wc: 2k || art creds: @/_3aem || based off those tiktoks w the crying knight & wedded princess🥀 || angst
summary! jester!gojo has spent his entire life being madly in love with you, the princess he lived to serve. he'd grown up with you, making you laugh and fall more deeply in love with him with each passing year. only now, he has to watch as his princess is given away to another man, all because he wasn't born of pedigree. (for my angst loving babies, i live for you.)
the first time you'd heard satoru's jester bells ring for you, they were small and bright, stitched into the hem of a fool’s coat.
he had been much younger then, jingling them around as he trained in the art of humour.
he tumbled into the great hall of your castle with a wide, devilish grin, tripped on purpose, and made you laugh so hard the governess scolded both of you for being too loud. then, much later, when the room cleared out of all the important men and women, he bowed his jester hat too low and whispered that, "i would trip a thousand a time more if it meant hearing that sound, m'lady."
even as a child, your face blushed a fair pink when he'd say such foolish things.
"you're quite the glutton for trouble, jester."
"does it bother the princess?" he'd smile.
"i suppose not." you'd laugh, your voice a few octaves higher than it was now, years later when you'd both grown up, not of age just yet, but old enough to be left in the care of the jester.
he grows much taller, the golden bells that adorn the peaks of his hat and collar start to fade. you grow too, hair braided with pearls now instead of silk ribbon, lessons traded for councils and ledgers.
yet, the incredibly close bond you'd shared since childhood was ever the more stronger as time passed. he still finds you behind the tapestries when court grows dull and filled with too many deep commanding voices, spilling the embarrassing stories he'd heard jesting for the big figures in the room. with each tale you'd try to muffle your laugh, and each time he'd pull your hand down.
"ts' my job to make you smile, m'dam. please, don't hide such a pretty thing." you'd smile as he kissed the back of your knuckles.
even now, you still sneak him sugared figs and bits of stolen wine. you'd sometimes pull him out into the courtyard to share with him your lunch.
you'd talk for hours, sometimes. hours and hours about the ins and out of everything you could think of, from the way your father would nit pick each and every thing about you, to your plans to sneak off with him one day.
"you do dream big, m'lady." he'd say, a solemn smile on his fair face.
"am i not allowed to dream for a life with you?" you'd ask, lightheartedly.
"oh, but of course, anyone can dream. but you know, in your case, that's all they'll ever be.. dreams." he wasn't smiling anymore.
now, you're both at that age. the age where the kingdom decides you're ready for such unfathomable, adult things.
the day the betrothal is announced, the court applauds both you and the soon to be king.
you were supposed to be with your prince the night your engagement was announced, but instead, you'd been off to find satoru who wasn't standing suit by your bedroom door like he'd usually be.
you spot him in the narrow passage by the kitchens, his pretty face scrubbed clean of his jest paint.
“you didn’t come see me,” you say quietly.
“i'd known not if i was allowed,” he answers, turning to face you.
“since when has that stopped you?"
he looks at you with this look. a sad look. a sad look no jester should ever wear.
“since now, m'lady."
the silence and sheer chill of the walls crept into your heart, you hated it.
“say something foolish,” you demand. "please, brighten my ever decaying mood."
he smiles, but it's only small, and very, very tired. “i'm afraid i’m fresh out.”
after that, time spent together slips away from both of you.
fittings. lessons. letters sealed with wax you do not recognise. the prince is kind in that weird way strangers are kind to passer byers. he'd quiz about your favourite cliches, and you'd drone out whatever answer you thought he'd like to hear most.
satoru never bothered with cliches, he'd tell you of things far more relevant.
at night, you sit in your chambers and listen for his bells that never come.
gojo still finds you, only when he can. once, in the armory, dust motes drifting through thin light.
“you’re avoiding me,” you accuse. "stop it at once." you say, staring up at him with a pouty look.
he leans against a rack of old spears. “i’m only practicing.”
“for?"
“for when i must watch you leave, i can't make a scene.”
you cross your arms. “you’re terrible at that.”
“i know.”
another time, in the chapel after midnight, candles burned down to their wicks as you sat together in the pews.
“say it,” you whisper.
“say what.”
“whatever it is you keep swallowing down.”
he exhales through his nose. “i'm afraid it is but against the law, m'lady.”
“i am the princess, i am above such law.”
"you can be such a brat." he teased as he slips closer. not touching you, though, never touching anymore.
“i love you,” he says, finally, there's no joke to soften it up.
your chest goes rigid. “but you can’t.”
he nods. “oh do i know...”
you want to scream, to fight and say this isn't want you signed up for, but all you can muster up is a soft, "and i have loved you for many years, as well."
you both go quiet, because what can a princess with no real standing in this and a mere jester do in such a situation..
the night before the wedding, you find him beneath the eastern tower stairs, just like always. you'd just received a letter via your maid, informing you that the castle would be sending away your jester in order to "keep the future queen's mind on her duty."
you were in shambles.
“they’re sending you away,” you almost yell.
