie. She’s not even really had to spend that many gols on the place. Just time and energy, which is something she is lucky enough to have in abundance.
The first thing she did? Move the location. It’s now closer to the lift at Bassanio Heights. A place where it won’t be in the way of the Martial Arts tournament or the Land Run. A little further for people to walk, sure. But worth it.
There’s still an outdoor sparring ring, along with a few training dummies and archery targets. Django told her once that knights always tried to spar and train outside, never again wanting to have something separate them from the sun. He said it much better than she ever could.
The outside? Done. Which means Lettie is working on the building itself. Cause that’s right. She builds buildings now. Watch out A&G Construction. Team Lettie is gonna steal your business.
It’s a pretty simple building, to be honest. Hardwood walls, since Django mentioned he liked being in nature when he could. One main room, with two smaller rooms off to the side. Inside, the main room has a seating for six, where Django can lead lectures and discussions. The suit of armor from the old dojo has a place of honor in the corner.
The first side room is more of a storage facility. A place for weapons and armors. Extra training dummies. That sort of thing.
Her favorite room is for the shrine. Which is the room she’ll work on now.
Django mentioned that most knights are somewhat religious. Some to the Church of Light, some to their own gods. Lettie’s never asked Django what he believes, but she’s never seen him at the temple.
Over the last three years, she’s managed to find a couple of really nice tapestries. Neither involve knights, but they’re beautiful to look at in their own way. One is a depiction of a forest, the other show birds flying in the sky. Those are hung up on the walls, along with a photograph she took of Portia from above, when she was up in a hot air balloon.
Her skivers are working on covers for some larger cushions she had Carol make. Lettie is going for jewel tones. Royal blues and emerald greens.
Then last but not least? She’s going to make a small shrine. That’s what she wants to work on today. She’ll make a craft candle for it once it’s closer to the grand reopening.
She just wants Django to have a private place where he can gather his thoughts and meditate. He deserves that.
Django’s seen the main room and the storage room. But this room? He’s not seeing until it’s ready. She likes the idea of surprising him, so he’ll see it only when it’s perfect.
“Lettie! Are you there?”
That’s Tarrif’s voice. And probably his fists that are pounding the door to the dojo. Huh.
She and Tarrif have somewhat become friends in his short time at Portia. He’s got an ego that he carefully hides from Django, which is something she will never get tired of calling him out on. Other than that, he’s just a decent guy who wants to help people.
There need to be more people like him in the world.
Lettie goes to the main door and says, “Password.”
“I have good gossip?”
She opens the door. “That is the magic word. Come on in.”
“So this is the dojo that you’ve been so secretive about,” Tarrif says as he strolls in. “It’s lovely.”
“Well, yeah. That’s the way I made it,” Lettie says. “So spill. What have you heard?”
“It’s about the Storm Knight,” Tarrif says, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing what Lettie has come to consider his knightly clothes, meaning he probably had a lesson about something or other earlier in the day.
“About Django?” Lettie asks. She hates that she’s curious, but she is. As good a friend as Django is, he still holds his cards close to his chest. There’s a lot she doesn’t know about the man. “Like what?”
Tariff’s eyes light up. “The Storm Knight has an unrequited love.”
Now that catches Lettie’s attention. “Wait? Seriously? He actually told you that?”
“Our lesson today was of matters of the heart. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘a knight only loves once?’”
Lettie nods. That’s been part of knight lore forever. Poems and songs and books have been written about knight’s love affairs and how constant they are in their affection. “Django is in love with someone?”
“He is,” Tariff says. “He rightly refused to give me details, but he says he wears a token around his neck.”
She tries to think if she’s ever seen him wearing a necklace of any type. She can’t say that she has, but his overcoat covers a lot. It’s romantic, if one liked romance. Lettie’s never been one for romance, herself. She’s always had too much to do.
“I don’t understand,” Lettie says, a constricting feeling not leaving her chest. “He’s Django. Even before we knew he was the Storm Knight, he’s still basically one of the best people in all of the Free Alliance. Who wouldn’t love him back?”
Why can’t she breathe?
“He didn’t tell me,” Tarrif says. “I asked. Multiple times.”
“Just, don’t go around and tell anyone else, okay? I don’t think Django would want this out there,” Lettie says. Django deserves to love whoever it is in peace and not worry about what other people are saying.
“What do you take me for?” Tarrif asks, actually looking a little insulted. Good. That’s the attitude she wants. “I’m only telling you because you and Django are good friends. And I needed to tell someone or I would burst. I’m not going to tell anyone else.”
“Well, you’ve told me,” Lettie tells Tariff, shooing him with her hand. She needs to be alone with her thoughts. “I’m sure you have something very knightly to take care of. I have work to do.”
And figure out just what exactly is wrong with her. She’s pretty sure she knows the answer, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. Is she… Does she…
Django?
“As do I. I shall take my leave. Farewell, young maid.”
Lettie snorts. She’s not been a maid for a very long time. A moment later, Tariff’s back on his horse, leaving her in the Dojo. Alone.
Aadit left her almost a year and a half ago. Granted, Lettie managed to process her divorce fairly quickly. It’s easy when you find out that your husband was willing to steal the All Source AI for Duvos, of all places, in order to keep you safe.
Lettie didn’t feel very safe when the Rogue Knight threw a school building across Central Plaza, Aadit. But. Details.
That relationship is done. Even with the knowledge that knights only love once, and Aadit all but confirmed that the one time they’ve managed to talk since he left. But while she’ll probably always have a tiny corner in her heart for her first husband, she’s not in love with him anymore. Not since she found out the truth.
Which means… Django?
A spark was there all along and she just didn’t see it.
She closes the door to the dojo; all her motivation for work today is gone. How can she work when Django is in love with someone who doesn’t love him back?
And a knight only loves once, which means Lettie doesn’t have any chance at all.
She wonders if it’s someone in Portia. Tariff didn’t give her any clue who it might be. There are a lot of unmarried folks in Portia, though, she supposes she shouldn’t rule out those in relationships already. Hearts can be foolish sometimes. That’s a lesson Lettie learned the hard way.
But he’s only been in Portia for six years. So it’s probably not. Probably someone from his youth who is beautiful and tall and quotes poetry and uses a sword elegantly instead of just bashing enemies with a giant hammer like Lettie does.
Someone who is basically her exact opposite.
Lettie’s never been one to let heartbreak keep her down for long. Yes, this revelation is gutting her. But is she going to let it stop her from enjoying her life? Absolutely not.
So she gets up on Cabbage and starts to trot into town. It’s Saturday, so Lucy will be around somewhere and hopefully bored. Then they can go spend some time together.
While Lettie figures out how to live in her new reality. A reality where Django loves someone. Who isn’t her.
Chapter Text
Year 100 Winter 07
Django’s always thought there's a hint of magic in the air the day a young man becomes a squire. Over the years, he’s been part of countless ceremonies. They still thrill him; still make him proud to be a knight.
He and Tarrif are waiting by the main entrance to the new and improved dojo, dojo 2.0, as Lettie likes to call it. In the distance, he can see Toby and Martha walking down the path towards them.
Django puts his hand on Tarrif’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here for this, son. Toby deserves to have someone witness this.”
Tarrif all but preens at the praise. That’s something Django will keep trying to work on with him. How not to be awestruck. Though Django was sure he was probably the exact same way back when he was a squire.
It’s been better than Django thought it would, having Tarrif around. Once he lost the effected language, deep down, he just wants to help. He’s not doing this for love of a person or personal glory. He’s doing this for the love of his fellow human beings.
One of the purest loves there is, as far as Django is concerned.
“Oh look, here we are,” Martha says, clearly trying not to fuss, as they reach the gate. "Right on time.”
Over the last two seasons, Django has had a great number of discussions with Martha, about this very day. She’s still scared, understandably, that Toby will simply run off to the Peripheries or even the Great Begeondan.
Without proper training, maybe he would. But Django’s pretty darned convinced that once Toby trains to be a knight, he’ll be content having adventures closer to home.
At the end of the day? She wants her son happy. And Toby’s old enough now to have idea of what that looks like.
“Thank you for escorting Toby here, Martha,” Django says, trying to sound formal, as he gives her a small bow. He never could get rid of his flair for the dramatic.
