Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru is no stranger to fate. If anything he is remarkably in tune with it. Has been his entire life. So when he pulls the sword from the stone and he is told that he is to be king, that a prophecy written decades before him has dictated his path, he is not distraught, he is not confused or caught off guard.
He looks at the man across from him, the man who had tracked him down-Yaga- and he feels excited. He had been waiting for this moment his entire life and it had finally found him. He had always known deep down, that he was meant for more, he could hear something, somewhere calling him. So he is whisked away to a castle and he is taught the things that make kings.
And he is bored.
Because he knows, every cell in his body knows, that it isn’t the politics, or the knowledge or the sword handling that makes a king. Kings, true kings like him, aren’t made. They are born. The lessons are a formality that he must trudge through to fulfil what he has been born to do. It isn’t something as lofty as purpose, it is simply function.
He does not know whether he was made to be king, or if the role of king was made to be for him, he doesn’t care. It is his and he much rather do it than not. Because being king is not just about responsibility and duty, it is also about power, about the chance to fully use all that he is. All that he has. As king, he gets the best swords, he gets the chance to battle the best of the best. He gets the libraries and the scholars and the horses. It is not a material need or desire, but simply his birthright.
He is good at everything he tries so he knows it's meaningless to be excited about something new, but it is the opportunity to do it anyway. It is the wind against his face as he rides at the helm of a small army to fight raiders, it is the weight of the sword -the same one he pulled out of the stone so long ago- in his hands. It is the faces of all the people that are under his protection and the satisfaction that his strength did this; protected them. It is the peace that follows at night, because even though he has never been able to sleep, at least he is no longer itching for a future that is calling him.
And the years mesh together, it could be one or ten but it sure does not feel like it. And then he meets Getou.
It is another day at court, he has to hear the complaints of all the farmers and bureaucrats and the lords of the land, and he is so incredibly bored with all of it. It is always the same, always the cycle of problems and remarks and court politics. It had been months since the last interesting thing had happened. And then, just like that, his monotonous day is broken.
A voice huffs from the side of the courtroom. And it is loud enough to not be a mistake, in any other circumstance it would have gone by unnoticed, but the entire hall had gone silent to hear some lord complain about the dues he was owed. And so they all hear it. He turns to the side, one eyebrow raised as he spies the man who had made his displeasure so clear.
He was not the only one looking, half the hall had turned and pinned their eyes on a dark haired man in the back. From his build, Gojo could tell that this man was a knight, or maybe a mercenary. Either way those were the shoulders of someone who knew how to fight. He can hear Yaga sigh, knows that a more gracious king would let it go, would instead take the hint, straighten on his throne and ask the lord to continue so this day from hell can end. But he is not gracious. So he opens his mouth.
“Since we’re gathered today to hear complaints, perhaps our guest would like to share why he is so unhappy.”
The order is clear despite the word choice, and he is mildly interested when the man doesn’t cower or sink deeper into the shadows against the wall. Instead he marches confidently to the centre of the hall, his gait relaxed and his spine straight.
“Forgive me, your majesty, I was simply voicing what I believed to be your true feelings, I was simply lamenting how a lord can be so ignorant to his monarch’s opinion. If I am mistaken, I wholeheartedly apologize.”
Gojo could only blink. Once. Twice. And then he laughs. Whoever this man was, he had publicly made his feelings known and then essentially reprimanded him for making his boredom so clear to court. All the while, pretending to be a simpering guest. It is so brilliantly amusing. When he stops laughing he turns to the stranger again.
“What did you say your name was?”
The man bows slowly, but no one is fooled. Everything from the smirk on his face to the mischievous gleam in his eyes makes it clear that he did not think much of Gojo. Which meant he was no mercenary, probably the son of some important noble then.
“Getou. Suguru Getou, your highness.”
“Will you be joining us at court, Getou?” He can see the man’s eyes shift quickly to Yaga at his side and back, someone else might not have caught it. But Gojo has always been known for his observation skills. His eyes had won him more than one battle.
Gojo is no stranger to fate, and so he knows that the next words said are going to be important. He knows because he is filled with the same rush of something that he felt when he first touched the hilt of that sword. He does not know what it is particularly, but it is something deep inside of him. A sense that he is approaching an abyss and he has to do something. A rush of agency even when there is no imminent threat. He straightens up in his throne, as Getou’s violet eyes turn to him.
“Yes, your majesty.”
And for the first time, Gojo wonders if maybe fate has not made him king to occupy him with grandeur. Maybe a divine force has brought him here, not because it knew that it had created a dark void within him; that it threatened to destroy everything. No, maybe fate had brought him here to meet Getou. Maybe this is what he had been created for.
****
Getou is exceptional with a bow and arrow. His aim always landing true. And Gojo finds himself a little glad the dark haired man is not his enemy. He appreciates talent, and he knows the value of drive even if he does not have any himself. And Getou had both in droves. It is a rare combination. It was what had made the old man take on the boy as a vessel years ago. Gojo is annoyed that his advisor would keep such a treasure from him. But it only takes a sparring session to appease him. He is an easily entertained monarch.
