I know, I know it's copied verbatim from the film. I know it's all hopelessly contrived and I am making this character sound like Gertrude Bell. I AM SORRY! Once more, I wrote this originally three or four years ago when I was much younger and less imaginative..

The next morning I awoke before the others, just as dawn broke over the horizon; it had been a night of deep sleep and no dreams for me, which was, frankly, unusual.

Yet, I in no way regretted being an early riser, as I watched over the dunes as the burning fiery orb began its ascent in the sky with agonizing slowness, as if it was proving that it was the all-powerful fireball which ruled us in the desert, while we were mere humans, who toiled under its malevolent gaze.

As these thoughts whirled through my head, like swirling gases, I did not happen to notice Lawrence who had apparently woken up, and was staring at me, with a grin on his face as I admired the sky.

'You're awake?' he turned to me.

'Certainly,' I mimicked something he might say.

'The sun is most golden and glorious this morning, Lieutenant Lawrence...' I continued in a droning monotone.

'Indeed, I believe we shall experience the full force of our celestial dead weight in a few hours, Miss Grecoff,'

'Yet, if a solar eclipse darkened our heavens, would it so darken our hearts, also?' my words fell on deaf ears.

'I hate this useless, chitchat. Come here, I want to show you my notebooks,'

A smile lit my face as I looked on intrigued at a thick leather notebook that was thrown in front of me. I picked it up gently, brushing off particles of sand, and gently opened its pages with reverence.

'I've been writing approximately since the Red Sea, and when we went into port, for I'm sure I must at least document the bare facts for now. My prologue though was started earlier on, though'

I moved in closer, scanning the journals. Descriptions and musings of the war, Feisal, the Arabs, their history, my mind spun with the quantity of facts I had acquired in a few pages.

'If you ever managed to publish a whole book, it would certainly be a triumph,' I finished with awe as I looked upward eyes glimmering.

An icy chill ran through me all of a sudden. 'Certainly, I couldn't write this, nor have the passion- I think I am more set on documenting fictional fantasies. As far as journalism went, it was all about getting writing experience,'

I bit my lower lip, 'In any case, it almost seems like theft or cheating to have me here in the same position as you, what in the world do I have to offer here? So far, I feel pointless,'

Lawrence looked at me intently, raising my chin carefully. His mouth was set into a thin line and his gaze was remarkably steady and intense.

'You have come here to offer what you have, which is more than either of us will hope to gain from the other. You have already proved yourself, to me, to Dryden, and to Murray. You just have to keep proving yourself. It may not be easy, but you are the only one of us that knows the real reason you're here,'

I closed my eyes momentarily and thought about Lawrence's hopeful words. My father? Mostly. After all, it was his idea, but, I could have refused. I could have meekly told him that I had no red blood, that I wasn't interest. Yet, I accepted, I persevered, learning about Arab culture, reviewing politics, planning for an expedition, and bringing along several journals, packing re-packing, and contacting family and friends. At the time, fear or doubt had never entered my brain. It was something I had been waiting for all my life, but I just hadn't realized.

I opened my eyes. Our Arab had awakened, and new energy was rushing through my veins.

New reason filled me, and my own personal mission became as clear as a bolt of lightning out of the blue. It was as if the reason for life had just made itself clear to me. Breakfast past sluggishly, as we were offered pasty white food that looked suspiciously like maggots, and tasted suspiciously fatty and spongy at the same time. Possibly the best part, was Lawrence having forged a new friendship with our guide, something I was sure would come in handy.

Our mood having lightened, the day spent riding under open sky was, in fact, enjoyable, and I eagerly spoke to Lawrence on occasion when our camels neared each other in their continuous rhythm.

As we mounted a particular hillock of sand, our guide jumped off, as he pointed out into the distance in a manner which made me fear that we may be in dangerous territory.

'Bedou,' the words in this context were spine-chilling, and the three of us, dismounted our camels to try to spot the ones who had halted our expedition.

Lawrence made use of the binoculars hung around his neck for this purpose, as I likewise tried without, but to no avail.

'From here to Lord Feisal's camp is Hareth country,'

I racked my brain, ah, the Hareth! Information flooded my mind as I remembered what I had learnt.

'Yes, I know,' came Lawrence, and his words provided not the slightest comfort.

'I am not Hareth,'

'No, Ha-'

'Hazimi of the Beni Salam,'

Our words melded into one statement. We broke off as we realized that we had just said the exact same thing in almost perfect synchrony. Our eyes met, and as I felt those marine spheres bore into me once again, I honestly hoped that some of the emotion that pinched me would become evident to him. In fact, I felt my cheeks become hot, and I couldn't stop smiling in an idiotic way afterward.