“Well, I couldn’t… I know I can’t be here for the actual ceremony, but I couldn’t just let Toby walk over by himself.”
“Ma, I’m fourteen. I’m practically an adult!”
Martha straightens the front of Toby’s shirt. “In my eyes, you’ll always be my little boy.”
Django has to hide a smile at the look of humiliation on Toby’s face. Rather than extend the boy’s misery, he puts his hand on Martha’s shoulder.
“I’ll need to ask you to leave now. Thank you for letting Toby be a part of this,” he says gently.
Martha nods, practically wringing her apron in her hands. “Be careful! Remember that I love you!”
Toby rolls his eyes but brings Martha in for a hug. They’re almost the same height now. “I love you, too, Ma,” Toby whispers, probably a bit louder than he wanted. Django remembers being a boy that age. He would never want to admit he loved anyone then.
Martha takes a deep breath. “I’ll have your favorite soup ready for dinner,” she says.
“The spicy fish soup? But you hate that soup.”
“But you don’t,” Martha says, putting her hand on Toby’s cheek. “Do well.”
She turns without another word and starts the walk back to Portia.
Django opens up the door to the dojo and lets them all inside. Lettie’s added a few more touches since the last time he’s seen the main room. It still awes him that she’s going to so much trouble just for him.
He never dreamed he’d have a dojo of his own like this. Django won’t take it for granted.
“You’re lucky to have a mother who loves you as much as you do,” Django says, closing the door to the dojo behind him.
“Did your mom make a huge fuss when you became a knight?” Toby asks.
One thing he’s always done with his pages and squires is tell them the truth. If they are going to trust him to show them the ways of knighthood, they deserve absolute honesty from him. And now he will extend that to Toby.
“I don’t actually remember my mother,” Django says. “The very first memory I have is running away from what used to the be the Civil Corps in Ethea. I was about five years old.”
Toby’s eyes grow wide. Over the past few years, Django’s shared a couple of personal details with the boy as they trained. But nothing like this.
“Why were they chasing you?”
Django chuckles. That was the question he expected Toby to ask, not Tarrif. But Tarrif looks just as riveted as Toby does.
“I probably stole some food,” Django says as casually as he can, just to see their reactions. “I lived on the streets back then, you see. Then when I was seven, my mentor Hester found me. And I became a page.”
Toby is almost brimming over in excitement with the information Django just shared. Which leads to a very important point.
“I tell you this in confidence, Toby, because you’re my squire, and I know I can trust you,” Django says, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will be very disappointed if I hear other people in Portia talking about my childhood.” Django looks over at Tarrif. “That goes for you, too, Tarrif.”
“I won’t tell anyone, promise!” Toby says eagerly. “Not even Jack.”
“That there is a serious promise,” Django says, smiling. “Now, there are a few more things you need to know before you make a final decision.”
“Like what? Nothing’s going to make me change my mind!”
Ah, Django remembers that sort of earnestness. He was just the same when he was a teen. Determined that he always knew the best possible outcome and could never make a mistake.
Django raises his hand, letting some electricity dance around his fingers. “Have you ever wondered how I got these powers?”
He’s actually surprised Toby never ambushed him with questions about the lightning fist. But everyone is still processing some trauma about that day. Maybe Toby didn’t want to know.
“Well, yeah, of course, Uncle Django—“
“If I’m to be your mentor, it’s Ser Django,” he corrects gently.
“Ser Django,” Toby says at once. “I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”
A surprisingly astute observation from the lad. Good for him. “Well, you are right about that. The way knights get their powers is a secret. It’s the only secret we keep from the rest of the known world.”
Toby is hanging on his every word now and even Tarrif looks entertained. “Am I going to learn the secret?” Toby says, practically in a whisper.
“Part of the secret. Then if we move forward, you’ll learn the rest,” Django says. “There is something a knight does for the chance to receive their powers. Nothing dishonorable. Just a simple act. And for some knights, this act gives them powers.”
“Some knight?”
Toby catches on quick. Always helpful in a protégé. “That’s right. Only some. Some don’t receive any powers. And some?” Django takes a breath and thinks of the squires he’s lost to The Well over the last twenty-five years. “Some don’t make it, Toby. Some die.”
“Oh,” Toby says, looking down at the floor. “So all that training to become a knight and you die? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It really doesn’t, does it?” Tarrif asks.
Toby looks up at Tarrif. “Are you going to do whatever it is knights do to get their powers?”
Tarrif looks thoughtful. Far from the brash, young man who arrived in Portia a season ago. “I haven’t decided yet,” he says finally.
Django nods his head. That’s exactly the answer he hoped for. A month ago, Tarrif made it clear he would be drinking from The Well. And for the last month, Django’s done whatever he can to make Tarrif help people, to show him how much good he could do without any powers.
He wants Tarrif to make the decision with all the facts. If he chooses to drink from The Well? Django will be there and hope that he makes it through to the other side.
“I still want to be a knight,” Toby says, straightening his shoulders. “Even if there’s a chance I might die. I want to protect people.”
Those are the words Django’s been waiting to hear. A few years ago? Toby wanted an adventure. He wanted to fight. Now? He wants to protect.
“Then kneel, Toby, son of Zach and Martha.” Toby immediately does, a rapt look on his face. “Do you promise to defend and protect the good people of this world? To uphold the values of knighthood? To be a pillar of honor, virtue, and determination?”
Toby nods quickly. “I do, Unc— Ser Django. I promise.”
Django takes his bronze sword, the one Lettie made him not too long after she came to Portia, and lightly taps the flattened edge of his blade on Toby’s shoulder. First one. Then the other.
“And I promise never to abuse your trust. To show you the way of the knight, so that you may bring good into this world,” Django says as solemnly as he can. He’s always thought these ceremonies needed to be a two-way street. Promises from both squire and knight.
“Yes, please,” Toby says in a small voice.
“Let it be known, with Ser Tarrif as witness, that Ser Toby is now the squire of Ser Django, the Storm Knight.”
Toby searches both his and Tarrif’s face. “That’s it? I’m a squire?”
“You’re a squire, just like me,” Tarrif says with a grin. “Welcome!”
Toby jumps up and without any warning, hugs Django tight. All Django can do is chuckle as he hugs the young man back. He vaguely remembers doing the exact same thing to Hester when he was promoted from a page to a squire.
“Now comes the hard part, young one,” Django says. “Now you have to earn that title.
But Django has no doubt that Toby will.
Year 100 Winter 08
“Can’t get enough of the dojo, huh?” Lettie calls out as Django walks towards her.
“I’m on my way to see Yeye. Saw Cabbage out here and thought I’d say hello.” Django starts to look over the actual dojo building. “Where’d you get this design? It doesn’t look like anything Albert or Gust would come up with.”
“I decided to design it myself,” Lettie says. Which is the truth. “And because I have no idea how to design buildings, I started with a square. A square seemed like a really safe option.”
“Since when do you play it safe?” Django asks.
“Hey, this building officially made me an architect. How many builders can say they both designed and built the darn thing,” Lettie says. She jumps up on the side of the fence and crosses her leg over her knee. The fence isn’t really meant for sitting, but she’ll pretend it is for now.
“You are one in a million,” Django says with a small bow. Lettie grins. From the way he says the words, she almost believes him. “Thank you, by the way, for letting us use the main room for Toby’s ceremony.”
“So that’s all done? Toby’s officially a squire?”
Django nods. “He still has some growing up to so. But he’s going to make a fine knight someday.”
“You didn’t go into the side rooms, did you?” Lettie asks. Sure, she said Django could have his super-secret ceremony in the dojo. That’s what it’s meant for. But she told him in no uncertain terms not to go into either of the side rooms. It’s not that she cares about the storage room, it’s just easier to tell him both than just one.
“I am a man of my word,” Django says, putting his hand on his heart. “I did not step one foot in either room. Or open the door.”
Satisfied, Lettie says, “Good.” Django wouldn’t lie about that.
She hasn’t seen Django since the revelation of his unrequited love. Lettie desperately wants to ask about his love, or even ask about his personal life in general. It’s very possible that when she was spiraling over all of this during the last forty-eight hours, that Lettie realized just how little she actually knows about Django.
She doesn’t know anything about his family. About where he grew up. Just that he became a page when he was seven years old.