And Getou is alot of entertainment.
Gojo knew that Getou has seen his fair share of battles and bloodshed, and yet the man continues to hold on to a naive sense of duty. The minute he had gotten comfortable, he had prattled on and on about all the things Gojo should be doing. He is motivated by a sense of noble obligation. Not the kind that his lords wax on and on about as they throw empty promises at their vessels, but a genuine compulsion to serve something greater than him. Gojo hates it and envies it in equal measure.
“Are you going to accept Lord Tengen’s summons?”
Gojo groans and huffs as Getou circles him. The sword is not his friend’s strong suite but he is still good enough to constitute a light morning exercise.
“I don’t particularly have a choice, do I?”
Lord Tengen is a recluse, technically his land was part of the kingdom, but nobody had seen him for years. He rules over a particularly strategic plot on the border of the kingdom.He is master of the tower; the outpost that ensures they always saw their enemies coming. His allegiance and happiness are paramount for the kingdom. And he had extended an invitation to Gojo to come visit him. So Gojo has to go.
“It’s going to take a week on horseback to get to him. Five if we ride right now.”
Getou stilled, and raised an eyebrow. “Not with a large party, it’ll take at least two weeks.”
“That’s why we’re not going with a large party.”
“Your majesty-”
“I told you to call me Gojo.”
Getou sighs, it is the exhale of the troubled, and even though Gojo has heard some variation of it all through his life, it sounds different from Getou. Not condescending or indulging. From Getou it sounds like a release. Almost as if he was expecting whatever it was that Gojo had said. It is no a reprimand, it is a secret shared between them.
“I can’t do that your majesty.”
“Sure you can, I command it.”
Getou shoots him a glare, it had taken him a mere three months to feel comfortable enough to do that. The first time it happened, Gojo burst out laughing. It has been almost a year since Getou had first arrived at court, and everyday Gojo felt like he was fighting for another piece of him, for another peak at the contradictory entity of this man.
A brilliant strategist, a noble knight and a ruthless politician and yet someone who still believed in the inherent goodness of people. Court has not corrupted him, the dredge and filth of their world has yet to mar his soul. Gojo prefers it that way. Even if it did cause him a fair amount of headaches. It is all worth it. To win over Getou, to bring him down to his level. It is one of the most challenging battles of his life.
“What if something were to happen while we are away? What if the castle needs you?” Getou asks..
Gojo simply shrugs, the sword in his hand swinging, “Then I’ll deal with it when we return.”
Getou huffs but Gojo swears he can see a shadow of a smile, his godly restraint a constant affront to Gojo.
“Of Course your majesty.”
****
The journey to Tengen did not take as long as he would have liked. The large distance covered so easily with only the two of them to worry about. Tengen’s fortress looms in the horizon sooner than he would have liked it to. And it is a fortress. They are led quite urgently to the inner chambers passing through multiple groups of guards and the kind of dreary halls that make Gojo shudder. Years later, he would wonder why fate had abandoned him that day. Why it had chosen to forsake him so magnificently?Why that same sense of premonition that he had always felt before a significant moment would simply not come? Maybe if it had he would have known to simply walk away from Tengen’s request.
The request is simple, escort a lady to Tengen’s fort, safe and sound. A girl younger than both of them and much younger than Tengen but he is not one to raise an eyebrow. Clearly Tengen is desperate for an heir if he will allow a bastard child to fulfil the position. Gojo knows that it leaves a bad taste in Getou’s mouth, but so much about their world did that already. His companion’s sense of justice and goodness are amusing most of the time but they could also be a damper when they need to get things done. He knows that it is probably a bad idea to promise protection to Riko. Gojo has been given everything by fate, it has escaped him that some people are not as lucky. Some people, fate decides not to bless, but to curse.
Like Toji, who is the single most gifted fighter that Gojo has ever witnessed. The man who bests him with both wit and strength. The attack is perfect, the patience and plan of a predator and the zeal of someone who truly wants a fight. He feels the blood rush through his body like mead overflowing from a too small tankard. For a moment, a short sweet painful moment, the entire universe lines up. Everything is right where it is supposed to be and Gojo feels like everything is in view. He has been given the pleasure to see it all, to catch everything just as it happens, before it happens. Another sight, a whole new sense opening up before him.
A weakness is now clear in the line of Toji’s body. So small nobody else would’ve caught it, so fast he feels his muscles scream as they rush to catch up and bring the sword down. Yes, Toji is cursed, the worst curse of all, he comes the closest to winning but in the end Gojo prevails. And it is a tragedy because a part of him wants to know what it feels like to lose. It is a probability so low that he had never know it could exist.Toji comes the closest. He brings Gojo right up to that edge, that cutting realization of the uncertainty of victory, that sweetness of triumph and the simultaneous expansion; the moment after.
