Lara Croft Tomb Raider: Legend (C) Eidos Interactive Limited, 2005. Developed by Crystal Dynamics, Inc. Published by Eidos, Inc. 2005. Lara Croft Tomb Raider: Legend, Lara Croft, Tomb Raider, the Tomb Raider logo, Eidos and the Eidos logo, Crystal Dynamics and the Crystal Dynamics logo are all trademarks of the Eidos Group of Companies. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners. All rights reserved.
Not to be archived anywhere outside the Croft Codex, and Raider:
Stones Best Left Unturned
By Heidi Ahlmen
Note: a nice map of the area where this story takes place can be found at
is the study of whatever religious or heroic legends are so foreign to a student's experience that he cannot believe them to be true."
- Robert Graves 1968
Prologue:A difficult patient
Eric Falshingham grimaced at the foul smell of disinfectant that floated relentlessly in the corridor he was pacing down. After dodging a few nurses along with a technician transporting a broken gurney towards the elevators he halted before the ward's reception desk. The receptionist was so engrossed in her papers she failed to notice him until he cleared his throat, then she raised her head just as a phone began to ring in a demanding crescendo.
Falshingham cleared his throat and the woman raised her head just as a phone began to ring in a demanding crescendo. "Pardon," she commented dryly, and picked up the receiver.
Falshingham sighed. His face must've looked quite exasperated as the woman paused her conversation, covered the receiver with her palm and shot him a cold, interrogative look. "Yes?"
"Lara Croft, please?"
The woman stared at him. Literally stared. Then she found her composure, and pointed her finger towards the end of the corridor. "Number sixty-three."
Falshingham smiled. "Thank you," he replied, quickly surveyed the ghastly yellow bouquet of flowers he was carrying, and continued down the corridor.
It turned out that number sixty-three wasn't difficult to find. When he'd passed number sixty an enraged shriek and a chair flying out of a room with the door open caught his attention. He was nearly knocked down by a male nurse trailing backwards out of the room in a haste escape.
Falshingham smiled. Now he wouldn't even have to check the room number. He walked in.
Lara Croft, lying in the only bed in the room wearing a set of black, silky pajamas, pushed herself to a sitting position and prepared for another bout of verbal abuse before she recognized her visitor. "Falshingham!"
She had known him for a long time and could with honesty say that he was one of the more peculiar characters she had ever met. His hobbies went deeper into magic and sorcery than Lara sometimes felt comfortable with, but he did have considerable skill and knowledge when it came to the occult and Lara considered him a valuable consort and a good friend. However, she had not yet found a suitable word to describe his profession, as "wizard" was such a prejudiced one, something Falshingham himself had once commented.
He grabbed an upturned chair and dragged it next to Lara's bed after giving her a polite kiss on the cheek. "Lara. You've certainly got your energies back. How was Karachi?"
She'd just returned from a hunt in Pakistan, injured, and having once cared for her when she was ill Falshingham could well imagine the suffering Lara was putting the staff through. She was a notoriously bad patient who got very acutely irritated when denied her exercise even due to sound reasons.
"Eventful, as you can imagine," Lara retorted.
Falshingham snagged her chart from the bedside table and began reading.
A nurse peeked in. Lara grimaced. "Bloody gits. Won't even let me walk around. They're probably afraid I'd take a runner. Not that I haven't tried."
"That's my girl – giving them a run for their money. Severe concussion, then? With a fractured skull? What have you been up to? Bungee without a rope?"
Lara smiled sadly. "Just a little something that involved an outdated rope and a loose rock. Bloody McCreegan got on my trail again and decided it was time for an exchange of property."
Suddenly Fashingham's expression was full of concern. "This situation might be a problem."
Lara's expression melted into apology. "Don't worry – they're not kicking me out yet, I just had a slight disagreement with the damned nurse over my alleged tendency of fainting in the shower."
"That wasn't what I meant." The concern did not subside.
Lara pushed a woolly shawl off the bed and turned to face him properly. "I'll be as good as new in a week or so. Don't you worry."
Falshingham glanced at both his watch and the wall clock. Lara had rarely seen him so seemingly riled up. "It's just that we might not have that much time." He commented, rising from the chair.
"What are you on about, Falshingham?"
He shot her a nervous glance. "I have to go. Could you please promise me something?"
"What is it?" Lara dangled her leg over the edge of the bed.
"Just promise." Falshingham's tone was serious.
Lara shot him an indignant look. "You know I don't work like that. Spill."
"Come and see me when they let you out, alright? It's important. Don't take permanent residence here."
Lara laughed hollowly. "When has that been a desire of mine? I'll come over, I give you my word."
Falshingham started for the door. In Lara's opinion he looked disturbingly distraught, as though the fact that they were not releasing her yet had somehow upset him. She would certainly visit him soon to get to the bottom of this.
When he was almost at the door he remembered the flowers her was still clutching. He turned and tossed the bouquet to Lara. "For you."
Lara caught the ghastly yellow flowers, uncertain what to make of the gesture. "Thank you," she replied, but he was already out of the door.