What terrifies her is that’s exactly the same position she was in with Aadit. He didn’t tell her a damn thing and it got to the point where she stopped asking, because he never answered.
If, by some miracle, Django could move past his unrequited love and see her as an option? She can’t go through that again. She can’t. She needs, no. She deserves someone who’s willing to be open and honest with her and not run away if she has a curious question.
“Hey Django. Where’d you grow up? Like, before you became a page,” Lettie suddenly asks. Because this is it. If he refuses to answer, she’s done. She’ll tell her heart that it’s a stupid heart and accept Edison’s very kind invitation to dinner even though there’s no spark.
“Ethea,” Django says without any hesitation. “Small city near the Seesai border.” He tilts his head. “You spend your entire childhood in Barnarock? Or just after you lived with Aunt Kendra?”
Or he could answer and then ask a thoughtful follow-up question, leaving Lettie in the exact same position she was in before. Aadit never asked her questions. Probably because he didn’t want her asking them right back.
“The first time I ever left Barnarock was to come here. I was terrified,” Lettie admits, thinking back to the boat ride from Barnarock to Portia. By the end, she could run up and down the bow, looking out over the ocean. But when the trip began? Lettie thought she had made a terrible mistake.
“Well, I’m certainly glad you came to Portia,” Django says. “I don’t think we’d have accomplished half of what Mayor Gale set out to do, without you.”
The words sound so sincere that Lettie scrunches her nose. “Higgins could do it.”
Which is true. He totally could. It would just be more expensive and he’d complain the whole time. She doesn’t think her best friend would disagree with that assessment.
“Maybe,” Django concedes. “But you did.”
All this sentimentality is getting to her. Lettie is not one to handle sincere compliments. So she does the ol’ tried and true method. She changes the subject.
“Hey, you wanna spar? The sparring ring is all done. No one’s tested it yet. No weapons.”
Django chuckles and Lettie’s face softens. Maybe she should say something. Do something. She’s never been one to not act on her feelings. That’s basically the complete opposite of who she is. And then at least she’d know. If he’s not interested, she moves on with her life. Easy peasy.
If only.
“You’ve won the martial arts tournament two years in a row,” Django says. “What more do you need to prove?”
“Seriously?” Lettie asks, raising her eyebrows. “I fought you last year and you were totally faking it and let me win. And you didn’t fight this year because of your whole—“ She waves towards Django’s midsection. “I’m not going to believe I’m any good until I can fight you without completely embarrassing myself.”
Django crosses his arms over his chest. “Not win against me?”
Lettie rolls her eyes. “I’m a realist. I know you could kick my ass. You kicked Aadit’s ass—“
“After you and three members of the Civil Corps wore him down.”
That brings her up short. “Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“You never give yourself enough credit,” Django says softly. Then he lets out a breath and Lettie can almost feel the anticipation and Django brings himself to his full height. Wow. He is tall. She is not. “Fine. You want to fight the Storm Knight. You can fight the Storm Knight.”
Okay. They’re doing this. Sparring with Django. Moving into his personal space. Getting sweaty. It’s very possible that Lettie didn’t think this through and wow, isn’t that the story of her life?
They move into the sparring ring and Lettie bounces on the balls of her feet. Since the Battle of Portia, she’s gone to a couple of Django’s self-defense lessons. She’s pretty sure she’s improved. But to be fair, the only thing she’s fought recently are imps in the hazardous ruins.
“There’s a delayed timer,” Lettie says as Django looks at the post with two timers attached. “That way if no one is around to start the timer, you can still spar. It’s the one on the left. Hit it once, and you’ll have ten seconds to get into position.”
“That is very handy,” Django mutters under his breath.
“Cause I’m a genius,” Lettie replies. Jokingly, of course. She is a horrible speller.
“No argument there, young one,” Django says, pressing the timer once.
“Hey,” Lettie says, stamping her foot. “You’re not allowed to be sincere. That is absolutely forbidden, oh shit you pressed the timer okay here we go.”
Django makes the first move.
All Lettie needs to do is survive for sixty seconds, the traditional length of a spar. She can absolutely do this. After all, she is little and fast. She just needs to dodge and get out of the way, which is exactly what she does.
Lettie decides to go for it. She does a roundhouse kick which Django evades easily. He follows with a forward lunge and as far as Lettie’s concerned? Tit for tat.
The second she gets out of the way, she grabs Django by the waist and pulls him down with her. They both get back up almost instantly. She wastes no time jumping onto his back and trying to put him in a headlock.
Yeah, she is absolutely not gonna beat him.
Django forces his hands into her arms, breaking her hold on his neck. Lettie scampers off his back then slides forward, trying to get him off balance.
It works, and Django falls right to the ground next to her.
The timer dings.
“I think that’s a tie, young one. That’s probably the closest anyone has come to beating me other than Mali,” Django says with a grin. Like this fact makes him happy. Like Lettie makes him happy.
Django hops to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. As he does, Lettie notices his necklace, the token he wears in honor of his unrequited love. It must have fallen out from under his clothes during their spar.
Time stops.
Lettie knows that necklace. Remembers combing the beach for hours, looking for just the right shell. And she found one. A sand dollar with almost a translucent sheen.
The moment she’s on her feet, she says, “I thought that necklace was for a friend.”
Because that was their deal. She made him a necklace and he made the dartboard game for Jack and Toby. If Django’s wearing a necklace that she made. That means…
She’s his unrequited love? After all the angst she’s put herself through during the last forty-eight hours, she should be thrilled. But she’s not. She’s furious.
“Tarrif let it slip that you wore a token,” Lettie says, her voice quiet. “Your token is something I made?”
Django goes perfectly still. And for someone with as much nervous energy as he has, it’s really, really still.
Lettie thinks back to her early days in Portia, when she was struggling just to survive. The time she overheard Sonia giving him shit for overpaying for the fish she brought in. The times he corrected her fighting stance all without seeming too knowledgeable. The times she stopped by the Round Table, near closing time, but he always seemed to have a plate of food ready for her.
All the quiet moments they’ve shared since Aadit left. Sitting next to each other on their bench in Peach Plaza, just content to spend time together. She’s never felt more at peace than when she’s with him.
And all this time she was just part of his angsty knight tale? Unrequited? How would he even know if he never even asked?
“Was everything in the beginning just to get in my pants? Just part of your narrative?” Lettie asks, hating how much hurt she hears in her voice. Was any of their friendship real? Django doesn’t even open his mouth to respond. She shakes her head. “Never mind, I don’t even want to know.”
Without another word, Lettie turns around and sprints the short distance to Cabbage, who is waiting at the hitching post, looking bored. A second later, Lettie is galloping around a herd of colorful llama on the way back to her home.
Wow, is she being a coward right now. But she doesn’t even care. Once she gets to the gate of her house, she hops off Cabbage, who still looks bored. Lettie brings Cabbage to the stable and starts to groom her.
The plan after that? An evening alone with a bottle of wine and her thoughts. Maybe then she’ll be able to figure out what to do.
Ten minutes later, Cabbage is happily chomping on hey, not looking bored, and Lettie turns to head back to the house. And then she sees him.
Django is walking up to her front gate. His necklace is nowhere to be seen. She wonders if it’s under his clothes or if he’s taken it off completely.
“I’d like to talk, Lettie, if that’s alright with you,” Django says. His nervous energy is back as he slightly sways back and forth.
Just like that, Lettie knows he’s fighting for her. Like she’s worth the trouble. Lettie’s never thought she was worth the trouble. Aadit did, but that trouble led him away from Portia, where she’ll probably never see him again.
Django does, too. And he’s here. Waiting.
As far as she’s concerned, Lettie has two choices right now. She can ignore Django and head into her house. Their friendship will end. They’ll probably hardly ever even talk any more. Or she can open the gate and see what he has to say.
Turns out it’s not a hard choice at all.
Lettie opens the gate and steps onto the path. She looks up and Django is staring at her with the softest smile on his face. She can’t help but give him a small smile of her own. They both know how this will probably end. They just need to figure out how to get there.
“I’m going to lay it all out on the table,” Django says.