. . .

We continued, descending a steep incline, and leading our camels hazardously behind us. I was very careful with each movement, hands sweating buckets with the fear I may come tumbling down at any moment.

Lawrence in front of me moved more recklessly in the effort to catch up to our guide, who at but a few feet, moved with confident precision.

I grasped the rope which held my camel carefully, but still felt my feet shifting precariously. I finally realized that being at the back of the group was in no means a guarantee of safety.

Lawrence in front of me, was moving faster, and as I proceeded toward him in the hope of conquering this slope once and for all, was interrupted by his own slip.

I gasped letting go of my camel to help him up, when tripping over my rope I crashed onto him, so that we found ourselves rolling together the rest of the way.

There was no time to give a cry as we tumbled to a halt below, I having landed directly atop him, so that I was literally lying, my legs spread across his navel, my hair having flown in all directions.

Still overcome with shock I barely registered when Lawrence jokingly commented,

'I rather like this position,'

I immediately got up, the familiar heat returning to my cheeks as I struggled for much need words.

Bedraggled Lawrence likewise raised himself, and somehow, I laughed.

Tears staining my cheeks, I laughed, which was how our helpful guide found us, on the ground again, clutching each other in a delicious moment of hysteria.

. . .

We had been going at a steady trot for a good while, but, eventually, we halted once again, to my surprise for a lesson in camel riding.

'Put your right foot in front, lock it with you left foot, then when you're ready to go, hit her on the shoulder and say, hut, hut, hut!' Adequate hand gestures were provided to illustrate the situation.

I gave a small smile of superiority remembering how our guide had grudgingly complimented my superior riding abilities earlier, before Lawrence gave a shout of 'Hut, hut- hut!'

Suddenly, his camel bolted with impressive speed, and as the guide looked on with alarm, he disappeared over a nearby dune. I slapped my camel eagerly, as we headed off to see what we could see.

I gave a raucous cry, half of mirth and half of pain. I immediately jumped off, to attend to the fallen Lawrence, who sat lopsided on the sand, his camel groaning frantically.

I reached my hands out, brushing away his hair and feeling his face gently, fingering his cheekbones, a laughable expression on my face.

Lawrence didn't seem to be overly enjoying the attention, but I felt it by duty to baby him.

'You poor thing!' I chuckled, admiring the hard contours of his muscles as he got up with a small 'hmmpff' to restore his bruised dignity.

Likewise, our Bedou behind us, tried to disguise his laughter in the form of an unfortunate clucking.

'Today will be difficult, but tomorrow, good riding!'

. . .

Riding continued day in and day out, with a fantastic number of failures on both our parts, and an adequate number of successes. Thankfully, we made good time, and the evening was made to rest, as we basked in the coolest hour of the day, exchanging conversation, writing (I was very much involved with documenting the anatomy of a camel and my story of the desert countess),and philosophizing. Philosophizing had always been a main pursuit of mine since childhood, and Lawrence mind was so refreshing, I could hardly wait for the evenings of discussions, headed by Lawrence's angelic drone, and thrust into confusion and chaos by my bright chirp. Our nights would eventually end though, and the soothing chatter of our own voices and the stillness of the night would lull to glorious slumber. Morning was always exciting, and after we ate, we headed out to see what new disasters we might encounter on our way. In no time at all we had made it to the Matzurah well.

The sloshing of water broke the stillness of midday, as our Bedou (whom I finally learnt was named Tabad) carefully reeled up a goatskin of purity.

The two of us both managed to get a drink, and thankfully, English chivalry applied, so that i managed to quench my aching thirst with a cool drink first. I regarded the dusty atmosphere around me as I drank, and it hit me how precious water must be to Arabs in a land such as this, for the way that sweet elixir tasted, I thought I was drinking honeyed wine, not brackish water.

'Good?' Tabad posed the question with a jolly note.

'It's alright,' Lawrence weakly said.

'This is a Hareth well, the Hareth are a dirty people,' muttered Tabad as if trying to make an excuse for the inferior water.

I laughed involuntarily. 'It's the best thing I ever tasted—and I think it's making me tipsy!' I whirled around, pretending to be drunk, before I stumbled on a loose stone on the side of the well. Horror lit my face as I fell, only to be caught by Lawrence, who had managed to keep a sharp eye out for me.

