Chapter Text
If you asked Satoru Gojo what she felt about being handed off to a man for political gain, she wouldn't say a word.
The Gojo clan were a minor branch of the Sugawara. The Sugawara clan, which had not only produced the Emperor's right hand but several of his concubines.
Since her birth, she had been taught etiquette and several of the art forms that a noble lady needed. Even though she possessed one of the rarer techniques heralded by the clan, marriage was still considered her only option. Oh, she had been taught jujutsu, sure, but a woman possessing techniques and fighting with them were two different things. It was something that was simply not allowed.
There had been talks of an exception and giving her a place in court, of course, but nothing had come of it. The Emperor was bound by the law too; if he raised an exception for her, he would only invite scrutiny. It would give the little rebellions more fervour and the public certainly wouldn't accept the emperor's decision at face value. Higher ministers could use that decision to curry the favour of the common people. At least that was what Satoru was told.
Her heart had broken a little at that revelation. She had been hoping to delay marriage by a bit.
Perhaps her heart had known, even back then, how her marriage would turn out.
Sometimes, late at night, she would wish she were a man instead. How much joy would she bring her father had she been born a boy? Six Eyes and Limitless, what use were these heralded techniques if they were not wielded by a man?
Geto Sugawara.
That was the name of her to be husband.
A man adopted into the main branch of the Sugawara clan, recognised only due to his technique. He was agreeable enough that Gojo didn't say a word against their marriage. Later, she tried to bring herself to regret it. But she couldn't. Their marriage had been respectful, but Gojo could tell he found her a bit too insane for his tastes.
She got a bit too excited at the prospect of sweets, and she certainly chattered too much. Once you got her going, the words would simply keep spilling out from her mouth. She could tell many men found that distasteful. Even her looks were quite 'unique'. The entire Gojo clan may have a horde of pale faces and white hair, but it stood out. A lot. Several men didn't like her long white hair, no matter how lustrous it was, and her tall frame certainly did not add to her attractiveness.
"Quite distasteful." She didn't remember who had said that, but it had hurt. Lord had it hurt. "Can't you dye that freaky look of hers black?"
The sentence lived in her head and would resurface whenever her husband looked at her. With cold, unfeeling eyes.
So, yes. She hadn't expected much from her marriage.
Her lady-in-waiting, Serimu, comforted her with lies occasionally: "He does love you", she says, when he leaves the dinner half-eaten to attend to something or the other, the dinner she had spent the entire evening on.
"It's his work", she says when Gojo goes for a week without even a word from her husband "Keeps him tense" What a joke.
Nevertheless, Serimu was the only one she could trust with her woes. She was a Nuhi - a slave - brought from the drought lands, sold for being a burden. Part of Gojo felt glad she had someone she could relate to; the other part knew she was just a spoiled, pampered little princess who hadn't suffered nearly as much and shouldn't complain. All women went through this; it didn't make her special.
She knew the real reason for her husband's disinterest. Serimu didn't have to explain that much to her. Her guant hollowed eyes at her husband's dissent had been enough of a tell. Sugawara had been pleasant enough during the first 2 years of their marriage. After those years passed, it became clear that Gojo could not bear children of her own.
The two children that she had been with died in a miscarriage. Perhaps Suguwara had hoped that it hadn't been her fault but the lady-in-waiting's instead. How often did he accuse Serimu of poisoning Gojo? How often had Serimu suffered at her husband's hand? Gojo preferred not to know. Serimu would wake up early to dress her, and on those days Satoru would spy a blossoming purple bruise on her cheek; She would still stay quiet.
"Do not trouble yourself, my lady", she would say at Gojo's unshed tears "It isn't your fault"
But Gojo knew it was her fault; her body was weak. Despite being a noble's daughter, she couldn't do the one job that she had been taught to do.
The only solace she had been hoping for in this cruel world was, yet again, snatched from her by the universe. What crimes had she committed to suffer this way? A child that could love her, and whom she could love back, unconditionally. Gojo would gladly trade her husband if she got to keep a child instead. Still, she said nothing of her husband.
"I'm sorry, Serimu", she told her one day, out of the blue. It wasn't nearly enough, and certainly Serimu should be angry. Despite having such a powerful technique, Gojo couldn't protect her. Nor could she give birth to a child, so that this torment ended already. She didn't know how. Serimu should hate her; she certainly should -
"It's all right, my lady", Serimu smiled, and Gojo returned a small smile, ignoring the churning guilt in her stomach.