“First time for everything,” Lettie shoots back without much heat. “You didn’t tell anyone the truth about being the Storm Knight. You didn’t tell me about your feelings for however long you’ve had them—“
“Since the moment I laid eyes on you,” Django says, his voice quiet. “You were red-faced and sweaty from chopping down your very first tree and I saw the look of triumph on your face, and I was gone.”
Lettie remembers that moment. He asked why she was so happy and she said she cut down a tree. He gave her a rainbow lemonade to celebrate.
“But why didn’t you—“
“Say anything?” Lettie nods. “You have to remember that at the time? I was twice your age and I had never been in a real relationship before. So I waited. I told myself, when she’s got both feet on the ground. Maybe then. But by the time you did, you were happy with Aadit. Of course I respected your choice.”
Okay, so yeah. That actually makes sense. When Lettie was twenty-two and stupid, she might not have wanted Django’s advances, because she didn’t know him then. Now she’s twenty-five and knows herself. She knows him.
“But what about after?” Lettie challenges. “Maybe you’ve noticed I’ve been divorced for almost a year and a half.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me,” Django says. He sounds almost surprised, like he didn’t realize it himself. “You deserve to make that choice, not just take whatever you’re offered.”
“The spark,” Lettie says.
“You’ve felt it, haven’t you? I know you have.”
She thinks of the black box she stuffed her feelings into when she did feel that spark. Well, looks like it’s time to get out the shovel and do some digging.
Lettie reaches out and takes Django’s hand. “Yeah. I have.”
Django almost looks terrified, which is pretty understandable about right now. She’s just about to ask him to come inside when she sees a huge figure walking up the path from the harbor.
“DJANGO!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Django says as he looks at the hulk of a man walking closer. “Lettie, I’m afraid we’re going to have to finish this conversation another time. Please go get Tarrif and the Civil Corp.”
“What’s going on?” Lettie asks, not letting go of Django’s hand.
Django strokes her cheek. Just once. “I need a little back up. We’ll talk once this is over, okay?”
Lettie nods. This must be one of the Storm Knight’s enemies. Well, she’s certainly not going to waste any time finding everyone. She drops Django’s hand and he turns towards the man.
“Bardock. It’s time you and I had a little talk,” Django says, like he’s talking to an old friend.
She runs.
Year 100 Winter 08
Of all the times Bardock could come back to Portia, why did it have to happen during the most important conversation of Django’s life?
His mind is absolutely reeling over what’s happened in the last fifteen minutes. The spar. Lettie seeing his token, knowing it was a token—
No matter what happens, Django is going to have a serious conversation with Tarrif. That information was told to him in confidence as a squire. But if somehow? If Lettie doesn’t hate him forever after today? Django just might find it in himself to forgive him.
Maybe.
—and Lettie taking his hand? Let’s just say that Django’s not exactly at his best right now. And now Bardock is here. Looking larger than the last time he was in Portia. Django can’t even think of how that might be possible.
But that’s not the concern right now. All Django cares about is getting Bardock away from the people of Portia.
“Hand over the AI,” Bardock demands.
They’re standing only a few feet away from each other, closer to the entrance of Peach Plaza than he likes. He wants Bardock’s focus on him, not the town. Once the Civil Corp or Tarrif get here, then they can work on moving him away.
Until then? Django will simply have to block the way to town.
“You have no authority here,” Django says. He’s itching for his sword, but it’s in the kitchen of the Round Table and here’s here. Luckily, he knows he can fight plenty well without it. “I’m going to ask you to turn around and leave.”
Zoe, the newest Civil Corp recruit, is the first to arrive. She stands next to him, a pair of daggers at her hip. Tarrif is next to join, his shield on his back, sword hanging from his belt.
Arlo is still in Highwind, but hopefully Lettie will be able to find everyone else in the Civil Corp. With all of them, hopefully they can all convince Bardock to leave peacefully.
“He’s charging!”
The moment Bardock starts to move, Django brings up a lightning fist and throws the electricity at Bardock. An amount of voltage that would have a normal person down on their knees, not able to move.
It doesn’t even slow Bardock down.
Tarrif is the one to meet first steel with Bardock, blocking the blow meant for Django. The two start to duel, but Bardock is clearly stronger. As they fight, Remington and Karla join the group.
“How do you want us to handle this?” Remington asks.
“For now, let me and Tarrif fight. I’ll let you know when to join in. Or if we fall, then it’ll be up to you all.”
A moment later, Django catches a glimpse of Lettie out of the corner of his eye. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away.
“Here,” she says, running right up to him. She hands him his sword as she takes her hammer off of her back. “Sam’s in South Block. Edison is going to try to get a message to her.”
As much as he wants to linger and just stare at Lettie’s face, he needs to end this.
“Everyone but Tarrif stay back,” Django orders as he jumps into the fight. He’s got no idea if they’ll listen, but too many people attacking at once and someone will get hurt.
“I’m here!”
Django had no doubt his squire would show up to help. But this is not where Toby needs to be. “Gather everyone in Portia. Take them to the schoolhouse.”
The schoolhouse is the sturdiest building in Portia, thanks to the Rogue Knight. Lettie made upgrades when rebuilding to ensure that Portia had at least one building that could weather any sort of attack.
“I can fight!”
“Part of being a knight—“ Django dodges to get out of the way of Tarrif’s sword so he can press the attack. “—is knowing when not to fight. I need you protecting the town!”
Django would have done the same thing at Toby’s age, beg his mentor to let him help her.
“But—“
“No buts, Ser Toby. Lead everyone to the schoolhouse. Now.”
“Okay!”
Django doesn’t look back. He knows his squire will follow his instructions. And if somehow he discovers Toby didn’t? Then he will no longer be Django’s squire. It’s as simple as that.
Bardock isn’t even breaking a sweat. Nothing Django or Tarrif does even slows him down. Bardock suddenly brings out a cannister and pours it down his throat like a shot of alcohol.
Bubbling green liquid dribbles down his chin and Django’s fury rises.
The Well. The bastard somehow found The Well. One of the knight’s most sacred places.
“That’s right,” Bardock says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I found it. Found what gave you knights all your powers. I AM INVINCIBLE!”
“Django?” Tarrif asks, and for the first time since Django met the squire, he hears a touch of fear in his voice.
“The Well.”
“I told the church,” Bardock says. “I told them exactly where it is in Ethea. The Enforcers will destroy it.”
“There will always be knights,” Django says, trying not to think of the history that will be destroyed. And he has no doubt that the church will destroy The Well. It is a relic of some sort, after all. “There will always be people who stand up to injustice.”
Every attack Django makes, every lunge, every cut, every extension, doesn’t slow Bardock down in the slightest. Bardock’s sword is always there, ready to defend against it all.
“Django?” Lettie calls out. “You sure you don’t want our help? Please?”
She sounds scared. She sounds worried for someone she cares about. Already it’s more than he ever dreamed possible.
If there’s any chance they’re going to be able to find some sort of a happy ending, this fight needs to end. Django’s left side is cramping and soon the pain will spread to his back. Once his shoulders want to give up? He has no chance of ending things.
“Civil Corps, take over!” Django yells, just so he and Tarrif can have a break.
“I knew you were a coward!” Bardock yells. “Look at you running away.”
“Strategic retreat!” Django calls out over his shoulder, just to piss Bardock off. Very strategic. This will give him a chance to think, to figure out how to end this fight without anyone getting hurt.
Remington, Karla, and Zoe are out there in no time at all, coordinating their moves, probably like they do in their training all the time. Before long, Sam is running up into the fight as well.
“The two AIs are dead!” Bardock says. “Then I will kill everyone in this town in the name of the Church of Light for harboring relics!”
“Django?” Lettie asks as he walks up to her. “What can I do to help?”
The easiest thing in the world. Just being by his side is everything he could ever want.
“Portia will become a warning for defying the church! And I will be a hero!”
“Django, what do we do?” Tarrif asks. “He’s unstoppable.”
“Everyone can be stopped. Just a matter of figuring out how,” Django says, trying to keep his voice calm. Because he knows that everyone is taking their cue from him. If he panics, everyone else will start to panic, too.
“Zoe!” Tarrif cries out as Bardock practically throws Zoe across the barren wheat field. Tarrif runs over to her as quickly as he can. Django can only hope that Dr Xu and Dr Phyllis will be ready as soon as this fight ends.
“Then when Portia is ash, only then will I kill the Storm Knight!”