After, Riko lays dead in the middle of the ruins of Tengen’s castle. A thought strikes him that maybe it is not a strict binary.. Maybe it is not that some people were solely cursed and others solely blessed, but a mixture of both. Because everything before this moment feels like a blessing, and everything after feels like a gaping wound.
They return to the castle, not with their usual invincibility, but with a foreboding sense of doom. Yaga seems to sense it, he leaves them a broad breadth, holding back the hordes of lords and nobles that usually clamour for their attention. Shoko brews Getou tonics and healing ointments, her eyes dark as if she had seen what they went through. It is appreciated.
Rika’s death lights a fire underneath him. Suddenly the hordes of treaties, the military budget, the reports from scouts and informants do not seem so boring. It is increasingly necessary to make sure that he is never blindsided again. Getou is left to deal with everything pertaining to the castle. It is a workload that is considerably less than before, and yet he sees him less and less.
Something tells him that it is strange, but he does no question it. Getou has always been more…human than him. More in touch with his emotions and more susceptible to fickle notions like duty and ideals. It used to frustrate him and now he appreciates it greatly. He does miss him though, he catches himself turning to the space on his right so often. He rides, and he can almost hear the phantom sound of Getou’s horse right behind him. Except of course it is not.. He is alone. Just like he had always been. And he does not want to be alone anymore
***
“You look thinner, have you been eating well?”
Getou’s head pops up from where he is bent over some documents that Gojo is sure are very important. His eyes widen at Gojo leaning against entrance of his chambers.
“Your majesty.”
Gojo raises an eyebrow in question. “We’re back to formalities I see.”
Getou smiles a little, almost as if in apology. “Did the scouts say anything interesting?”
He shrugs. “Border is secured, Tengen seems to be still willing to cooperate , hough he is very annoyed. All is well, for now.”
Getou nods, his eyes returning to his pile of papers. But Gojo is still hovering by the door. The silence stretches between them, and Gojo relents first.
“I want to bring Fushiguro’s son to court.” He announces.
Getou freezes, his fingers that were tapping against the desk still. The silence shifts, it is heavier now. When he looks up again, Getou’s eyes are darker, something volatile flashing in them.
“The son of the rogue vigilante who almost killed you and murdered Rika? That Fushiguro?” Getou’s tone is as cold as ice.
But Gojo forges on. “I promised him before I killed him.”
Getou leans back in his chair, and Gojo suddenly notices how disheveled he looks. His hair is tied back haphazardly and he can see dark shadows under his eyes. They stand out so starkly against the paleness of his skin and the vivid lilac of his pupils.
“Ah,” he exclaimed in mock understanding. “I had no idea honour existed between a king and a banished, disgraced son who couldn’t even become a knight.”
Gojo waves off his remarks. “All of the Zenins combined don’t have an ounce of his strength, you and I both know it. And if honour only exists among knights then we are all doomed.”
Something vicious seems to take hold of Getou, he sneers. “And what do you know of honour, my king? Of duty?”
It is clear the words are meant to sting, that in that moment Getou has set out to hurt him. So he must have been disappointed when Gojo barely moves.
“You’re right. I don’t care or know about honour or duty,” he took a step closer, “but I do know that you would never blame a son for the sins of his father. I do care that you seem to have disappeared into yourself, and I know that I have no need for an advisor that prefers to be haunted by the past rather than look to the future.”
“ Haunted ?” Getou rises from his seat. “Because I can’t forget how she smiled before she died? Because I keep dreaming about how he told me you were dead ? If that’s what you call haunted, then I proudly admit that I am. I will not allow myself to forget and have it happen all over again.”
“His son is coming to court, Getou. My decision is final.”
“Of Course it is. You’ve never needed to take anybody into consideration before. Even I don’t count in the grand scheme of things, do I?”
Gojo stops, hand hovering above the doorknob and turns, crossing the distance between them in three large steps. Getou refuses to back away, he stands resolute as Gojo comes to face him, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.
“You are not unintelligent Getou, can you really not tell how I treat you compared to all of them?” He gestures with his hand in the direction of the door, the only thing separating them from the rest of the world. “Can you honestly not tell? Because if so you are clearly not fit to fulfil your obligations.”
Gojo can see it in his eyes, that he has trapped him. Because Getou is not a liar. He is smart. He can not deny that Gojo treats him much better than everyone else. To him, the whole world exists in one realm, and Getou exists in another. And if he has to choose, he is not comfortable with how hard that choice would be. This thing between them had been brewing and growing for a while, but now it feels like it has soured, festered instead of bloomed. And then it comes to a head.
Getou, for his credit, does not cower. Does not heistate. Instead he manges to turn the tables. He rises, eyes flashing like stormy skies. And he kisses him. And it is more exciting than any sign from fate, more life changing than when he pulled that sword from the stone. They meet like they often do, in a clash of aggression; a release of tension. It is cathartic. Getou’s tongue slithers into his mouth, his fingers grab at his neck, his grip is bruising.
