The darkness descended rapidly upon the land before the clock struck five, the sun was a sliver on the horizon.

It was early November in the serene countryside of Surrey, England, and the days were getting shorter. The hedged roads and hilly fields were the background of tall shadows cast by the autumn trees, and the roads were covered in tanned yellow and orange leaves, which twirled down more and more by the day. As the darkness outside the window of a second floor tea lounge swelled up like dark ink pooling in clear water, the windows of the large mansion began to mirror its interior instead of offering a view of the luscious estate outside.

Dark brown eyes observed the body they belonged to slowly becoming visible in the reflection; a tall, slender, athletically built female body, dressed in pyjama pants, a t-shirt, slippers, and a satin night gown. Brown hair hung loose over her shoulders.

A calm, sophisticated voice broke the silence in the classy lounge, “I opened a bottle of wine and prepared some light refreshments, the fireplace is lit, and the rest of the chores are done. Your food is on the stove and the table has been made.”

The woman turned away from the window and smiled briefly at the announcement, “Thank you”, addressing her butler, who stood in the door opening. “I don’t require any other help from you for today.”

“I’ll be in my private quarters then, milady. Have a pleasant evening.”

“Please, could you run one last errand for me? Dial this number and bring me the telephone… it’s an international call,” Lara Croft whispered the order quietly to herself as the door closed, the butler’s footsteps disappearing down the stairs.

“Of course you couldn’t just ask for that, could you?” she hissed angrily to herself, sitting down in one of the seats, and releasing a long sigh. The wine tasted heavenly and went down delightful and smooth with olives, little toasts, and sardines which were standing on the silver tray near the bottle. For a moment Lara toyed with the idea of just finishing all of the light snacks, the entire bottle, and forgetting about dinner for today.

“Don’t give in to such petty comforts just because you don’t feel entirely well.”

The voice of reason got the better of her and Lara put the cork back on the bottle and shoved the tray aside. She paused again undecided if she should go downstairs to eat, or sit a little longer, put on some music, and let her thoughts wander. Experience had always proved that she didn’t do well dwelling on woes, and she chose a direct approach. “I will phone after dinner”, she decided as she finally stood up.

A sudden beeping of the intercom indicated somebody was at the gate.

“Yes?” Lara usually left calls to the butler, but she didn’t want to disturb his free evening. Most rooms in the big house had a small panel attached to wall to operate the intercom, and on a small display she could see a camera image of a guest standing near the gate.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of the day, Lady Croft.” The woman’s mature voice had a French accent and the surveillance camera showed an older, elegant, vital looking woman. In the background, Lara spotted a taxi.

“My name is Marina Dupont, I believe you have crossed paths with my son Pierre in the past. If it suits you, I would ask a few minutes of your time to talk.”

“Well…” Lara wasn’t sure what to answer; it wasn’t a visit she ever expected to get. What would the mother of Pierre Dupont want from her?

“I’m aware of the antagonistic relationship you had with Pierre”, said the woman. “But I mean no harm. I’m alone and I’m not here to ask or demand anything… I just want a moment to talk.”

“Okay, I will open the main gate.”



**





A few moments later Lara stood at the porch of the manor, holding the door open for her guest. Mrs. Dupont stepped out of the taxi, paid the driver, and hurried up the stone steps into the warmth of the entrance hallway. It was dry outside, yet cold and windy, and the woman held a woollen scarf tightly wrapped around her neck.

“Come in Madame, please hand me your coat. I’m sorry to welcome you while dressed in such an informal way. Let me prepare you a cup of coffee or tea.”

“No need to apologize Ms. Croft, you couldn’t expect me to come, after all. Tea would be nice, thank you so much.”

“Did you come all the way here to ask for the whereabouts of your son?”

Lara and Marina Dupont had settled down in the tea lounge, both sipping from their cups of tea.

“No, I’m aware of Pierre’s fate,” Madame Dupont said gravely. She was somewhere in her late seventies, by Lara’s guess. She looked friendly, smart too, but somewhat pensive as if her life hadn’t always been too easy on her.

“Oh, you know…” Lara avoided eye contact.

“I’m not proud of my son, Ms. Croft. He lived a life that estranged him from me and I don’t harbour a grudge against the person who killed him. Because I can only guess it would be out of self defence. Pierre did things to people that would justify such a response in kind, I told him that many times.”

“Oh.”

“Have you ever been in love, Ms. Croft?”