When the great elder, Sugawara no Michizane, visited the estate, she could hear them talking about other clans, of younger, healthier women who could actually have children.
Sugawara could take another, a courtesan perhaps, a famous princess from the Entertainment District? As a noble lady, her husband could not ostracise her without bringing in the wrath of her clan; despite how little they cared about her well-being, they would not let an insult like that pass. The Gojos were prideful and strong, despite the few members that they had. So she shouldn't care about a new woman.
She shouldn't.
(Can a flower that doesn't bear fruit or seeds really be considered a flower?)
Gojo thought she knew her husband.
Another year went by, and he was labelled a traitor by the order of the Emperor himself. What a man he turned out to be, leaving Gojo in this estate that seemed to be haunted by his presence still.
Normally, the entire clan would be slaughtered, but the Gojo clan still boasted techniques and roles others couldn't easily replace. Also, they were but a minor clan that extended from the main branch. Gojo doesn't know how the Suguwara elder convinced the court that he wasn't in league with the runaway, but then again, she preferred not to know. To prevent an uprising, they were locked away in separate small estates and banned from moving farther than they should.
An imperial guard kept at the place ensured the strict regimen.
Nanami Kento was a man of fewer words than even Geto Sugawara, but he granted her freedom and movement.
"I believe that no one should be held in a cage, even one as ornate as this", He had said, the first sentence he had spoken in Gojo's presence.
Women, generally speaking, were bound to the estate and allowed to visit shrines at most; sorcerer women in those regards had greater mobility. And if they inherited techniques, all the better.
Having more than enough time on her hands, Gojo practised her technique, trying to repel Serimu's hand whenever she got dressed. It took a month before infinity settled in and Satoru was finally able to keep at it for more than 2 minutes.
Serimu ooh'ed and aah'ed when she showed her. Gojo chose not to say a word when she found 2 stolen books from the Gojo clan sitting on her desk the next morning. The books were instructions on Limitless.
No one else would suffer for her sake. Not Serimu and certainly not Nanami, who had, despite his silent nature, grown over her.
Gojo was allowed freedom for a single evening every week. She would dress in Serimu's clothes and sit under a tree overlooking a rushing river. Unfortunately, due to the Six Eyes, she had to ensure a veil covered her face the entire time, which brought a lot of unwanted attention. Nanami accompanied her during these visits, choosing to stay where he could see her.
Sometimes she would talk to him, trying to coax him out of that shell; it wasn't her fault that her mouth could not stop chattering. Nanami would indulge her in the excursions and would even share any news that he had heard.
"They are thinking of making you a court lady", he tells her one evening.
"Me? A court lady? Whatever for?" Gojo asks, surprised. The discussions had never gone anywhere when she was fifteen; they would certainly not go anywhere now.
"As a way of keeping you hostage", Nanami sighs "Also due to your much revered technique", He adds.
"The Emperor is well aware of how powerful the Six Eyes are; he wants to keep you under his heel, I assume"
Gojo merely sighs in response. There is nothing in her life to look forward to anymore. How many men can turn one single woman into a political agenda? Gojo doesn't want to find out.
"Have the discussions gone any further?" She asks another day.
"None that I have heard of", Nanami replies.
It almost drives Gojo mad, being confined to a small space with only one person to talk to. There had been other ladies-in-waiting working under Serimu, but after the betrayal by the adopted Sugawara, they had been forced to let go.
It is on one solemn evening that Gojo finds herself on the riverside, resting her back against the bark. Through her mostly opaque veil, the Six Eyes make out a small form being led by the gentle river.
Led by an unknown force in her heart, she makes her way towards it.
It's a basket, and tucked carefully inside, surrounded by a variety of comforting silks, is a baby.
Satoru's heart clenches at the sight of the poor child. She has probably been abandoned. Cursing the parents who'd do this to their own blood, she picks up the baby carefully, cooing at her.
A tuft of bright pink hair sits on her head, and her eyes are closed. Satoru could melt; had her wishes for a child been answered? She caresses the baby's cheek carefully, unable to believe that she is real.
The baby opens her eyes, revealing the most adorable set of amber eyes ever. Unable to hold it at bay any longer, Satoru dissolves into sobs, clutching the baby carefully to her chest as she does so.
