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Reins of the Tomb Raider	By : HunterOpera Category: +S through Z > Tomb Raider (all) > Tomb Raider (all) Views: 38210 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Tomb Raider and make no money from this. Also, this is not a happy story. It will not have a happy ending. You have been warned.

Chapter List
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For three winters, James joined our struggles against the harsh winters of glorious Parmistan. The conflicts had put hair on his chest; slim though he remained, my friend the Earl of Faringdon still came out into the drifts with u. Hard wire of muscle dwelt under his flesh now, the pain of his eyes turned to light of purpose. The ambassador had become a welcome sight, and the people of my homeland made an effort to pronounce his name properly, from JAH-mez to JAE-mz. He appreciated it, though not so much as we appreciated his efforts to learn our language.

He wrote a concerto about our struggles against the seasons, celebrating the strength of our people. The Emperor himself declared it a masterwork, and people from other villages tuned in over the wireless internet connection that percolated over the whole of our small country. Even the Village of the Damned heard the concerto, the madness of that terrible place brought still by the glory my friend had crafted.

I had never been prouder of any human being.

And so it was with trepidation that I went to my friend with news one day in the early weeks of spring.

“Morning, Zamir,” James greeted me, clapping me on the back and looking out over his gardens. “The thaw is mighty, my friend, and this summer will yield excellent wines for the winter ahead.” I smiled at him – he had even come to sound like one of us. I shook my head to clear it, as he had to be told of what had come, following him from his past to our present.

“My friend, my friend, I have news,” I told him. He looked at me, frowning, and accepted my invitation to follow. We walked through the streets of beautiful Candover, capital of our great nation, stopping only to make the proper offerings to Bacchus and Neptune. He noted our journey, recognized the home of Parmistan's intelligence apparatus, though he kept his silence.

My cousin, Ivo, greeted us as we crossed the door.

“Greetings, cousin and friend!” he said, throwing his arms wide. Ivo was a boisterous man, loud and exceptionally good at his job. “I am glad that you are both here. Come.”

He took us to a closed room, within a series of screens that showed the dangerous mountain pathways and treacherous shallows that were the only lead to Parmistan. A guide and a girl were walking them, a rare sight given how few visitors dared the journey, but the girl had caught Ivo's attention, then mine, and now that of my friend. I held the picture the Earl had given me so long ago up to the monitor, and looked back upon him.

I did not want to hurt him.

“She says her name is Amelia DeMornay,” I said. “We know this is a lie.”

“We need to be sure,” Ivo said. “And no one would know this woman better than you.”

James stared for a long and silent moment. It was her, then, and we both knew it. This was the Croft woman – the Duchess of Arlington, the woman that had broken my friend's heart so long ago. I saw that pain threaten him again, the wavering in his eyes, but his time in glorious Parmistan had made him strong. He mastered the pain, and himself, and I was proud of how far he had come.

“It's her,” James said. “Amelia was her mother's name. DeMornay is her uncle. She's probably coming here to steal something. She's not sane, you know.”

Ivo and I looked at one another. We have read the reports from Syria and Siberia and it is the root of our concern. The Croft woman is dangerous, a violent psychopath who leaves destruction in her wake, stealing relics from the past and claiming her title as a means to escape punishment. Ivo shares his worries with James, but James sets us both at ease.

“We don't know why she's coming here,” James says. “But if she breaks any of your laws, I assure you that England will honor our extradition treaty with your mighty nation.” We thank him for this certainty. She is royalty, and it had been weighing heavily upon our minds.

Lara Croft goes through Candover, picking up supplies on her way to noble Routard, a village north of the capital. We watch as she pays for a room and settles in. She has smuggled weapons into our country, two pistols, a small cane which she curves into a bow, some sort of climbing tool. She has a map, and we watch as she spreads it, marking a path.

She means to go to the Village of the Damned, a place that is strictly off limits, excepting the Great Game. The Village is a dangerous place, full of the violently mad, but there are treasures there – it was the home of Gaius Caesar in ancient days, but now is an echo of the glory that was. All good people avoid it. Under cover of night she creeps inside.

We watch, transfixed. She is an adept athlete, and her acrobatic skill keeps her safe as she explores the terrible village. Her path is littered with broken things, buildings and bodies, but she will not stop. Ivo's cameras, no bigger than insects, follow her and record everything – her every movement, her every crime.

Deeper and deeper she goes, into the heart of the ancient village, to places no sane mind would ever venture. She finds armor there, an old Roman chest plate. It must be centuries old. Neither James or Ivo recognizes the Latin in the room, and mine is faded but not entirely gone – still, I am able to identify the long dead owner.

“That armor belonged to Gaius Caesar,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from the metal, glittering even now, untouched in almost two thousand years. I swallow. “The Emperor will want it.”

We watch as she leaves, as ruthless out as in. It is almost dawn when she slips back into her room and hides the armor. We stare as she cleans herself and then slides into bed, exhaustion claiming her waking mind.

“We could arrest her,” Ivo whispers. “She broke into the Village of the Damned, assaulted people, stole a national treasure.”

“You should wait,” James says. He sits, hands in his lap, head tilted back and eyes staring at the sleeping girl. Her breathing is steady, gentle. His is a ragged thing he fights to control. “If she leaves your borders with the chest plate, that's smuggling. Four charges, not just three.”

Ivo nods, and I clasp my friend on the back and smile. He is wise. We will listen, and we will wait.
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Reins of the Tomb Raider