Lettie snorts. “Well, that tears it. He’s not invited to Winter Solstice this year.”
“Agreed,” Django says, laughing despite himself. Because even facing these odds, Lettie is still Lettie. The woman he’s loved for almost three years.
But he needs to focus. He presses down on the cramp in his side, trying to decide on some sort of strategy that isn’t just basically tag team between the knights and the Civil Corps.
“What are we going to do?” Lettie says, her voice quiet.
Without thinking, he puts his arm around her shoulder, wanting to be close to her, hoping that she’ll let him. If she moves away, he’ll understand.
But she doesn’t.
Django studies the field of battle. They’re on the main path, leading to Peach Plaza, far too close to Lettie’s house for his liking. There’s plenty of snow on the ground, along with…
And then he knows what he has to do.
“I need to meditate,” Django says. He looks back at the fight. This might just work. “Lettie. In three minutes, I need you to run directly in front of that puddle on the road.”
“What are you going to do?” Lettie asks, curling her fingers into his hem of his tunic.
“I’m going to end this,” Django says, looking down at the face that has been dear to him for so long. “Go there and get him to stand in that puddle. Then when I yell ‘run’ have everyone run away as fast as you can.”
“Okay,” Lettie says, clearly putting two and two together, because she is one of the smartest people Django’s ever had the honor to meet. “I can do that.”
Django looks at her one more time, hoping it’s not the last time he’ll ever see her face. “Just so you know, Lettie. I was content to simply love you from afar. But I’m glad you know.”
Without any warning, Lettie throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips against his own. Django tries to memorize every moment, hoping beyond hope that this is the first of many kisses and not the only one they’ll ever share.
“How ‘bout we live through this so we can figure things out?” Lettie asks once they break apart.
Django nods and closes his eyes, gathering the ozone around him. “Three minutes.”
He knows the Civil Corps will be able to hold off Bardock for that long. They absolutely will be able to. Because that’s all he needs.
His eyes stay closed as more and more electricity swirls around him, as he starts a subtle dance with nature. This is something he’s only done three times in his life, and it’s been more than a decade since the last time he made the attempt.
Django will just have to hope that mother nature is listening.
“I’m running!” Lettie yells.
Good. She’ll be able to taunt him, get Bardock into position, then tell everyone else what to do.
Once Django is certain his body can’t control any more power, he opens his eyes.
Bardock is exactly where he needs to be.
It’s time.
Django lets out the strongest lightning fist he’s ever created, one strong enough to bring Bardock to his knees. Right in the puddle of water on the path.
“RUN!”
Bardock gets up on one knee and just when he’s about to stand up completely, Django feels the clouds part ways and the sky is ready to listen to his request.
Django looks Bardock in the eye as he manages to bring down a lightning bolt from the sky above.
The lightning hits its target.
Then everything goes black.
Chapter Text
Year 100 Winter 09
“You really should go home and try to get some sleep,” Dr. Xu says. “Dr. Phyllis will be here in two hours to watch him overnight. Think about going home?”
Lettie stretches her arms over her head as she sits in an uncomfortable plastic chair in Dr. Xu’s clinic. “Name one thing that home’s got that this place doesn’t?”
Dr. Xu simply looks at her. She sees sympathy etches in the lines of his face. She hates sympathy. “Go home, Lettie. I don’t think he’s going to wake up for a bit.”
“I’ll think about it,” Lettie says as rests her arms on the side of Django’s hospital bed. “But no promises.”
“That’s all I ask. I’ll be at the Round Table if you need me.”
Lettie watches Dr. Xu leave, then focuses back on Django. Who has been unconscious for thirty-two hours now. With no sign of waking up.
She places her hand over his and remembers the kiss from yesterday. Everything seemed so bleak until that kiss. And then? They absolutely had to survive so they could kiss again. Ideally without the threat of a painful death over their heads.
The clinic door opens and Minister Lee steps inside. “I wanted to see how Django was,” he says. “No change?”
Lettie shakes her head. “Nothing. What about Bardock?”
Somehow that asshole managed to survive being struck by lightning. Which is probably a good thing. She’s pretty sure Django wouldn’t like the idea of killing anyone. Even if it’s a murderous religious fanatic hellbent on destroying the town. Because Django is simply a good person like that.
“Still unconscious in the holding cell. Tarrif is keeping watch.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
Minister Lee sighs, looking older than Lettie remembers. “I’ve been in touch with Meidi by telegraph. They’re going to send a half-dozen of their strongest enforcers in order to take him back for trial. He will be given the chance to atone. I hope he chooses to take it.”
Atonement. Which is what Lettie hopes Aadit is working on, somewhere out there in the world. And like she always does, she wishes him well in her thoughts and moves on.
“Hope six is enough,” Lettie says. “He was fighting four Civil Corps without any trouble.”
“The assumption is that he’ll cooperate. If he doesn’t, then we will do something else.”
Makes sense. Bardock was doing this whole thing to try to get back on the church’s good side. Maybe he’ll make it easy for everything. Somehow, though? She doubts it.
“Fair enough,” Lettie says, looking back at Django. He’s just so still. He’s never this still in real life. She doesn’t like it.
She feels Minister Lee’s eyes on her and has a feeling another lecture is on the way. “Would you like to join me at the Round Table for dinner?”
Okay, not quite a lecture. “I’m going to stay here a bit,” Lettie tells him. “I’d like to be here when he wakes up, if I can.”
Minster Lee nods. “Try to get some rest,” he says. “Good night.”
He leaves and Lettie is alone with Django ago. She pokes him in the shoulder. “Wake up.”
Django, unsurprisingly, doesn’t listen.
Time passes. Lettie makes vague plans for her workshop in the upcoming year that she’ll never remember. Django doesn’t wake up.
“You’re still here?” Dr. Phyllis asks as she enters the med center. “I thought Dr. Xu said he was going to send you home.”
“He told me to go home. He didn’t order me to go home. Totally different things,” Lettie says with a grin, hugging her knees to her chest.
Dr. Phyllis gives her the exact same look that Dr. Xu gave earlier and Lettie knows she’s not fooling anyone. Well, maybe she’ll try to get a couple of hours of sleep tonight. Scraps and Pinky know how fend for themselves, but they might be happy to see her, maybe. It’s not like they can pet themselves, right?
“The white coat suits you,” Lettie says, looking at Dr. Phyllis’s new uniform.
Dr. Phyllis wears a smart white coat, just like Dr. Xu. Underneath, she’s got on a short black dress that shows off only a hint of her thigh-highs. Overall? It’s a good look.
“Thank you,” Dr. Phyllis says. “I still can’t believe it sometimes. And to think next season, Sam and I will be living and working in South Block. It’s more than I could ever dream.”
“I still better see lots of both of you when you’re in South Block,” Lettie says, wagging her finger.
“Oh I don’t think you need to worry about that. Not until the Round Table gets a little competition,” Dr. Phyllis says. “Neither one of us like to cook.”
Dr. Phyllis walks over to the other side of Django’s hospital bed. “I just need to take his vitals.”
Lettie makes herself as small as she can as Dr. Phyllis takes Django’s temperature. His pulse and blood pressure. She even opens his eyes, one after the other, and shines light into them.
“Any change?” Lettie asks, hoping beyond hope.
“There’s no reason I can find why he shouldn’t wake up,” Dr. Phyllis says with a shake of her head. “He managed to do something incredible. Bring lightning down from the sky. I can’t even imagine how much that must have stressed his body. I truly just think he needs time.”
“He told me once he’s a light sleeper. Maybe he’s making up for lost time.”
The door to the med center slams open. “Doctor?”
It’s Emily, looking frantic. “It’s Grandma. She fell and says her hip hurts. She can’t get up.”
Dr. Phyllis grabs her medical bag. “Go get Paulie. He’ll be able to help her up. I’ll meet you there.” She looks at Lettie. “If there’s any change, come find me. You know where I’ll be. Dr. Xu really needs a full night’s sleep.”
“Understood. Emily, I hope Sophie will be okay!”
“Thank you! Once she’s back in bed, I’m sure she’ll be right as rain.”
Emily and Dr. Phyllis rush out of the med center, leaving Lettie all alone again.