'Thank-you,' I mouthed, my eyes closed, and my breathing heavy with relief.

'All in a day's work, melady,'

'You saved my life!'

'I hope you would allow me the lengths to kiss thy hand,'

'Charmed,' I whispered as his lips touched my skin once again.

I followed as Lawrence sauntered over to a nearby mound, lying down comfortably on his side. I joined him, putting my head in my hands, as he pulled out the scope lens on his compass, whistling a tune I didn't recognize.

'Don't scope me!' I giggled.

'Hmm... .' Lawrence pretended to stroke his chin in mock arousal, eyes curved to slits.

'You are a filthy beast, and I hope I never lay eyes on you as long as I live!' I cried snatching away the compass.

'I'm afraid Mademoiselle-'I felt my wrists tighten in an iron grip, yet before I could give a joking groan of protest, the thud of the goatskin into the well distracted our attentions.

Tabad stood, just above the well, eyes staring into the innumerable distance I felt my veins run cold. Lawrence and I both turned, looking in the same direction, and as I felt the grip on my wrists slacken, I felt the blood in my hands return, thumping my pulse painfully loudly.

You could have heard a pin drop in the pervading silence.

In the distance a small black spot materialized before my eyes, and as we stood stock still gazing into the horizon, I believe an onlooker would have laughed at our helplessness.

'Turks,' Lawrence's words, cut through the air like a knife though hot butter.

Tabad had turned into a frozen statue. His whole body petrified, only his eyes animated.

'It must be an Arab!' I whispered frantically, 'A Hareth!'

The blurred image continued, nearing us with astonishing slowness, yet at the moment, I felt as if the whole world was centred in that moment. All of space and time in the head of a needle.

My heart thudded in my chest, and then, I could see the sweat glistening on Lawrence's brow, I sensed the wispy breeze cool my wet arms and legs, tasted salty blood in my mouth from biting down so hard on my tongue.

'Bedou,'

Seconds turned into hours, and still the sun beat down unmercifully above our bare heads.

Terror suddenly gripped me as I saw the swinging of the far-off man's capes, and I felt a nauseating churning in my stomach, as I continued to stare paralyzed with fear.

Closer, ever closer he came, a vision from afar, suddenly, real, alive, no longer an unreal shadow, no longer stuff of nightmares, but of flesh and bones.

Lawrence began to cautiously move, in choppy jerks closer to the well, motioning at me to stay behind. Glaring, I disobeyed him, the terror inside of me, only fuelling the urge to move, somewhere, and I craved Lawrence's reassuring stability beside me.

As if he was a mechanical puppet suddenly come to life, Tabad flew across the sand, already it was obvious his purpose. That was when I knew, for sure that our visitor was in no way a friend.

'Tabad!'

In a split-second I saw the gun steady, then a gunshot.

The gun flew directly to Lawrence's feet, and coldness filled my heart, for what had just occurred seemed utterly impossible.

Tabad's crumpled body lay on the sand like a tribute. A tribute to what? Survival of the fittest, survival of the one without mercy or rationality. Shoot first and talk later? I still could not comprehend that our guide was dead, shot by a pitiless monster. I felt myself quivering with rage.

Our black stranger trotted gradually closer, before alighting on the sand, and surveying our deceased comrade, face covered, and primitive bayonet slung over shoulder in a manner which made one believe that from doing such deeds all his life, that he was forcing himself to find some enjoyment in the act. Beside me, Lawrence, was likewise reflecting my emotions with an intensity which surprised me. In fact, I had seen him accepting and embracing Arab culture so much, to see him not defending it, but openly protesting its cruelty was close to frightening.

'He is dead,' our visitor sharply ejected.

'Yes,' Lawrence's voice cut like razors.

'Why?'

'He drunk from my well,'

'I drunk from it,'

'You are welcome,' finally the man's face appeared, revealing a great oily moustache and a darkly outlined visage.

'He was my friend,' I could not only see the rage, I could hear it now.

'He was both our friends!' I had felt forgotten up to now, and taking the opportunity I questioned 'What makes this your well...'

'Ali, Ali of the Hareth, and this well is a well which has been passed down from me by my father's fathers,' he was about to make a mocking bow when he looked at me, more intently at time, noticing for once, something different.

'A woman?' his words were filled with confusion and the slightest bit of respect.

'In all my days, I have never seen—'

'A Canadian woman, in uniform, standing up for what I believe is right, and trying to make sense of an event which causes horror to stir within me,' Even I was shocked by my own words.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

He laughed. Ali of the Hareth laughed a wondrous roar which was relinquished by the emptiness of the desert.