They breath through their noses heavily, the sound of their grunts and their moans filling the room. Gojo brings his hands and threads them through Getou’s hair, the black strands soft and yielding between his fingers, and uses them to drag him closer. Getou’s body presses against his; wide muscles and steady bulk. The warmth from his skin heating Gojo up. Their lips disconnect, their inhales of breath loud as they share the air between them. Getou’s face is flushed, his lips a bright pink that makes Gojo want to bite on them. So he does.
His passion is only returned, Getou brings him back to kiss him again. Their bodies rubbing against each other, his hands slithering out of Getou’s hair and running along his sides. Squeezing. That only seems to spur Getou on more, his own hands snaking to Gojo’s hem and pulling his shirt up, until there is nothing between his fingers and the bare skin of Gojo’s abdomen.
Getou’s fingers are rough, padded with layers of callouses from dealing with his bows and his broadswords. And his skin is warm; scorching as his hands trailed down, down, down.
Gojo gasps as Getou’s fingers grab him, rubbing at his head with his thumb through the fabric of his trousers. It is quick and rough, a mess of hands and open mouths and short breaths. Their fingers clutch at flesh and their sweat trickles down their backs. Gojo can only focus in on the pleasure. He can smell Getou’s hair, he can feel it against this bare skin. Every tug of the other man’s hand is like torture that stretches out for an eternity; the pain so sweet. Getou’s hands graze the bare skin of his hips, pushing away his breeches and making final, scalding contact with what lay underneath. He gasps, head resting against the other man’s neck, mouth seeking out to taste and to mark and to devour.
Gojo is used to feeling hungry, it is a constant hum in the background most of the time. He always wants more, thrives on the ability to pursue it, but this. This is not the dull ache of constant hunger, this is desperation, this is the agony of starvation. And Getou is not fulfillment, he is not satiation. Gojo doubts that he can ever be something as simple. No, Getou is the promise of satisfaction, forever elusive, just out of his reach.
It ends just as quickly as it began, their hips thrusting against each other, seeking friction. Getou’s hand wraps around both of their lengths, forcing them flush with each other. The sight of it ends Gojo, he glances down and it is so obscene, so vulgar, he finds no escape. He comes, Getou following after him with a barely suppressed groan. Their sounds fading to quiet gasps. The warmth between them does not last, it does not take more than a second for Getou to tense and step away. Gojo is powerless to do anything but watch as his advisor flutters around his chambers in a hurry, making himself half way presentable before practically running out of the room. Leaving him spent, and leaning against the desk.
Geto is not one for cowardice and yet Gojo knows that if left to his own devices the advisor would rather pretend that nothing happened. So he gives him three days, a giant show of mercy on his part. On the dawn of the fourth day he instructs the guards to bring him to his chambers. He is not usually fond of the official decourms of court but the plan is that Getou ( who is rather fond of decorum) would have no choice but to follow. He has built himself a reputation as being the more rational and old fashioned of them. The guards come back empty handed. Getou is being more stubborn than he thought possible. He is not on the training grounds, nor the stables. None of the nobles have seen him and even Yaga has complained that the advisor has only been communicating with him through letters that are always left on his door.
If Gojo was a lesser man he would take the hints as an insult, if he was a lesser king he would have had him tracked down and beheaded. But he is not someone so quick to anger, and he has given up to the idea that he would ever treat Getou the way he treats everybody else.
Getou is after all, special. He has come later on, yes. But Gojo thinks of him as someone who is in his inner circle, so to speak. He wonders what their life would have been like if Getou had arrived at court even earlier. If he had been there when Yaga had first brought Gojo to the castle. The lost son and his fated return. Would it have been as boring if he had had Getou back then?
It had not been entirely unpleasant. Yes, the courtesans, and the nobles, and all the lessons had been dull, but he had Yaga back then, and…the thought makes Gojo stand up straighter. It only takes a moment to decide against sending a guard, it will mean nothing if he does not go himself. And it is not a long walk.
***
When Gojo had first arrived at court, the prophesied boy king with the legendary sword, Yaga had taken him under his wing. Shielded him from the incessant yapping and conniving nature of his distant relatives. Or that was the plan, Gojo had never been patient and if the rest of the court was going to disrespect him for his age, he just had to prove to them that he was capable despite it. Back then it had not only been him. Yaga had a habit of collecting strays. The other one was Shoko. A mage in training that Yaga had hoped would grow up to be a great aide in Gojo’s court. She was a cold bitch and one of Gojo’s favourite people. Back when he was young and foolhardy and ready for battle, she had joined him and Yaga on the field, helping heal their injured with her expertise.
In the recent years and now that Gojo was focusing more on diplomacy and less on bloodshed, Shoko had retreated from her place in court. Content, as she always was with her books and her cadavers and her strange plants and potions.