The question was rather unexpected and Lara did not have an answer ready. It was unclear how it would be related to Pierre’s death.

“I’m sorry? Why do you want to know?” Lara couldn’t suppress the indignation in her voice. Was Pierre’s mother honest in her intentions? Did she know something?

“I’m a little rude, and too direct, I know”, Madame Dupont said. “I should tell you that I believe that you were the one who killed Pierre… is that true?”

“Yes.”

“I was almost certain, and as I stated before, I won’t judge you for it. We can see eye to eye. When I found out about my son’s demise I heard some things about you, and how you two ended up crossing paths. I think you should know a little more about Pierre and why he turned out the way he did.”

“Fair enough, but you still didn’t explain why you want to know…”

“Well, have you ever been in love?”

There was something about the soothing, persuasive voice of Marina Dupont that made Lara give in and answer honestly. Maybe it was a natural respect for older people, or an instinctive feel that her words were safe.

“Yes.”



**





“When Pierre was born, we lived in a boring neighbourhood somewhere in the suburbs of Grenoble. My husband was the director of a local elementary school. We always wanted to live in the south though, and when there was a job opening at a school in a village not far from Marseilles we instantly moved.”

A moment of silent followed after the introduction of the story. The antique grandfather clock near the fireplace ticked and Lara looked up from her cup of tea. “Mrs. Dupont, I…”

“Please, call me Marina.”

Lara put her cup on the saucer but struggled to speak her mind.

Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with me? Why were you asking me if I was ever in love?

“Do you want another cup of tea?” was the only thing that came out.

“Yes please.” Marina tilted her head a little and smiled. She looked charming and keen for her age. Her long white hair had still some strands of black in it and her face had the firm lines of a much younger woman. The troubled look in her dark eyes was underlined with sharp determination.

“Pierre loved the countryside and the warm climate”, she continued when two fresh cups of tea were poured. “He struggled at school a bit, and he didn’t have any friends. As the director’s son he wasn’t really popular and that made him a bit of a loner. He read a lot and often went for walks through the country, exploring old castle ruins and historical sites. He became really interested in the local history.”

“So it wasn’t a coincidence I ran into him in St. Francis Folly?”

“Not at all, though if it was up to Pierre you would have seen him earlier on, during your expedition in South America.” Marina opened the large handbag she had hanging on her chair and produced one of Lara’s books. Clearly she had been reading about her son’s and Lara’s escapades.

“We lived in a village called Chabambre”, Marina continued. “Things became better in high school; Pierre had a history teacher he got along very well with and a couple of friends who shared his enthusiasm for local folklore and such. The name of our village might have been derived from Ville Chabambre or Ville de la Bambre, named after a castle or manor named Villa Bambre or Villa Bamba, something along those lines. We were close to Spanish border after all.”

“Vilcabamba…” said Lara softly, smirking. “Did Pierre...?”

“Yes, he thought it was somehow related to the city of Vilcabamba in Peru and held very strongly to that theory.”

“Completely unfounded,” uttered Lara, sounding slightly more arrogant than she intended. “The French never had any influences in South America.”

“It seemed everybody knew that except Pierre,” said his mother sadly. “Or, it is possible he knew it too, but was too pigheaded, too obsessed with the idea, to admit it. I still don’t know what drove him to believe it, what kept him up at night and alienated him from myself and his father, and his friends.”

“That’s sad.” Lara couldn’t think of anything else to say. Despite the earlier reassurance, she still felt a little as if she was trying to justify her actions during her final moments with Pierre.

“The man you shot was a different person,” said Marina, guessing Lara’s thoughts. “What kept him sane during his teenage years was one of his friends, Colette. They were together since the first year in high school; I think it started as a friendship and sort of evolved into something more as they got older. She loved him dearly, and he dropped her like a brick… I still can’t believe he did that. And it was only because she wouldn’t follow him on some crazy expedition on what he thought was a trail to the French roots of Vilcabamba.”



**





A little while later, Lara and Marina walked down the stairs to another part of Croft Manor. It was quiet in the large house and the wind outside had grown into a storm. Wild shadows swept across the tall windows and the creaking sound of the trees could be heard from inside.

“Why did you tell me this?” Lara finally asked. “Why did you come all the way here to tell me this story?”

“Because I want to remind you of the importance of loving another person,” Marina immediately answered. “We all have obsessive loves, just like Pierre. But obsessions can take a turn for the worst, and that’s when we need a friend or a partner to help us put our feet back on the ground. Pierre walked his trail alone, to Lower Canada, and then to New Orleans, where he met that awful man… the Texan.”

