Galahad's Shield

Galahad, not Lancelot, was the best knight in the world, and it was Galahad, the last descendant of Joseph of Arimathea, who found the Holy Grail.

In her line of work, Lara knew that some stories weren't stories at all, but based on actual events, clues to actual artifacts. However, grail lore was a bit more of an academic exercise for her and she never fancied it as much as other mysteries of the past. Nonetheless, she was intrigued by the idea of finding the shield of Sir Galahad – one of the last knights of Arthur's roundtable.

The stories say that Galahad rode off on his quest without a shield because he was destined to find a mystical one during his journey.

Lara always thought that part of the story was interesting – after all, why would the authors go out of their way to emphasize this aspect of the story – and when she found herself asking those types of questions her gut told her that this was probably because there's something more than just a story. Galahad's shield had always thus been on her radar as a possible item to look for, but she never actively tried to search for it until she received a phone call yesterday from Branson.

As it turns out, Sir Charles Branson was having his manor's storage vaults inventoried when one of his workers found an old journal. Knowing Branson's fondness of his glorious ancestors, the worker rushed the book into his hands.

At first Branson was unimpressed by the book's scribbles. What he didn't realize – but his servant did – was that his ancestor had written everything in ancient Greek. Fortunately his servant was also a well-educated graduate student.

"I didn't realize my manservant had hired Oxford students to clean-out my family's vaults," Branson said over the phone with a laugh. "Ah, it's so good to surround oneself with genius, it just speaks so much about the person they're surrounding," he said with another self-congratulatory laugh. Lara listened with great patience.

"Sir Branson, you mentioned something about clues to the location of Galahad's shield…" Lara interrupted.

"Ah, yes, something about a quest and a castle, I don't really remember the details, but the servant – err student said that she was a great admirer of yours and that you would be an excellent person to call….I of course was thrilled to have the opportunity to call upon Lord Richard Croft's daughter – I thought it was a splendid idea –"

"Sir Branson," Lara interrupted. "When can I see the journal?"

And that was how she found herself invited to the party, linked arm and arm with Branson and walking down the hallways of his family's estate.

Lara was always appreciative of history, yet she was painfully aware that the portraits, paintings and artifacts hanging from Branson's walls were used more as showpieces than respected for their history. For example, Branson was probably unaware of the very pagan symbolism encapsulated in a tapestry the two just passed which was placed next to the portrait of a very devout looking elderly stateswoman. Oh well, his ignorance would serve Lara's purpose. If Branson's ancestors had discovered the location of Galahad's shield then she would once again conquer one of history's greatest mysteries.

The two walked a long ways until finally even the music and laughter of the ballroom was barely audible. The two stopped to what Lara presumed was the entrance to Branson's study. The whole time the nobleman had been eagerly talking about himself and his family - Lara's interest only piqued during his discussion of his great grandfather, the author of the mystery journal. Apparently he followed the great tradition of a scholar/adventurer befitting an English nobleman's pursuits.

Branson was just concluding the story about his grandfather as his hand stopped on the doorknob of the room. With a smile he swung the door open.

To Lara's great dismay she found herself looking at a bedroom. She gave Branson a sharp questioning look. Branson smiled coyly.

"Where is the journal," Lara demanded.

"Well I thought we'd discuss payment –"Shock then anger passed through her. Even Lara couldn't believe a man raised in one of England's finest families would have such an approach. Lara was bred to have manners.

"Sir Branson, clearly you are not yourself, so I will kindly ignore this episode," she said sharply. Branson's face darkened.

"What's this? Clearly you were ready to provide Terry Sheridan with an 'episode'," he said angrily. Lara stepped back in disgust. She had no time to deal with such nonsense.

"Sir Branson, you forget yourself," she said darkly. He didn't see her body tense, a position that most men saw as a signal to leave.

With a sloppy thrust Branson reached out for her. Then just as quickly found him self thrown back against the wall.

Lara straightened herself – she didn't even move.

Terry Sheridan stood next to her, dusting his hands across his shoulders.

Lara smirked. "I wondered when you would step out of the shadows," she said matter-of-factly. Terry smiled at her.

"Consider me your personal Lancelot, my lady," he said as chivalrously as possible. Lara arched an eyebrow. He had no idea how right on target he was with that reference.

Branson was moaning on the floor.

"You made quite a mess," she said.

"Aye, and he'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow," Terry said. He bent and lifted the unconscious man across his shoulder.

"The sonofabitch could never hold his liquor, we'd always have to put him to bed at the academy. Let's put him to bed then," Terry dropped Branson onto the bed.

Lara stood at the doorway, reviewing what a mess the evening had been. All she wanted was to see that journal. But she admitted that things did get a little more interesting than she suspected.

Her butler, Hillary, had warned her that Branson was probably not going to give up the journal easily. In her gut Lara knew this would be true. So she came prepared. She would have to "borrow" the journal, but she couldn't do that with Sheridan lurking around.

Lara studied her "knight in shining armor." He was probably priding himself on his "rescue" and Lara supposed that a normal lass would be swooning. But she was no normal lass. Besides she would have taken Branson out with a little more finesse than the brute punch that Sheridan inflicted. 'Typical military,' she said to herself. She sighed.

"I gather he had that coming then," Lara said to Sheridan, cognizant of the men's animosity towards one another.

"We butted head a few times," Terry replied. "He was always sore that a man from a "humbler" background got higher marks than him." Sheridan gave her a coy look. "But he always got the girl…"

Lara laughed, "I see, well it looks like I've gotten myself in the middle of a feud." He walked over and put his hand over the doorframe, learning towards her.

"Not yet," he said with a noticeably darker tone. Lara couldn't help but smile. He was good, but she didn't have time for this.

"Lara Croft," she said extending her hand. Terry smiled.

"Terry Sheridan," he took her hand in a firm hold. She repeated his name and smiled at him.

"I – I'm afraid that I have to get going," she said apologetically. Terry nodded and leaned closer.

"Can I see you again," he asked. Lara found herself nodding affirmative.

"Would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow," he asked. She found herself nodding 'yes' again.

A painful moan from the bedroom reminded Lara about the reason for her visit. She turned and gave Terry a broad smile.

"Well that's my cue," she backed away from the door and quickly walked down the hallway leaving Terry looking after her. It didn't pass him that she didn't leave him with any contact information.

Terry smiled to himself. He liked a challenge.