So she waits. She learns that Dr. Xu has thirty-four books on his bookshelf. Dr. Phyllis’s herb garden has seven different types of herbs. If she puts one foot exactly behind the other, it takes Lettie a hundred and twenty-one steps to cross the room.
Finally she’s bored enough to sit back down next to Django. Maybe, once Dr. Phyllis is back, she’ll go home and get some sleep. She just doesn’t want Django to wake up alone. He deserves so much more than that.
“So I’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Lettie tells Django. She doesn’t care if he can’t hear her. Lettie likes to talk. So she’s going to talk. “Ever since Aadit left, I think I’ve been afraid.
“Which, I know. I talk a really good game, but that’s what it is. It’s just talk. And the thought of getting hurt again? Because yeah, I was hurt.”
Lettie decides to stand up and cracks her back. It makes no sound, but damn. She felt that pop. Maybe she really shouldn’t be sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair all night.
She starts to pace. “Like, I get what Aadit told me. That he left to keep me safe. But that’s not what I want, Django,” she says, focusing on his face. “And I worry that you’d be willing to do that too. Just up and leave without saying goodbye. Pretty sure you won’t attack the town first. So, point in your favor.”
Lettie sits back down in the chair and picks up Django’s hand. She brings it up to her lips and kisses his palm. “I want someone to fight with me. Not for me. So wake up so we can smooch already.”
Her words aren’t magic, so Django simply continues to lay there, breathing slowly.
She’s not sure how long passes before she decides to stand up again. She walks to the big picture window where the herb garden is and looks outside. Through the clouds, she can see a couple of stars in the night sky. It’s beautiful out there.
“My head is killing me.”
Lettie turns around at the sound of Django’s voice. “Django?” she asks, hardly daring to hope. He lifts his head, his eyes searching for hers. Their eyes meet and Lettie’s heart soars. “Let me grab Dr. Phyllis. She’ll want to look you over.”
“Stay? Just for a moment?”
Well, just how in the world is she supposed to refuse that request? Lettie sits back down in the plastic chair, interlacing their fingers together. “Welcome back,” she whispers.
“Water?”
“Oh shit,” Lettie says, jumping up from her chair. “I’m the worst nurse ever. This is why I’m a builder.”
She jogs over to Dr. Xu’s desk, which has a pitcher of water. It’ll be room temperature, but better than nothing. She pours a glass and takes it over to Django. He raises his head, and as carefully as she can Lettie helps him drink half the glass.
“That’s probably enough for now,” Lettie says. “If Dr. Phyllis yells at me, it’s your fault.”
“What happened?” Django asks. “I brought down a bolt and I don’t remember a thing after that.”
“Yeah, well, you passed out like the second you brought it down. Which. Seeing you lying there on the ground like that? Not cool, okay? I was terrified.”
Django’s face softens and Lettie decides right there and then she’s gonna do the best she can to be by his side for the rest of his life. Look, she’s not stupid. He’s twenty-plus years older than her and knights live hard. They’ll get maybe twenty years together, if they’re lucky.
But they’re twenty years she’d rather spend with Django than with anyone else.
He squeezes her hand and all is right with the world. “No need to worry about me,” he says, his voice still slightly hoarse. “I’ll be fine.”
“Who says I was scared about you?” Lettie says with a sniff. “I have my own agonies.”
Django chuckles and lets out a deep breath. He already looks better than he did an hour ago and it’s not just because he’s conscious now. “Care to share?”
Lettie’s done a lot of thinking during these past thirty-plus hours. She’s probably been more introspective than she’s ever been in her life. And she’s come to one conclusion.
“I was scared I’d never get the chance to tell you that I love you.”
She brings his hand up to her heart, because for once in her life, she can’t think of anything else to say. Because that is her truth and nothing else matters except those words.
“You’re not just a narrative,” Django tells her softly.
“I know. It was the confusion talking. I’m not good at multi-tasking.” Django gives her a look, silently calling her out on her bullshit. Oh, this is going to be fun. “Fine. I’m amazing at multi-tasking. I’m horrible at emotional multi-tasking, which is what you put me through.”
“Apologies, darling.”
“Any pet name but that,” Lettie says quietly. That’s what Aadit called her after they got married. She doesn’t want that used again.
“Apologies, princess.”
Lettie sits up a little straighter in her chair. “Princess, huh? I could get used to having a title.”
“You love me,” Django says, like it’s a matter of fact and not a question. Good. Lettie hopes he never has reason to question that.
She kisses his knuckles. “Look, I don’t know the exact moment it started down to the second like you do. But when I ask myself the question: Am I in love with Django?” She shrugs. “The answer is pretty obviously yes.”
Django rubs his temple, which reminds Lettie that he’s still technically a patient and she really should get someone here to check him out.
“Okay, I’m going to go get Dr. Phyllis, so go close your eyes or something. I’ve got Cabbage hitched at the Civil Corps so it won’t take long.”
“You’ll be back?”
He looks at her like she might disappear. Or maybe he thinks he’s dreaming. Well, Lettie will just have to prove to him that they’re both wide awake right now.
Lettie stands up and then as carefully as she can, leans over the side of the hospital bed, giving Django a soft kiss.
“As soon as I can,” Lettie promises. Then she leaves. Because the quicker she leaves, the faster she’ll be able to come back.
Year 100 Winter 15
“Django?”
He smiles, just hearing her voice. Part of him still thinks this is just a dream. That he’ll wake up and she’ll still be married to Aadit or clearly not interested in him. That part grows smaller and smaller each day and at some point? Django’s going to stop questioning if this is real and simply accept that it is.
“In the kitchen!”
Early morning is always on the slower side here at the Round Table. The perfect time for Django to sit at the kitchen table and do some bookkeeping. Tomorrow, he’ll ask Tody if he wants a day’s pay to run around to the various farms around Portia to deliver some gols.
It’s normally a job Django likes to do himself. But even a week after bringing down that darn lightning bolt, he’s not ashamed to admit he’s still a bit tired.
What a week it’s been.
Lettie walks in and Django pushes his chair away from the table and waits. She does exactly what he expects and hops on his lap, pulling his head down for a kiss.
If he has his way? He’ll kiss this woman more times than there are stars in the sky.
“Hi,” she says, her voice soft.
That’s been a delight, these past few days, to discover Lettie’s hidden underbelly. To be trusted with her secrets. Though not all of them. They haven’t spent the night together yet. Dr. Xu greatly discouraged it.
“Hello there, princess,” he says brushing some hair out of her face. She’s been growing it out from the pixie cut she’s had for so long. It’s a good look on her. Makes her look a bit softer, somehow.
She shoves a bag into his hand. “Here. Can you help me make Duvos powder?”
“You’ve got Duvos peppers in here?” Lettie nods, while resting her head against his shoulder. These are the moments he lives for. When they can just be together. “Whatever for? I thought Remington swore off them. Bad for his heart, he said.”
“Tarrif,” Lettie says, sounding somewhat gleeful. “He talked a big game a while back about how Lucien Crepes weren’t spicy enough.” A wicked grin crosses her face. He loves this woman. “I’m gonna call his bluff.”
Django chuckles. As proud as he is of the squire, he admits Tarrif’s ego does need a bit of pruning. And this is certainly a harmless way to do just that.
He taps her behind, silently asking Lettie to stand up, which she does. “Let’s make some Duvos powder.” They walk over to the counter. “I’m assuming you wore gloves when you cultivated the peppers?”
Lettie looks offended that he asks, which shouldn’t surprise him. She’s become quite the gardener with those planter boxes of hers. She’s even become his most reliable source of apricots.
Django opens up a drawer to the kitchen counter and puts on his own kitchen gloves. If the juice from the pepper seeps into the skin? Let’s just say he never hopes to have that experience again.
“Can you grab the mortar and pestle off the shelf, there?” Django asks.
He opens up the bag of peppers and swears he can feel their heat already. As carefully as he can, he takes the four peppers from the bag and places them on the cutting board.
Lettie places the mortar and pestle next to him. Django grabs one of his many knives, and carefully opens up the first pepper. Once the seeds are visible, he scrapes them out of the pepper and into the mortar.
He repeats this with the three other peppers.
Lettie rambles as he works, mentioning how the enforcers left with Bardock in their flying machine yesterday. Bardock is awake, but not talking. At least not to anyone from Portia. None of the Enforcers would say if he spoke to them.