Nanami rushes from where he had been resting. "Mistress!!" He yells, "Are you okay, Mistress?!"
But Satoru has never felt better in her life.
If the Six Eyes were not sobbing in earnest, they would have noticed the baby's real mother spying on them. Dressed in a man's garb, noble and befitting of his position, the real mother stands far away, caressing the line of stitches across his forehead.
"Mother will fetch you in a few years, young one", He says and makes his way out of the clearing.
The baby stares at Satoru, glad that she is out of the clutches of her real mother, perhaps.
Serimu is the sort of person who goes with the flow; nothing deters her. But this comes pretty close.
Her mistress has come back from her daily excursions with a child in tow. She is completely oblivious to the storm raging inside Serimu's head, preferring to stroke the baby's hair with the most loving look on her face.
Behind her lady, stands Nanami, who gives Serimu the most distraught look in the entire empire.
Serimu had always admired her mistress; she is beyond strong. The day her mistress had gone into miscarriage had been the same day when she usually calculated the household expenses. Even after losing her baby, she sat with her husband and went through with the calculations, handing him the scrolls with the amount written on them for every person they had hired. Grief had been strong, but her vacant blue eyes had refused to yield in front of that sorry excuse of a person. Serimu had sat next to her mistress then, a concerned eye always keeping check.
Mistress had fainted immediately after her sorry husband excused himself. But she had never shown weakness, or sobbed in earnest in front of him. There had been a strong look to her face, something that kept the softness at bay. Now, however, Serimu almost cried out in anguish herself. Her lady's strong face had dissolved into the most loving expression one could have.
No matter what Nanami said. Serimu would not let him take this child, hope itself, from her lady.
"People will question the child's origins", Nanami told her "Surely you understand that."
"We can spread the word that her sorry husband took a prostitute and this was the result", Serimu said, patting herself on the back for such a brilliant idea. Nanami didn't have the same thing in mind. He scowled.
"You are only thinking about your lady, but what of the child?" He said, a particular urgency in his voice "Daughter of a prostitute? Who will marry a girl, unclaimed - "
"No one", Serimu said cheerfully, "The baby is a baby and will marry no one."
Nanami simply sighed one of his long sighs, the ones that lasted till Serimu counted to ten in her mind.
He took a quick peek at where the lady was sitting; the child was in her lap, and mistress was giggling (giggling!) at her.
"Who's the prettiest baby?" She asked the child, hands softly caressing "Yes, you!" A small laugh then.
Nanami gaped at the sight. Even Serimu was bound to it. A giggle and a laugh. The lord was being generous today, it seemed.
"You're taking care of the child", He told her hotly, though his expression was soft and still trained on the sight of mother and her child.
"You can bathe and change the child at least," Serimu replied smartly.
Yuuro didn't answer and simply made his way out.
He could talk big all he wanted, but by the end of the day, when Serimu spotted a tiny little kimono in the basket, one that certainly hadn't been there before, she knew where his loyalties lay.
Yuuji. That was the baby's name. She was a cute one.
Sakura pink hair and the softest golden eyes; even Serimu needed a minute to recover.
Serimu had tried to insist that she find a wet nurse for Yuuji, but her mistress would not budge.
"She is my child", Mistress had insisted, settling Yuuji on her chest "My responsibility". Mistress had always been able to lactate without giving birth; that's why the local shaman had declared her definitely fertile, and it was certainly the only reason Sugawara had overlooked the unnatural white hair and taken Mistress as his wife.
Serimu still worried.
Still, she made sure unsavoury rumours followed the one disgusting Sugawara, whose name she could not even bear to think.
"Oh yes", she told the local tailor, making sure to spin the story to highlight her mistress's misfortune "That traitor of the Sugawara, he went galivanting off with a mistress, a prostitute, I presume". Serimu made sure her eyes shone with unshed tears. "And now my poor mistress has to take care of the child."
"What misfortune! Poor girl," The elder lady says, but there's a glint in her eye. Serimu is certain that this rumour will be all around Heian-kyo by the next day.
"Right?" She drawled, using a cloth to wipe her tears "What else can she do? She's too kind, my mistress. A normal woman would certainly go berserk out of jealousy! But she doesn't punish the child for the mistakes of the father!!"
Serimu hoped the talks would reach that man. And if he died thinking that his wife had gone off with someone else! All the better!!