She was never a social butterfly. He has never considered the possibility of Getou hiding out at her workshop, but that had been an oversight. If he is hiding from him, he will hunt down Shoko. He knows that the two of them have a strange sort of friendship.
***
Shoko resides in one of the least refurbished corners of the castle. A tower that has long been put out of use, for its distance from the main structure and, he suspects, the horrible drafts. The basement of the tower consists of her workshops and her office, and the top, her chambers. If it was better painted and perhaps with a fire or two he could find it more charming rather than cold and lifeless. He sneaks in through the side entrance, intent on surprising both of them. He does not find them in the workshop or the office. A crash and then the sound of laughter from above alerts him to a possibility he has considered. He climbs the stairs with a frown. He has never been in Shoko’s personal chambers before, knew that if Yaga was to catch them, they would both be hearing an earful about godliness and decorum and the need for less scandals at court.
Gojo does not particularly care about any of those things. Especially when he walks into Shoko’s room to see both her and Geto seated across from each other, two plates of food and a bottle of wine between them, their faces cast in warm shadows from the blazing fire.
Shoko is the first one to see him. “Ah! You’re here, good. I was waiting for you to come and deliver me from his horrible company, any longer and I would’ve sent a request with one of the guards.”
Getou stiffens when he sees him but he shoots Shoko a playful smirk from the top of his wine glass. “You jest now, but when I’m gone, who will read through your gibberish observations or provide such expensive wine.”
She reaches across the table and plucks the bottle before promptly standing up with it tucked by her side. “Amusing as this was. I have work to do. And you both need to talk through whatever this is so I don’t have to send Yaga calming tonics every night.”
Gojo shoots her a look as she passes him. “Is this how you repay years of friendship? Replacing me with him so quickly?”
She shrugs. “He’s a far better drinker I’m afraid, and very charming. It's a good thing he’s on your side, he could’ve probably convinced me to be a traitor.”
He tsks and moves away so she can leave. “Careful, those words from anyone else and I would’ve had them imprisoned.”
She only chuckles. “Yes but I’m not anyone else, you’d miss me far too much to accuse me of anything.”
“You overestimate your charm.”
“And you underestimate my usefulness, I find it a far more stable attribute, I’ll leave charm to the whores, and worse the diplomats.”
From across the room, Getou raises his glass in a silent toast. She leaves and the two of them remain.
“I didn’t take you for a coward.”
“I’m leaving in a week’s time for discussions with the Kamo family, I thought it would be better if we stayed away from each other until then.”
“Why?”
Getou drains the remaining wine in his glass. “Why? Maybe because you risk alienating the Zenins for a promise you made to a killer? Maybe because you refuse my counsel time and time again-”
“We are a team, but I am king and I will not cower to the Zenins-”
“That is exactly the problem!”
Gojo stills . Getou rises from his seat, and slams his cup against the heavy wood of the table. “You are king, destined and impenetrable and yet you refuse to do anything, you stand by and when it matters you are useless, against Tengen, against that uncivilized heathen who-”
“Enough Getou.”
Something in his voice must have alerted the other man. “You think I have not thought of that day since then? You think I have not suffered enough? She wasn’t only your friend, you know.”
That seems to render the other man speechless. Gojo sighs and crosses the distance between them to sit in the chair Shoko had vacated. They were talking in circles.
“I need my advisor back, court has been hell without you.”
Getou scoffs. “You’ve never liked court.”
“They’re all idiots.”
“They know you think that, it’s why they don’t like you either.”
“So you’re suggesting I become a blithering arse to better fit in.”
“No,” Getou’s dark hair gleams like oil in lanterns and his smile is sharp, “I’m suggesting you become a better liar.”
He laughs. “Shoko is right, you diplomatic types are worse than whores.”
“I never claimed otherwise.”
There is a silence that stretches between them, the elephant in the room that they both seem unable to address. Gojo feels like his skin is suddenly too tight for him. There is a knock on the door and Shoko’s head pops in.
“Oh, good I was afraid I would walk in on something far more indecent.”
His wide eyes swivel to Getou who looks just as shocked at her choice of words. Their faces must betray their thoughts because Shoko scoffs as she walks further into the room.
“Oh please, it was disastrously obvious, you’re all very lucky that this court isn’t as smart as they think they are. If Yaga was a gambling man I would’ve won a wager.”
Both of them remain silent and Shoko simply raises an eyebrow at both of them. “You have resolved whatever this issue is, right?”
Gojo is honestly becoming very uncomfortable with the interrogation, the only other person who questions him so thoroughly is Getou. There is a divine justice in the fact that the other man was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Getou pipes up from the opposite side of the room.
“I don’t remember you being so talkative, Shoko.”
“If you two stopped being idiots and realized that you both work best with the other, in more sense than one, then I wouldn't have to talk as much. By the way Yaga is looking for you both.”