“Larson Conrad,” Lara nodded, “an unpleasant individual indeed.”

“He said he was a friend, but he was only a dim-witted minion who believed everything Pierre said, and in return made Pierre believe that everything was justified to get what he wanted. Murder, deceit, theft… he completely lost it and he hurt many people. In the end, Ms. Natla didn’t even let him go to Peru because he was too dangerously obsessed with it.”

“He and Conrad won’t hurt anyone anymore,” said Lara. “Personally, I always thought it was plain greed that drove him. Thank you for telling me this.”

“Obsession is a danger that lurks in all of us, Lara,” said Marina, digging in her handbag. She produced another one of Lara’s books and showed her its contents. The pages were filled with yellow sticky notes, little scribbles and personal notes in the margins, and newspaper and photo clippings.

“I needed to see you to bring myself closure.”



**





“I have something to tell you, to show you, that you wouldn’t have read in my book”, said Lara. They had gone down the stairs and now stood in front of a wooden panel in a corridor, leading the back of the building. The panel was a hidden doorway, Lara flipped a switch, barely visible against the carved decorations, to swing a part of the wall open giving access to stone steps leading into the depths.

“Have you read my second book, about the dagger of Xi’an?” she descended into the basement beyond. “I left out a few details, to protect the privacy of a certain someone. You might wonder who flew the helicopter that dropped me off at the Great Wall, from whom I acquired the first clues about the existence of the dagger, and how I made it back to England after barely surviving the explosion inside the dragon’s lair.”

The stone steps brought them to a part of the building in which the style of the walls and the archways looked older than the rest of the mansion. A bit of an earthy, damp smell was present here, and it was cold.

“We’re in the catacombs of Croft Manor,” explained the lady of the house. “While the rest of the complex and the estate were renovated many times during the years, this part still shows the late medieval origins of my family.”

They proceeded into a larger room full of display cases, paintings and other framed objects, antiquary, and artefacts neatly exposed as though it were a museum. Quite prominently in the middle of the room stood the dagger of Xi’an atop a wooden pedestal of Chinese origin, and protected by a glass case.

“Of all my findings and trophies, the dagger is the most beautiful,” said Lara, “But it’s hard to look at it and not be reminded of certain things.”

Marina Dupont avoided eye contact, seemingly captured by the view of the Chinese artefact, but Lara knew she was waiting to hear more.



**





“Years ago I had a bad leg injury that wouldn’t properly heal,” Lara started calmly, “In search of a better remedy I went looking for an Asian therapist practicing traditional Eastern medicine. I found one in London in the Chinese quarters; a kind man named Chaoxiang Wang with years of experience in many therapies, including acupuncture and moxibustion. His practice was on the top floor above a little Chinese shop, a family business. When I went there the first time I had the pleasure of meeting his daughter Meilin in the store. It was practically love at first sight. I had to return a couple of times for my leg, and every time I was able to somehow run into Meilin first and talk for a while before going upstairs. Their family shop wasn’t just an average grocery store with imported products and souvenirs; it sold artworks, religious objects, old books, and other things like that. I hung on every word Meilin told me about the origins of all their merchandise. She, in turn, was very interested in my travels and endeavours, and so on a personal level we bonded immediately.”

“That sounds wonderful, what happened?” For the first time Marina’s eyes left the dagger and looked at Lara. “Was it… the dagger… that got in the way?”

“Indirectly,” said the Croft woman, “but allow me to finish my story.”

“Excuse me, of course.”

“After a few weeks of seeing each other, outside the appointments I had with her father, I realised I was falling in love with her. At the same time, I was also falling in love with the stories of Xi’an. Meilin had a book about the myths and legends of the city, including those of the dagger. During our evenings together we talked about the chances of finding it. She was sceptical, but also impressed by the results of our combined efforts. We tracked down the origins of the book, the contemporary locations of the events in the ancient stories, and places we could go searching. A little less than a year later we left for China.”

“But you ended up in Italy.”

“We had no idea of the power of the Fiama Nera,” confirmed Lara. “But Meilin didn’t want to get involved; that was the reason for her initial criticism, she thought it’d be too dangerous. We stayed with friends of the Wang family. One of them owned a license to fly a helicopter and dropped me off at the location where we thought the temple was located. Meilin accompanied me on the trip but we agreed she would stay behind. We differ because she is the bookish type that likes to stay safe and not get her hands dirty. I barely had contact with her in the days that followed, but every time I spoke to her on the phone she became more worried and more convinced I had to quit my search.”