Django can only hope Bardock can find some sort of peace. Some balance. Because clearly, he needs help.
“Now we’ll crush the seeds with the pestle,” Django announces. “And viola! Duvos powder.”
“I think I’ll have Tarrif try it tonight,” Lettie says, rubbing her hands together in what must be glee. “This is gonna be amazing.”
Django’s eyes are starting to water a bit from the fumes from the seeds. Maybe it’s time to invest in some protective glasses or something.
“That’s kinda sexy, the way you’re grinding that,” Lettie says, biting her lip. “Dare I say… even hot?”
“That is a horrible joke,” Django says, because it is right and just to call her out.
“To you, maybe,” Lettie scoffs. “I’m brilliant.”
And that there is one of the main reasons he loves this woman so much. She believes in herself. And she can make people believe in her, too.
“No argument there, princess,” Django says as he pours the powder into a vial. He looks it over, making sure not a single flake is on the outside of the vial. “For you.”
She places it on the counter. “That thing is warm, isn’t it? It feels warm.”
“Possibly,” Django admits. It is the hottest pepper known to man, after all. “I need to wash my hands.”
He does and when he turns back to face the kitchen, he sees that Lettie is already cleaning his workspace.
“My turn,” Lettie says, making her way to the sink. Once she’s done, they head back to the counter. “I think we managed to do all that without crying or being set on fire. Go us. Let’s go and make out to celebrate.”
“Well, I did have something I wanted to talk to you about first,” Django says. He brings her hand to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist, right at her pulse, the most sacred of places. There’s the slightest hint of heat from the Duvos peppers still lingering on her hands, even with the gloves she wore and the industrial soap she used.
Lettie turns around and leans against him so her back is flush with his chest. As he wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on her head, Django thinks life might not be able to get better than this moment right here.
“And what’s that?” Lettie asks. She doesn’t sound nervous or scared, which probably would be Django’s reaction if she wanted to talk about something.
“I saw Dr. Xu this morning. I have been officially cleared for some very specific strenuous activities,” he says, kissing the top of her head.
Even during all the time he loved her, Django never once let himself dream or fantasize what it might be like to actually be with her. Just seemed disrespectful, especially when she was married to someone else.
But these past few days? That’s all he seems capable of thinking about.
Will she be confident? Shy? Where on her body will he be able to give her the most pleasure? What can he do to make her come completely undone?
Django cannot wait to find out.
“You asked Dr. Xu if you could have sex?” Lettie asks, sounding almost incredulous. She turns around in his arms and stares up at him, eyebrows raised.
This is certainly not the reaction he expected. He hoped she’d be excited or at least happy about the idea. Not this disbelief.
“I did,” Django says slowly.
“Django, I can’t have Dr. Xu knowing that I’m having sex. Out of wedlock,” Lettie says stepping out of his arms. “Not gonna happen. I refuse.”
Now he is really confused. Not one modern religion that he knows of condemns sex before marriage. Oh he knows some old ones used to. But those are followed by only a handful of people these days. And Lettie’s not religious in the slightest. That he knows of.
Well, even though he’s never been in an actual relationship before, Django knows that being open and honest is probably the best way to handle things. So that’s how he’s going to start.
“Princess, I am very confused right now.”
She asked the other day if they could have sex. And now she doesn’t want to? Which is fine, if that’s what she wants. Django is happy just to hold her. Sex is optional.
“You know what this means, right?” Lettie asks, taking his hands.
Hand holding is a good sign, at least. “That we’re not going to make love tonight?” Django asks.
Lettie mouths make love like she’s never heard the phrase before. But then she looks back up at him. “Oh no. We are absolutely gonna bang. You just have to say you’ll marry me first.”
Django goes very still. “Marry you?”
Her face softens. “Let’s step away from the powder that makes people cry,” she says, walking them over to the kitchen table. “Did I break you?”
Now he’s starting to wonder if he actually died when he brought down the lightning, because this doesn’t seem possible. Django had every intention on taking things slow with this woman. Marriage? After a week?
“Look, I’m really bad at romance,” Lettie says, swinging their hands back and forth, just a bit. “If you stay the night, I’m going to kick you out of the house at the ass crack of dawn so I can feed the cows.”
“I don’t mind getting up early—“
“That’s why you should marry me. So it’s your house, too, and I can’t kick you out.”
Django hears the words she’s not saying, understands what her heart is trying to tell him. And decides to indulge in a bit of teasing.
“And that’s the only reason?” he asks, trying but failing to keep the grin off his face. “So you don’t have to kick me out of the house.”
Lettie scowls and it’s the most adorable thing in the world. “Well, and so we can bone.”
Oh ho ho. Some progress. But not quite enough. Lettie might not consider herself romantic, but Django certainly is. He’ll just have to prompt a bit to get the answers he’s hoping for.
“And?” he asks, drawling out the word.
She buries her nose in the crook of his neck and Django wraps his arms around her, holding her close. “Because we love each other,” she mumbles.
“What was that?” he asks, even as he delights in her words. Django’s waited a very long time for this moment. He is going to savor it. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Lettie looks up and locks her hands behind his neck. “In two weeks, I’ll have been in Portia for three years. You’ve loved me the entire time, haven’t you? Through everything?”
He nods. “I have.”
“Well, now I love you, too, so why wait, right? Waiting is dumb. One thing you’re gonna have to learn about me is that I’m impatient.”
“I think I knew that already,” Django says dryly. Her impatience is not a secret in any shape or form.
“So let’s get married. Please?”
Never in his wildest dreams over the past week did she ask for his hand in marriage. It was always the other way around. Taking Lettie out to the harbor or maybe to Bassanio Falls. Where he’d get down on one knee and ask her to do him the honor of becoming his wife.
But somehow? Lettie telling him they should get married so she won’t kick him out of the house in the morning so she can do chores is absolutely perfect. He wouldn’t want their new life together to begin any other way.
“I’ll marry you, princess.”
Lettie’s face lights up and Django is officially the happiest man in the entire universe.
He lowers his head, and they seal the deal with a kiss.
Year 101 Spring 01
There’s a knock on the door.
Lettie groans and snuggles up to Django, trying to delay the start of reality just by a couple of seconds. But then Scraps starts barking, clearly deciding to personally welcome whoever is on the other side of the door.
Which means she needs to wake up.
“This is your fault, somehow,” Lettie mumbles as she gets out of bed. “I never had people knocking on my door at stupid hours before you married me.”
Django simply strokes her cheek. “I take full responsibility, princess.”
“You better,” Lettie says.
They dress quickly and within only a couple of minutes, Django’s opening the door while Lettie is finding breakfast for Scraps and Pinkie. She’s slowly accepting that her well-crafted morning routine needs to have a bit of flexibility, now that she’s a married woman.
It’s really the only downfall to married life she can think of. She’s truly enjoying the rest of the perks. Especially the food.
“Francis! Come in, come in!”
Lettie watches Django give their visitor a huge bear hug, practically lifting the person off their feet. Someone is certainly happy. And Lettie has an inkling of an idea why.
Django brings the man into their home. “Let me make some introductions. Lettie,” he says, grabbing her hand, “this is Ser Francis, one of my old squires.”
“Hello there,” Francis says, sounding somewhat shy. He’s got a shock of curly red hair, almost orange, and thick glasses. Not ever her idea of a traditional knight. Plus he doesn’t even look that much older than her.
“Francis here is a genius when it comes to maps. You know that huge map in Mayor Gale’s office? He drew that,” Django says, sounding like a proud father.
Which, yeah. Something they’ve actually talked about. Lettie assumed kids weren’t in her future when she was with Aadit, but Django wants them to consider it. Which she’s totally willing to do. But not today.
“Then Francis, I’d like to introduce you to Builder Lettie. My wife.”
Django sounds so happy to say those words, Lettie worries he’ll burst. And she does not need that sort of clean up, thank you very much. Plus, she really likes Django just how he is.
“Nice to meet you,” Lettie says, putting her arm around Django’s waist. He’s only told her bits and pieces about some of his squires over the years, so it’s actually pretty cool to actually meet one.
Django looks at Francis. “Melinda arrived last night. Let’s head to the Round Table for breakfast.” He slaps Francis on the shoulder. “If you liked my cooking on the road, just wait until you see what I can do with an entire kitchen!”