They both nod but the three of them make no room to move. Shoko sighs, it is the release of someone who is simply so exhausted. Gojo does not know why, it is not as if she had any stake in this, but whatever it is she was going to say she seems to decide against it. She throws them both a glare.
“Leave, now, and let me drink my wine in peace.”
***
The next time he touches Getou is the night before he is supposed to leave to meet with the Kamo family. There is a banquet to send him off. Even Shoko shows up, which is rare but he is finding out that she and Getou are growing closer by the day. He does not know how to feel about it. Getou is unable to retire early when the whole affair is thrown in his honour and Gojo gets a close look as the man charms and works the entire court like he has been born to do it. He is a good king but Getou has his own set of skills, ones that Gojo has never developed. Gojo knows he inspires fear and awe, but Getou, he is an outsider, and he had infiltrated them so easily. Something in him brought forth comfort and trust. It was marvelous to have in an advisor and diplomat. A great talent that only cemented the fact that this man was meant to be his right arm, by his side as he fulfilled his destiny.
He watches him from afar for most of the night, the words of all the nobles filtering in and out of his ears like useless humdrum, and it usually is. And then at the end of the night, when the banquet hall is half empty he takes his leave, but not before their eyes meet. It is a moment of surprise, Getou had just finished wishing good night to one of the ministers from the south when he looks up at the throne. Gojo is already looking at him, his lavender eyes widen for a second before something else enters them, something dark and deep that shoots an arrow of heat down Gojo’s spine. Gojo doesn’t break eye contact, he is not able to. He simply stands and leaves, ignoring all the inquisitive looks from the thinning crowd, behind him he can hear the guards hurrying to catch up and Yaga making excuses. Nobody is going to believe them. In the morning he will get an earful about his reckless and careless behavior in front of the court from both Getou and Yaga no doubt.
He should have had Shoko slip something in both of their drinks to make them more easy going. Maybe he can get her to drug all of the court. It would be good to have a moment of peace once in a while.
He is surprised when the door to his chambers opens, half expecting Yaga to have decided he needed the sermon right then and there instead of at breakfast. But it is not Yaga. Getou enters the room like he’s entering a battlefield, his shoulders back, his eyes wide and taking in all of it, as if he’s afraid an enemy will emerge from the shadows. Gojo stands still by his place next to the fireplace, letting the man get nearer and nearer. The fire cast harsh shadows on both of them.
They don’t say a word. They just stand there watching each other but Getou seems to finally decide on what he wants to say.
“When I first heard all those tales about the fated boy king I didn’t really expect much. People seem to always want to believe in something, even at their own detriment. So I answered Yaga’s invitation expecting to find an irresponsible young monarch with no experience being led around by a cabinet of advisors. And yet, I came to find you.” Gojo simply raises an eyebrow, the man continues undisturbed. “And you were young and inexperienced but you weren’t being led around. Everywhere you went, people seemed to fall in line. You kept winning battle after battle and for once, I was genuinely shocked. I’m not a man of faith Gojo, I don’t believe in prophecies or in destiny, but you made me think for a second that it was possible. That you could unite these wretched kingdoms. You made me believe, not in that boy who took the sword out of the rock, but in you. And I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
It is the last sentence that does him in. He has never realized how much he needs Getou’s trust. He did not think he needed anything but compliance from people. But knowing that he has the faith of this man, it changes everything. He takes a step closer and another one until he is standing right in front of Getou. His hands creep up the other man’s neck, his thumbs rest right by his ears, making Getou look up at him. Their foreheads touch and Gojo for once does not hide, does not allow the mask he wears at all times to cover up the conviction that screams inside of him day in and day out. He leaves it all bare. Getou had given him his trust, his faith , and in return Gojo is going to give him the absolution he so craved.
“I want to change the world, Getou, and I want to do it with you. I will lead us to our destiny.”
The words seem to have done the trick, because Getou relaxes, his shoulders drop and the lines of his face disappear, tension bleeding out of him. He nods, it is a small acknowledgement but in the moment it is more than enough. It fills Gojo with elation, again he feels too big for the skin he is in. But it is not a feeling of discomfort. It is a warm and potent rush. And suddenly they kiss and Gojo does not think he has ever done anything quite as important as kissing Getou. He doesn’t think he’ll ever do something quite as important as kissing Getou. It is a rush of a hundred battles, the sound of clashing swords and arrows cutting through the air. For a moment he entertains the idea that it did not start when he pulled that sword from the rock, for a moment he thinks this , this must be the start of everything.
***
The next morning Getou leaves. The Kamo family run the kingdom furthest to the north and were known for their reclusive nature. Out of all the surrounding kingdoms theirs would need the most work. Gojo is not against diplomacy nor was he against violence, his goal was simple; unite the kingdoms of the island and rule as the first king of all the land. It is his calling. And Geto promises he will help. That is all that matters. But when they wake up he almost wants to say fuck it all. He wants to have Getou with him, not so far away he will not be able to speak to him for weeks. He has half a mind to abandon this diplomacy plan and continue with his initial thoughts of invasion. But that would be irresponsible. And would probably end up with Getou leaving anyway.