“yes, after tomorrow,” he replies. “seems cleaner.”
“cleaner? for who.” you spit.
he smiles. “everyone else.”
you step closer. “please, satoru. nevermind them.. stay.”
he laughs, soft. “don’t ask me to be so cruel, m'lady.”
“you’re a jester,” you say. “that’s your job.”
“hm, not to you.”
you want to stab your stomach with a dagger, this was all eating you up from the inside and you were losing more and more of yourself with each passing day.
“will you at least watch?” you ask, on the brink of tears.
he brings a hand up to wipe at your eyelid, a gesture he'd done so many times before, but he had to stay true to his, and the kings vow. letting you go was the best he could do for you.
“yes,” he says at last. “i’ll watch.”
the day comes and harsh stone presses cool through the soles of your shoes.
the weight of white, expensive silk rests delicately upon your shoulders, it's uncomfortable and heavy in a way armor must feel to knights who had sworn to wear it. your jewelled crown sits perfectly on your styled hair.
satoru stands just beyond the archway of the venue, dressed not in bells or paint but in plain linen, as close to invisible as a soulful man like him can manage. when he turns to see you, his eyes soften so sweetly his breath leaves his chest in a long deep sigh.
his eyes trace you over without an ounce of shame, it's as if he's attempting to learn your figure by heart in the few breaths he has left in his aching lungs. you look like something out of the old tapestries you'd used to hide behind, adorned in gold threads and beautiful silks, far too holy for the long life you have lived together in empty rooms and forgotten castle corners.
“look at you...” he says unsteadily. “aren't you a breathtaking spectacle.”
you try to laugh, like you always did at his silly little comments, but today you find the sound he loved so much to hear just wouldn't come..
before you can say his name, before you can break down and tell him you don't want this, before the call comes from inside the chapel to advance, he steps forward and drops to one knee on the stone.
“satoru,” you whisper, oh so frightened.
“please, m'lady. let me,” he murmurs.
he takes your hand. his fingers close around yours with a foreign strength that guts you. he presses his lips to your knuckles slowly, for the final time. this is the last honest thing he is allowed to do.
“i’m sorry,” he says into your skin. “i am so very sorry i wasn’t born a prince, o-or a governor. i’m sorry i couldn't be of better blood to of been worthy of your love. i learned how to make you laugh instead of how to keep you.”
your eyes get stingy. “please, don’t.”
he looks up at you then, eyes shining, face bare of all pretense. “i would have made you smile forever,” he says softly. “if they’d of let me, my princess.”
you brush your thumb along his cheek without thinking, catching the wet there. one tear slips free despite everything he is doing to hold himself together.
“i wish my dreams were to come true.” you tell him.
"i wish i'd of made them come true, my love. that's on me."
a voice calls your title from inside the chapel.
satoru squeezes your hand once more, like he is trying to pass something to you through your delicate skin.
“you look stunning,” he says, clearing his throat looking down. “such a sight.”
you want to stay, god, you want to fall to your knees with him, forget crowns and alliances and every rule that has ever touched you. but of course, instead, you let your hand slip from his desperate handling.
when you turn away, you do not look back. you cannot.
the doors open and light pours in through magnificent stained glass, coloring the aisle in reds and blues meant for saints and martyrs.
only, you couldn't appreciate the sight with your vision so blurred from tears. the deep, harmonic music rises and falls with each crescendo, slow and ceremonial. it doesn't give you any sort of feeling of joy or peace, no. it feels eerie and like your life was all a lead up to this gut wrenching loss. the loss of your jester.
at the back of the chapel, satoru watches you walk toward another man, a man lucky enough to be born worthy of you. he remembers the courtyard stones under bare feet, your laughter screeching too loud for court.
he imagines what it would have been like to reach for you where you stood now, to lift you into his arms and run far away, to make a spectacle worthy of the stories they tell children. he imagines the guards. the blood. the way you would look at him when it was over.
he stays where he is.
as you're about to hit the podium, you look back.
just once.
your eyes land on him like they always have.
... he is crying.
a single tear slips down his face, catching the multicoloured light before it falls.
...
the after celebration blurs into a pageant of duty. cups raised in the air, laughter spills from approving mouths. the prince stands closer to your ear and says something meant to make you smile. you do, but it's passable. nothing of the smile satoru could bring from you.
.
in the crowd, a jester bows one last time.
no one notices when he slips out through the side gate. no one calls his name. the road waits, indifferent and open.
years later, people will tell stories.
they will say the princess was beloved. they will say the marriage brought peace. they will say the jester left to chase brighter courts, richer crowds.
no one will say that once, in a quiet castle, a fool loved a princess with everything he had and asked for nothing in return.
but sometimes, when the wind moves just right through the corridors of your new home, a faint sound carries with it. not bells, but something softer. a laugh remembered. a presence felt but never named.
and in that moment, solemn and aching in its own way, you wonder if somewhere on a long road, a man in worn shoes still keeps a space for you, so carefully protected and untouched, like a relic of a beautiful life that almost was.
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