|Lara of Arabia
Author: The Masked Writer1 PM
A story of woman who followed Lawrence through his journey, a journey that became one of love, battles, and self-discovery...Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Romance - Words: 1,306 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 03-21-11 - id: 6840491
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
So here is my Lawrence of Arabia fanfiction! This fanfiction will be based almost entirely on the movie and its storyline, including some possible facts from the life of the real TE Lawrence. I hope you will enjoy this.
Interesting fact-When making the movie, at the Aqaba scene, O'Toole falls off his camel, like the real Lawrence so many years ago. Someone stood over him and protected him from the trampling hooves of the horses behind him.
Now transport yourself to the early 1900s in the hustle and bustle of Cairo, Egypt...
The hot, dry air of Cairo hit my face as I stepped out of the black British consulate car that I fear had absorbed the burning rays of the Egyptian sun.
'Here we are Miss.'
I brushed a lock of golden brown hair out of my face as I graciously thanked the driver before stepping out into the bustling city of the Nile; in front of me was my future, the building where a fantastic adventure lay waiting. With awe clearly written on my face, I stepped forward, only to be unceremoniously helped to detach my dark green skirt from the rear door I had stepped out of. I was suddenly painfully aware that I would be the sole woman in this establishment that I had dreamed of.
'Good luck, Miss', repeated the driver cordially, in an almost robotic manner.
I could almost make out pity in his eyes as he drove away, leaving me standing, rather forlornly as I stared at the building in front of me with mixed emotions.
Who was I?
What was I doing here?
I, Lara Grecoff, have always striven for adventure, my father though hungered for it even more. He himself, a wealthy and influential Canadian politician, had travelled the world, from the Jungles of Borneo to the peaks of the Himalayas, he was the reason I was here. He, being in close connection with the British government learnt of the imminent Arabic revolt even before the Great War had even begun. I felt tears trickle out of my eyes like my life blood.
I hated when I cried. At least, in front of people I did. I had always been one to show my emotions freely and with liberty, until I was faced with the opportunity to come here. I swore I must never cry, for I was a woman, and crying shows weakness, if I cried, it would be all over. People wouldn't take me more seriously than they ever would, and I would be on a boat back to North America with a feeling of failure in the pit of my stomach in no time. No, I must never, ever, cry.
Only, when I thought of my cousin, just slightly older than me, with his happy go lucky ways and his smile that could be make everyone come running for fear it would disappear in a flash, I felt that my heart would explode. These past years, with the war and the like, seem to have only brought sorrow and misery; but not for my father. My father, strong as ever, when the whole world seems to be coming down on us. He with his Arab Revolt and its effect on the 'damn' Ottoman Empire, and the world. I hate to say this, or even think of it, but my father being an old and fiercely opinionated Russian, had grudges like still fresh scars against the Turks. Just the mention of 'Turkish Baths' or 'Turkish Delights' had him growling like a pariah hound. His great-grandfather, a valiant Cossack, had been killed in cold blood by the Turks because of some ancient feud between the Russians and the Turks; but not before he had been subjected to unspeakable cruelties and humiliation, such as whippings, beatings, and rape. Great-great grandfather Petya is said to have lived long after that, but is said to have been haunted mercilessly by the past. I am told that he woke up in the nights screaming as if a demon had possessed him, even into what should have been a peaceful old age. I shivered and prayed I would never have to witness or have to experience anything as horrifying as that in my lifetime.
In any case, my father was strictly resolute that I be an integral part of this rebellion. I was shocked the moment I heard this, and a hodge-podge of excitement and confusion bubbled inside of me as I tried to imagine riding camels in the Sahara.
'But, but, how?' my voice quivered.
'I'm not sure yet, malynchka, but if I have any say in this, you are going to be part of this Revolution!' his eyes glistened in the lamplight.
'This is impossible!' I cried, 'besides I'm not a man—what do you expect me to be, a nurse, and treat bullet wounds?' I frowned with disgust. 'I'm not a puppet to be tampered with! I have a future, now that I have finished university, and I have a career to pursue...writing perhaps...' my voice faltered for a second.
'Yes,' my father said tentatively never averting his gaze for a moment, 'only you have to travel the world, like I did, do something that will benefit, mankind-a civilization that once was great must be resurrected!' he bellowed. 'Besides, you have taken humanitarian studies at university, how could they refuse your assistance? I would never doubt you could make an intelligent adviser or perhaps even document the journey; opportunities such as these cannot be passed up! You have all the training necessary, I made sure of that while you were at university.
'You told me you wanted me to be well-rounded,' I mumbled weakly.
My father only looked at me slyly. 'It is hard for a girl of your calibre to get a good education these days, but I made sure you got it.'
I looked up at him; a spark of thankfulness in my eyes. What he said was true. If I hadn't studied what I had at university, I might have not been the person I was today.
'I know, I know your concerns, but did I ever tell you about McMahon?' he said.
'Who?' I questioned, a touch of irritation still in my voice.
'Sir Henry McMahon, he is the High Commissioner of Egypt, he and I once took a trip down the Amazon together, quite a dashing fellow, at least, I believe he still is the High Commissioner...' a moment of uncertainty upon my father's face. 'I saved his life; he could never refuse me.. .'
For a moment I felt like a spoiled child getting every wish and whim of hers simply because of her wealthy, generous father; but I shook the thought away as quickly as it appeared, I was not that kind of person.
His words sank in. I suddenly wanted this all. The experience. The world.
'My dear, I also, must say, I've never known you to shy away from a good fight.'
Before I could process any second thoughts, I was on a boat leaving my known world behind and heading out to a far way continent. To a land of frightening men with sabres in their teeth, and sultans with exquisite fountain filled palaces and veiled women hiding seductively under their silken cloth in royal harems. At least, that is what I had been preparing for, I even had two rifles and my father's scimitar tucked under my clothes, which he warned I must keep under my pillow every night. Thankfully, I was not one of those women that fainted dead at the slightest things; whether they are blood or sights far worse than that.
I suppose you could say I was different.