Unknown to Serimu, the very man she cursed lay rotten, his corpse floating in a glass chamber of chemicals, the faint stitches on his head scarred forever.
Geto Sugawara did not consider himself lucky.
Any prestige or recognition he had received was due to his hard work and prowess.
Being born as the second son to the main family, his life hadn't been all that good to start with. Being the son of a prostitute, on top of that, a woman who wasn't the main wife, led to be neglected most of his life.
By the time he was a teenager, he ensured that it never happened again. He'd developed his technique and honed his skills to the maximum. So, it wasn't luck that granted him all that he had.
Now though, luck seemed to favour his side.
Geto Sugawara had married one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes upon.
Gojo Satoru, from the minor branch of the Sugawara clan. She was wily and tall; long, lustrous white hair fell down her back and shimmered under the sun like snow. A veil covered her face at all times. Geto was told that this was done in consideration of the Six Eyes, though several men had tried to warn him of it.
"She's probably hideous underneath that; why cover a face that's beautiful at all? I say that the Six Eyes is just an excuse"
Geto had paid no mind to it, and fate sided with him.
For Gojo Satoru was utterly, mind-bogglingly beautiful.
Her hair was as soft as he had imagined, and the soft flush on her pale cheeks gave the impression of a very, very delicious berry. Her eyes were a striking blue, so warm that Geto would gladly immerse himself in them again and again.
He couldn't see her often, though; the veil covered not only her eyes, but most of her face. The Six Eyes must be truly powerful because Gojo could walk around with her eyes closed. Words had died in his throat their first night, and had never resurfaced since.
It was a political marriage, and she was bound to treat it as such. He shouldn't - couldn't say what he wanted to.
Work brought him to the imperial palace, where he worked under his honoured uncle, so they didn't talk much - if at all. The Sugawara were powerful, but nothing compared to the Fujiwara clan. Geto didn't care much for clan fights, but he had to admit, the Fujiwara got under his skin.
The Emperor was as good as a puppet in their hands, and everyone in court could see it. His prime advisor, Fujiwara no Kitsu and his son, Fujiwara no Kitsuro, were two clever foxes who held the strings.
Geto had the misfortune of having to work with them.
There was a barrier of sorts around them, the Fujiwara; it clouded his mind and filled it with haze. He could never think coherently around the father-son duo.
Thoughts roamed erratically in his head, and Geto wondered how it would feel to place a sharp knife at that pale throat. To stab those unfeeling dark eyes...
"Are you okay, Geto-san?" A slimy voice interrupted.
The fog lifted from his mind for a second. They were in his office, and he was serving the two Fujiwara's sake. Oh right. Sake.
Geto looked inside the silver cup, making sure there was no poison (But wasn't he the one who had brought the drink? So tiring to think. So... tiring) and gulped.
Kitsuro-san was a teenager, but immensely clever; he had dark eyes and ever more dark eye bags underneath. Looking at him made Geto uncomfortable. Like there were roaches under his sleeves, crawling... up and down and up and...
"Fine". Who had said that? Himself? But he wasn't fine, and why was his voice so hoarse? He turned to look at the slimy man Kitsu-Sama.
Kitsu looked quite like his son, with dark eyes and spiky hair falling over his face, concealing that scar - that scar that Geto had seen once.
Like stitches.
Like stitches across his forehead.
He imagined opening it up and stabbing the brain underneath. He was sure that it opened. Did it? How did he come to that conclus-
He could hear his wife screaming, tearing up - she had lost their second child. Gone in a miscarriage. Somehow, Geto wasn't surprised.
Screams reverberated across the walls; the sound was full of anguish.
Where was he again?
Where -
here-
hear.
Geto passed his wife's room and didn't stop. The haze never left his mind.
A bruise. A slap. A beating. He grabbed Kitsu's throat and bared his teeth. Kill. Kill. Kill.
But then the cloud left his mind, and he wasn't grabbing stitches any longer; under his bloody palm - where he had hit Kitsu - was a woman. He hadn't been hitting Kitsu at all.
But then his eyes were wronged, and it was Kitsu again, and he punched him, making sure the bruise stuck. How dare he? How dare!? Not his mind. Not Geto's. He would overcome this.
Overcome.
Over.
Oh.
What was hallucination, what reality?
Geto didn't notice that it was Serimu who walked out with a purple bruise on her neck, not Kitsu.