So he has to be satisfied with the sight of Getou in the early hours of the morning, the rising sun behind him as he gets dressed to go back to his chambers. Gojo is not used to having to settle.
Getou stares back at him, a small smile that he can not even begin to dissect on his face. Whatever it is, between them has been released, and there is nothing either of them can do to lock it up again. They are the strongest, but they are powerless in the fact of this.
“If the Kamos give you a hard time, feel free to just kill them all, it will certainly save us a lot of trouble.”
Getou smirks as he moves his hair away from his face. “Kill the Kamos and we will have the Zenins and the rest of your family up in arms and at our doors ready to invade in no time.”
Gojo shrugs, and sits back allowing the sheets to pool at his waist. He smirks when Getou’s eyes stray and wander lower. “Let them come, I have been itching to kill the rest of my family. I look forward to any reason to actually do it.”
Getou only smiles and shakes his head. “If we can, we owe it to the people to not wage another war, the countryside is still recovering from the battles you had to win to keep yourself on the throne. It’s much too soon for more bloodshed.”
“Bloodshed will happen regardless.”
“Not if you have me on your side.”
Gojo only smiles. “Get your job done quickly, when you return we can plan what to do against the Zenins, I have a feeling they’ve been scheming something.”
Getou nods, but he pauses before leaving and Gojo says nothing, waiting, as the other seems to string the words together.
“You should spend more time with Shoko while I’m gone.”
Gojo frowns, he has noticed that the two of them are getting closer. But he has not realized they had reached a point where Getou would be worried.
“Why?”
Getou shrugs, “I’ve been spending more time with her, she’s smart. She surprised me, I feel like we might be underutilizing her.”
So he is not worried about Shoko, he is worried about him. The realization gives him a feeling of warmth.
“I’ve been thinking about recruiting her into make the entire castle sleep for a couple of weeks, maybe then I’ll finally be able to get some work done.”
Getou chuckles, and then he leaves. Gojo is used to it, seeing him leave, the man was never one for goodbyes prefering to just simply make his exit instead. This time it feels different. He is in no doubt that the weeks until his return will stretch and ache. Maybe he will seek out Shoko, it has been a while since the both of them had a conversation.
****
He does seek out Shoko in the days that come. He thinks part of it is beauce he will do anything that Getou asks of him. People had feared him, been inspired by him, they have projected their deepest desires, their hopes of a prophecy on him. But Getou’s fate is purer, it is a belief in him. And Gojo does not drink, but feeling that faith is intoxicating and surely this is why people seek out so much wine and mead and magical herbs. He does not blame them.
The tower seems colder somehow and when he finds Shoko she is not in her chambers, she is working. On what he doesn’t know. But her head is bent over a book, a collection of ingredients in pots and glass bottles next to her. Her office is messy, books stacked in various piles all around the wall. The entire floor is covered in multiple rugs and therefore it is warm, probably the warmest room in the tower and he is surprised by how this space feels so much more lived in than her personal chambers.
“You know you’re the court’s mage and supposedly one of my advisors and yet you’re in none of the meetings and I’m pretty sure half the court is too afraid you’ll curse their whole family line to ask you for any help.”
Shoko looks up, one eyebrow raised and a pipe dangling from her lips. He is sure that if Yaga sees it he would actually kneel over and die. Maybe he did owe the man some type of magically induced coma, god knows his life has only gone from bad to worse since he found Gojo all those years ago.
Shoko gets back to her book, a hand pulling away the pipe and exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “Why would I be in those meetings when you don’t even want to be in them? And when all of you start discussing something interesting, I’ll make sure to be there.”
“The unification of the island and the fulfillment of a century old prophecy not interesting enough for you?”
“Prophecies are the most boring type of magic in my opinion. All the fun is in the uncertainty.”
He raises his eyebrow at her point and ventures deeper, eyes perusing the shelves no doubt filled with tomes and all sorts of fascinations.
“You know some of us have work to do and can’t just entertain you like a child now that your other half is gone.”
The words make him pause and he turns back to her, her head is still bent down towards the book, her hair is loose today, the long strands covering her face from his eyes and fanning out underneath her on the table. Her statement is made in the same aloof slightly bored tone that most of her speech is in. For a moment he is brought back to the young girl he met his first week in the castle, back then she was just an apprentice, and he would spend all his time with her asking her endless questions about her techniques, her knowledge. To a young boy who always knew he was destined for more, the knowledge of a world much greater than what he had known was a balm.
Shoko always answered his questions in between her exploration of her own limits and the various pranks she liked to play on the residents of the castle.
A thought dawns on him. “Are you watching our chambers?”