“I’ll just be here. Milking the cows,” Lettie says. Which she would be doing anyway. Django hasn’t mastered milking yet. Though to his credit, he’s tried.
“I’ll see you at the dojo for the ceremony. Love you,” Django whispers to her. They share a quick goodbye kiss and just like that, Django and Francis are off.
“Love you, too,” Lettie calls out behind them, though she’s pretty sure he can’t hear her. Alas. She’ll just have to tell him again later.
Lettie opens the front door back up and looks out at the yard. Yesterday snow. Today? Beautiful green grass. It’s a transition she will never get tired of.
Year one hundred and one. Three years ago today, Lettie stepped off a boat and saw Portia for the first time. And look at her now. Married to her second husband, which she decides gives her a worldly and sophisticated aura and no she will not be taking any questions at this time.
Now the future is wide open. And as much as she’d love to contemplate just that, she has cows to milk. Her workshop waits for no one.
#
Django gave instructions to arrive an hour before dusk.
Lettie changed out of her building clothes into her second nicest blazer and jeans. She’s never been one for dresses. She wore a jacket and tie to her own wedding. But she did want to put on a bit of style for the ceremony.
Tarrif’s knighting ceremony.
Django didn’t give her all the details, but what she figured out is that Bardock destoryed something important to knights. Something secret. Something he shouldn’t have known about.
Squires are usually made knights in private, where only other knights and squires can see. But because of this broken thing, Django’s decided to make Tarrif’s knighting ceremony public, for everyone to see.
Django doesn’t think there’s going too much interest, but Lettie’s convinced at least half the town will be there, simply because it’s a change in the routine. And knights are already considered to be the stuff of legend. Who wouldn’t want the chance to witness history?
She walks out of Central Plaza into the fields and yep. She called it. There’s quite the crowd around the dojo already. As she walks, she sees Django, wearing chain mail under a tabard, talking to Francis and Melinda, Tarrif’s mentor. Tarrif is nowhere to be seen. Probably inside the dojo itself.
Lettie only has eyes for Django. She’s never actually seen him dressed up as a knight. She swears he’s standing a little taller. There’s a shield on his back and he’s resting his hand on the pommel of the bronze sword she made for him more than two years ago.
She’s offered to make him a better sword. One made with iron or titanium. Or even told him he could borrow one from her collection. Like her Nova Sword or Obsidian Edge. But he insists on only using the bronze one.
Django’s eyes light up when he sees her and that will never get old. She can’t imagine ever tiring of just knowing that she’s giving someone joy just by existing. She likes existing. She plans on doing that for quite a long time. So she’ll be happy to give joy to Django just as long as she can.
“Where’s Toby?” Lettie asks.
She’s quickly learning that with Django, it’s love him, love his squire. Toby stops by the house a lot, just to check in or to have a talk with Django. He’s sort of becoming the little brother she never had.
“Sitting with Tarrif. I thought Tarrif could use the company.” Django looks around. “I think we’ll get started.”
Lettie sees Lucy in the crowd and stands next to her. Martha, Isaac, the entire Civil Corps. Minister Lee and Nora. Mayor Gale and Russo. Alice and Jack. Mars and Carol and all the girls. Even Oaks and Abu are watching from a distance. Far too many people to fit into the main room of the dojo.
And what a grand reopening her little building is getting. An actual knighting ceremony.
Django opens up the door to the dojo. “Tarrif? It’s time.”
A moment later, Tarrif walks out of the dojo, followed by Toby. Tarrif is wearing an outfit similar to Django’s, but with a different colored tabard. Toby’s tabard is almost identical to Django’s. Must be a squire thing.
Django leads Tarrif to the far side of the sparring ring, where everyone can see them. Where the knights Melinda and Francis are waiting.
Django looks over the crowd. “We’ve never done this before. Never opened up the knighting ceremony to anyone other than knights. But it’s time for knighthood to change,” Django tells the group seriously.
“We don’t know what the future of the knights will be, but we’re going to figure it out. A year from now, on the first day of spring, Portia will host the first ‘Call to Knights.’ The hope is to have knights come from all over the known world to learn from each other and to figure out the future. But now I want to concentrate on today.” Django takes a breath and looks at Melinda. “This is Lady Melinda, who mentored Tarrif as a squire. She will take things from here.”
Melinda takes a step forward, with Francis and Django standing on either side, forming a half-circle. Lettie met her last night and liked her immediately. The knight has long black hair, tied up in an elaborate bun and teardrop-shaped eyes.
“Ser Tarrif. I tasked you to find two other knights who might find you worthy of joining our ranks,” Melinda says. “How did you fare?
Tarrif gets down on both his knees, facing Melinda. Lettie’s got to hand it to them. No one does drama like knights.
“Ser Francis, the Mapmaker and Ser Django, the Storm Knight, are here to speak on my behalf.”
Lettie didn’t learn until later than Tarrif actually found Francis before he came to Portia. She decides she’s just grateful everything worked out the way it did, or she may never have known about the token which Django still wears around his neck.
“Ser Francis. Will you speak for Ser Tarrif?”
Francis pushes up his glasses and nods. “He helped me map out a section of the ruins at Orzu that had never been explored before. For that I will accept him.”
Melinda turns to Django. “Ser Django. What say you?”
“When this town came under attack, Ser Tarrif didn’t hesitate to come to our defense. He fought brave and true and I will be honored to be a knight beside him.”
She turns towards the crowd. “Ser Tarrif is of my blood. The son of my brother. This is not the life he expected, but it is a life that Tarrif has embraced wholeheartedly. He will always be here to help the people of the known world.
Francis steps up next to Melinda and unsheathes his sword. He says no words as he taps the flat side of the sword on Tarrif’s one shoulder. Then the other.
Django repeats the moves with his own sword.
Melinda has a wide smile on her face as she does the same movements. “You have been found worthy. Arise, a knight, Ser Tarrif.”
The crowd starts to cheer and Tarrif stands up and immediately hugs Melinda, then shakes Django, Francis, and even Toby’s hands.
Lettie throws her arm around Lucy’s shoulder. “Like watching something from a history book.”
“I was thinking more like one of Alice’s novels,” Lucy says with a grin. “She’s taking notes.”
But then Django holds up his hand, clearly asking for quiet. Lettie decides to listen for once, because she’s a supportive wife.
“The role of the knight might be changing. But the need for people who want to do good in this world will always be there. That ideal, along with Ser Tarrif, is what we celebrate today. Join us in the Round Table to continue the celebration.”
The crowd starts to dwindle and Lettie walks up to Django. “That was pretty awesome to see,” she says, taking his hand. “Before we head to the Round Table, can I finally show you the secret room?”
“You’re ready to show me?” Django asks. “Sonia and Ack are going to have the place ready for us. We can stay behind for a bit.”
They walk into the dojo itself, which isn’t perfect. All Lettie sometimes can see is flaws. But it’ll be the place Django needs, which is all that matters.
She points to the most unexciting room first. “Okay, that’s basically a storage closet. It wasn’t worth a secret, but this room is.” Lettie takes a breath and opens the door. “I wanted you to have a quiet room so you could meditate and just think knightly thoughts.”
Three walls have tapestries now. She found another one, that had an underwater scene. And then against one wall, is a small shrine, no bigger than a nightstand, where a solitary candle sits.
Lettie put everything she has into this room and hopes it will tell Django everything her heart sometimes refuses to say. She’s getting better, though. She really is.
“Princess, this is absolutely perfect,” Django says, squeezing her hand. “Thank you. Just… thank you.”
For once in her life, Lettie can’t think of anything else to say. So she pulls him down for a kiss. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s join the rest of the party.”
Hand in hand, they leave the dojo, ready for their next adventure, whatever that might be.
genginger on Chapter 4 Wed 07 Jun 2023 03:07AM UTC
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ChimeranDreams on Chapter 4 Tue 06 Feb 2024 02:50AM UTC
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thievinghippo on Chapter 4 Wed 07 Feb 2024 05:43AM UTC
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ANGSWIN on Chapter 4 Tue 15 Apr 2025 11:09PM UTC
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thievinghippo on Chapter 4 Fri 25 Apr 2025 06:19AM UTC
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