“But you didn’t.” It was pretty chilly down in the basement, and Marina secured the top button of her blouse and pulled her cardigan closed.

“Let’s go upstairs,” said Lara as she went ahead. “Will you join me for dinner?”



**





“I can’t blame her, she was staying behind with her friends and didn’t hear from me for days sometimes. And when I phoned, I her told about shootouts in the Venice opera house and almost drowning at a ship wreck on the bottom of the sea.”

The two women stood in the kitchen and Lara inspected the food that waiting at the stove. There was enough for two, but Marina hadn’t been clear if she actually wanted to eat or not.

“Was she angry with you?” Pierre’s mother asked.

“Yes, well… in a concerned sort of way. She didn’t get really angry until I returned to her with the dagger. I was in a bad condition, which I didn’t get into detail about in the book, but I was mentally and physically at the end of my rope. And we knew the Fiama Nera was hunting relentlessly for the woman who killed their leader. I had to lay low and Meilin was looking after me the entire time.”

“How much time passed?” asked Marina. “In the book it sounded like you returned home just a day later. That’s when those men tried to break into here, right?”

“More than half a year, actually.” Lara was telling her things she hadn’t expected ever to be sharing with anyone.

“We rented an apartment in Shanghai and lived together for more than five months. I stayed inside most of the time, and Meilin had a job in the city. It was a quiet life, but a life I’m not cut out for. I was getting cabin fever, begging her to take me back home or at least let me travel again. But she was protective and kept saying it was dangerous. In the end she gave in, and agreed to move while keeping a low profile. To avoid attention from the Italians we took a boat to Calcutta. After a sleepless night in India we managed to get a straight flight to Switzerland, and from there a train brought us to southern France… maybe not too far away from your hometown, now that I think about it. And there we stayed for another while, about two months I think.”

“But you couldn’t settle down again?”

“Indeed. I had to bring my trophy home, to claim it by putting it in my house. Plus, I didn’t want to live like that, hiding from a group of cultists. I didn’t believe they would still be after me, and I began accusing Meilin of paranoia and being overprotective. After a fight I left for England by myself. And indeed the Fiama Nera did break into my house, but it was a bit more severe than I described in the book. It was an entire assault squad with attack dogs and professional equipment; they were not only planning to steal the dagger back but to assassinate me as well. And they almost succeeded; it was one of the bloodiest fights I ever went through and one of the few moments where I really feared for my life. It was really very brutal.”

Marina remained quiet and looked at Lara with the same morose look in her eyes. The silence was painful. “Meilin must have been furious,” she finally whispered.

“She was,” admitted Lara, “and she was right. She had been right about the danger, warning me and protecting me all the time for a good reason. She didn’t want anything to happen to me, and now it felt like my pride and the obsession over the dagger had been my top priority the entire time, instead of us. I haven’t talked to her since.”



**





“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

Marina Dupont now stood on the majestic porch of Croft Manor. A taxi was waiting in the driveway, and the storm had calmed down, a bright moon peeked out from behind the clouds.

“No thank you Lara, it’s time I leave. The hotel won’t be pleased if I have to ring the bell to let me in. I’m glad I had a chance to meet you… I can finally lay to rest some demons of the past.”

“Me too,” Lara nodded politely, before leaning in for a quick embrace. “Thank you. I will do what you told me.” And then, in French, “Have a safe journey.”

“Thank you, and take care,” Marina replied in French before walking to the taxi. Lara waved her goodbye and waited for the cab to disappear down the road before closing the door. On her way back to the kitchen she took the telephone from a small table near the hat stand and dialled a number.

She felt her heartbeat increase as the phone rang on the other end of the line, but a comfortable sort of calmness came over her once she heard a familiar voice say hello on the other side.

“Meilin? It’s Lara. I owe you an apology. Or rather… an explanation. An explanation as to why I’m so stupid, and it was only tonight that I realised how important you are.”



THE END





NOTICE: This story is a work of fiction. Lara Croft, her likeness, and the Tomb Raider games are all copyright of EIDOS Interactive. There is no challenge to these copyrights intended by this story, as it is a non-sanctioned, unofficial work of the author's own. Entry for the 7th Village of Tokakeriby Tomb Raider Story Competition, 2012.