Gate Of Ivory Chapter 1: 1of4, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: Profiteers are CBS, JB, AZ, CM, and AD.
Author's Note: There are fifteen in each chapter. Happy hunting.
Summary: "Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams / Of glittering illusion, fantasies" -- The Odyssey, Book XIX, by Homer, translated by Robert Fitzgerald.
Feedback: If it pleases you.
Rating: PG/K/FRT
Archive(s): the Graveyard Shift; mine. All else must ask.
Pairing(s): Gil/Catherine in disguise
Spoiler(s): None.
Same universe as A Fairytale Investigation.

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Title: Gate Of Ivory
Author: Laeta

(1/4)

Come; gather closer about the fire. Shall another tale be told this evening? One that will pass the night hours while the wind screams and the snow drifts beyond the walls?

There is the tale of King Grissom's courtship of his Lady Courtesan, but it will not suit this night. No, for tonight, the story of the feud between King Grissom and his cousin will do for it is about an unfathomable, unbelievable, and unbearable betrayal.

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Two cousins faced off; cotton padding protected their chests while they gripped silver-tipped foils. Their gazes were steady as they began to fence, neither willing to concede defeat to the other.

Had their face masks allowed, the casual bystander would have seen their amazing resemblance--not only to each other, but also to the grandfather whose bloodlines they shared. Princes they were to a legendary throne though only one could inherit.

As boys, each had been devoted, committed, to the other; best of friends to death they had sworn. Then, both their fathers had died and an uncle had become king. His only sins were to be born third and to love one nephew more than the other; so began the great divide.

Where love once encouraged a friendly competition, now hatred, anger, and resentment fueled an intense rivalry. The need to dominate brought these worthy adversaries here.

Metallic clangs and whispers in the air were the conversations they held; pants and their swords mere punctuation. Watchful eyes, on the guard, carefully judged superiority.

Unexpectedly, one cousin faltered, and the other pressed his advantage--and won. Silence continued to reign as the victor waited for his opponent to concede defeat; their spectators held their breaths, wondering who was who. First, one began, and the other followed, circling about and within the arena, bodies tense with sudden wariness. They began anew, as though they had agreed to a besting of twice out of three times.

A second loss resulted and, finally, the victor forced an acknowledgement. Slowly, swords were lowered and hands shaken.

"I thought it was a lucky strike at first, Cousin," replied the loser, trying to explain the initial loss.

The young Prince Gilbert nodded. His answer was diplomatic: "As did I. It was best that we had a second match."

A sneer accompanied his cousin's words. "Perhaps we will, as long as it is without an audience."

Prince Gilbert stopped Prince Edward with a slight movement of his hand. At once, the prince scowled. Command came so easy to his Cousin Gilbert and obeisance not at all to himself.

Angry at the unconscious deferment to his cousin, Prince Edward foolishly asked, "So, how will you celebrate the besting of me, Cousin? Will you try to woo that scrap of a girl from our childhood?"

It took barely a second for Prince Gilbert's cloak-like poise to drop and to allow his fist to contact the crow's feet on Prince Edward's temple. Down the man went; a knowing smile graced his face.

They were, both, oblivious to the arrival of their uncle, the king, and other members of the court. Among them was a young lady who, with shock in her eyes, absorbed the scene and knew immediately what had passed. The king saw all this as well, but duty prevented him from ignoring the situation.

"What's the meaning of this, Princes?" he had to ask his nephews who hid their surprise at his interference too well.

Prince Gilbert acted first, stretching a hand to Prince Edward in a courteous manner. Prince Edward, accepting the unspoken truce, took the offered help and stood. They bowed to their uncle and Prince Gilbert spoke quietly.

"Mea culpa, Uncle. Forgive me." He turned and exited the room.

All eyes turned to Prince Edward, who was aware of how little he was liked by those who recently had entered.

He donned a pleasant façade and said deliberately light, "Be at ease, Uncle. 'Tis nothing but a night at the movies for the gentlemen here." He gestured widely with his arm. "A pleasant evening of physical pursuits."

Though the disbelief did not waver, the king nodded.

Prince Edward continued, "My lord, if you will excuse me, I believe I will find a cold compress for my head seems to require it to be iced."

He took the approval for granted and walked slowly from the room for his attention was caught upon the young woman who frowned so decidedly at his uncle's side. A thought and a suspicion planted themselves within his mind for later contemplation.

Quickly, the crowd of men gathered to witness the competition dispersed with flimsy excuse save eleven, eleven angry jurors. They had seen the fencing match and the un-sportsmanship of the loser and had heard the taunt meant to tarnish the reputation of she who remained, as always, at the king's side. They remained and bore the unenviable duty of relating everything to their lord and master.

In their narration, they gave ample proof to subsidize the invisible evidence of a provoked situation. It aroused complex and conflicting emotions within the king: the undeniable need to reproof his nephew Gilbert for allowing an insult to affect him and a gladdened heart to know of a ruthless compulsion to do right regardless of consequences and of family ties.

The king's face shifted into deeper lines of grief and of guilt. However, at long last, he praised the loyalty of these eleven souls to the good Prince Gilbert and honorably gave them leave.

To the lady whose face had turned ashen during the account, he expressed as much care as he could. He knew where she wanted to be and sent her there with a message for his nephew.

She found him outside the castle proper, a look of stern self-reprobation marring his handsome face. Her approach was careful and meant to allow an escape if he so wished. Courage filled her when he remained.

"What's eating Gilbert Grissom?" she asked, quietly.

It was apparent that he chose his words carefully.

"There were words spoken--bad words--"

Her hand caressed his arm before she looped her arm through his. Deliberately, she leaned into his body, making some thoughts clearer than words ever could do.

"I am a lady, yes, but not delicate, Gil," she teased him gently with laughter to calm the anger still present within his body. A moment later, she turned to him, serious, to ask, "You are not prone to random acts of violence. There must have been more to provoke. What was it?"

His reply was concise and never meant to be repeated.

It appears, however, that it was an often repeated sentiment for the lady merely said, "Yes, of course, but he was always that crass, that bad to the bone. How does this matter?"

Prince Gilbert never had to answer for she recollected her errand and bid the prince to return to the castle and to his uncle's chamber.