It would not be outside the realm of possibility, as much of a recluse as she is, he has no doubt that Shoko’s skills are the best of the best. She would not have been in his court if she was anything less than extraordinary.
She scoffs and looks up at him again. “As entertaining as that would be, I don’t have eyes set on you. I don’t need magic mirrors or clairvoyance to see what’s right in front of me.”
“Nobody else seems to see the same thing.”
She pins him with a look. “You should know about seeing when others only seem to glance.”
He chuckles. Getou is right, he has forgotten how much fun it is to spend time with her.
“So, you know. What do you think?” He asks with a smirk as he drops on to one of the other chairs in the room, this one is right in front of the window. It has a view of the training ground below and he is surprised to see that it is the same yard that he and Getou often use to train in the mornings. He wonders if Shoko ever watched them. If that’s how she knew about whatever it was that was building between them.
“Why does my opinion matter in this again?”
His eyes never stray from the yard below as he answers her. “You’re one of my advisors. This is me seeking your wise counsel.”
“Doesn’t matter what I think, what matters is what you feel, do you love him?”
The question catches him off guard for some reason, even though he was the one to open the particular topic. He does not know how to answer, love seems like too small a concept for what he and Getou have. They have a fate to fulfil together, when he thinks about his life, he finds that Getou has eclipsed everything before and after. When he thinks of the night where he came to him, confessing his faith he is overwhelmed with an emotion he can’t describe. Was that love?
The lack of answer makes Shoko sigh, and she leans back in her chair. She does not look disappointed at his silence, she looks uninterested, as if he had confirmed what she knew already.
“He’s good for you. I get a sense that he…grounds you. Fate did good.”
The words are as much of a blessing as he thinks she can give. “Fate? I thought you weren’t particularly interested in prophecies and destiny.”
“I’m not interested in the boring ones, and my interest in your life is not purely for entertainment.” Her eyes were serious as she looks at him. “The decisions you make affect us all, Gojo, they affect the entire island.”
“I didn’t think Getou fell in that category of decisions.”
She is silent for a second, she takes another drag from her pipe. He half expects it to look ridiculous and yet it fits in her hand like it belongs there. “I just told you he grounds you, that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
The words are vague, obscure. He expects them from Tengen perhaps, but not Shoko. He should not be surprised; mages tend to be like that. He turns away from her and back to the yard. It is a beautiful day outside, he is sure that if Getou was here they would both be outside sparring with knights for nothing but their own amusement and escaping hordes of nobles with meaningless problems. Behind him, Shoko writes something and the scratch of her quill against the paper is comforting. He is surrounded by warm smells that he can not necessarily place. For a second, he is transported back to when he first arrived at the castle and Shoko was the only child his age. He is reminded of the days they spent together in comfortable silence, content by nothing but each other’s company.
He is reminded of laying down next to Getou the morning before he left, of feeling his faint touch on his side, absorbing his warmth through the sheets between them.
He thinks about how sleep-something so elusive his entire life- had felt only a second, a breath, a touch away in those moments. He hears Shoko turn a page, outside there are distant shouts and grunts of knights training and inside of him, the noise; that restless call, is a little bit quieter.
***
He establishes a routine in the following days. He seeks out Shoko, sometimes to ask her questions, sometimes to help her with various experiments, sometimes he simply watches her as she heals the injuries of the knights (the only group of people brave enough it seems to ask her for her magical assistance).
He avoids Yaga whenever he brings up letters from Getou and his progress with the Kamo family. Listening to the other man’s words seems like torture right and even Gojo is not that much of a masochist. The days blend together, and he is beyond bored. He knows he should enjoy his time of relative peace. Soon the nobles’ families will converge at court again, he will be forced to hear their incessant whining even more so than usual. Yaga has arranged for diplomats from the Zenin family to come visit as well. A nightmare if he had ever seen it. But that would have to wait. He could not allow for their behavior to produce any rumors to brand him a tyrant, he would need proof to move decisively.
Despite all of this, he still does not see the ambush coming. It starts off like any other morning except when he walks into Shoko’s study, he is surprised to see that she is not alone. No, Yaga is with her, and he does not look happy.
“Your majesty, we have much to discuss.”
“Couldn’t this be sent in a letter Yaga? All those stairs must be hell on your knees old man.”
His oldest advisor frowns, Gojo knows that he is still as limber as ever, but he will never pass the chance to take a dig at him.
“Thank you for your concern, your majesty,” Yaga practically spits out, “but this matter is of the utmost importance, and I couldn’t risk any of the nobles listening in.”
Now he is intrigued, he raises an eyebrow at Shoko who simply slices two fingers through the air, behind him the door to her study closes and the lock turns with a firm click.
“Well then, speak.”
Yaga turns to glance at Shoko and when the mage scoffs and darts her eyes back to her book, it is clear that the older man has to deliver the news by himself.
“Your Majesty, you have to get married.”