'Come closer, woman, you minx!' where he had learnt such a word I would never know, but I stood silently.

'No,'

In a moment, Lawrence grasped me.

'You won't lay a hand on her,' the resolution in his voice and the protective way in which he held me to him, was wonderful, but I felt the desire to fight my own battles strong within me.

Ali just smiled. He sauntered closer.

'This pistol yours?' the question was directed at Lawrence, but in that moment I saw him gleam his white teeth directly at me.

'His,'

The pistol went into the man's belt, and even though I felt the desire to ripple the pond by asking why he hadn't posed the same question to me, but I knew how unsafe it was for both of us.

The question was repeated again to Lawrence's metal cup, which was met with the answer 'Mine'.

'Then I will use it,' he proceeded to disrupt the well.

'Your friend, was a Hazimi of the Beni Salam'

'I know,'

'What was a Hazimi doing here?'

'We came to drink, Ali of the Hareth,' breaking my bonds, I came directly up to our opponent. For I had not only escaped the bonds of Lawrence's iron grip, but the bonds of fear which held be stronger than the most powerful chains. I was elated as I continued.

'We are on our way to see Prince Feisal, and I am sure you never intended to be an obstruction in our journey,'

I was preparing myself for everything, to be struck, grabbed, even rape could be survived with little mental trauma I hoped, but I never expected what would happen next.

He kissed me.

On the side of my face, in a quick gesture. I was stunned.

'Now, you were saying?'

Lawrence thankfully came to my rescue, for I had turned into a marble sculpture.

'We came from Cairo!'

'Indeed! I was in Cairo, for my schooling, I can both read and write,' Ali took a swig from the cup, and his gesture of indifference, stunned me, for I still could not understand his previous behaviour.

'Lord Feisal already has an Englishman,'

'Yes,' Lawrence's disgusted silence seemed to speak more than a furious speech.

'What is your name?'

'My name is for my friends,'

'None of my friends is a murderer,' the disgust rose like bile in his throat.

'You are angry, English,' Ali moved to his camel.

'He was nothing, the well is everything, the Hazimi may not drink at our wells, he knew that,'

I wished to form a response, but words could not form for, I was still motionless.

'Salaam!' I closed my eyes.

'Sharif Ali, as long as the Arabs continue to fight tribe against tribe, so long will they be a little people, a silly people, greedy, barbarous and cruel as you are,' to make his point, Lawrence brushed his uniform off, as if trying to rid himself of Ali of the Hareth.'

In defiance, he grabbed the goatskin's rope and pulled it fiercely, in an effort to wash his face of the dark man.

Ali returned.

'I will take you to Feisal,'

'We do not want your company Sharif,'

'Wadi Safra is another mile from here. You will not find it, and not finding it, you will die,'

'What of you?' Surprisingly he turned to me again, his eyes roving me.

'I don't intend to die,' my words sounded weak to my ears.

'You shall not die,' suddenly his words became sweeter, yet they were sweet in the sense that there was respect in them.

'We shall not die,' I held Lawrence's arm firmly, resolution sparkling in my eyes.

'Indeed,'

'We shall find it with this,' beside me Lawrence held up his compass, which Ali snapped up.

It seemed Ali of the Hareth was winning in the sense that he had us on strings, but we were winning in the power of our enduring determination.

'Good army compass, how if I take it?'

'Then you would be a thief,'

'Have you no fear, English?'

'None- might I add that he is the bravest man I have yet to know?' I courageously added. 'In fact, he is braver than the man who kills without fear, slaughters without justice, and brings glory to his people in the form of fresh blood! For, he-'here I moved closer to Lawrence, 'is a man of mercy,'

That familiar respect flashed in Ali's eyes once again.

'Truly,' but instead of returning the compass to Lawrence, it was given to me.

'Take it,'

Tentatively, I reached my hand out to take the compass, which I followed with a glare of triumph, and perhaps dual respect, for we were no longer enemies per-say, but two people that had managed to find momentary peace in the midst of their conflict.

'God be with you,' and in a flash, he was gone, as the Bedou go, disappearing over a stretch of vast sand.

The two of us who remained had only but a moment to catch our breaths.

Lawrence turned to me.

'Good army compass,' I meekly said, offering the compass, my eyes downcast.

I finally looked upward to see Lawrence's eyes shining as his gaze rested upon me.

'You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met,'