Author's Note: This is a bit of a joke that I wrote with the help of a friend. We thought that Faramir was skilled at different languages, and wondered just what languages he could speak.
Trying to think of as many as possible, and writing a story on each. Some languages will be from Lord of the Ring, some will not, but we will name them and where they come from. So Have no fear
Since Carl was so beloved, and since we promised to do him again, and again, here he is.
Since I have already given Carl away, I might warn you that we are not doing Latin here, instead we are doing French.
The translation of the Official Swedish Scout Song into French was made by silvren ithildin, as well as betaing. So credit for that work goes there.
Carl is from Van Helsing, and both he and Faramir is played by the same actor, David Wenham, in case there is someone who did not know this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Ring, I only borrow parts of it and shall return them as soon as I am done. Completely undamaged, as I am certain it will be impossible to see where we glued the pieces back together.
Do not own Van Helsing either, and unfortunately Carl belongs to the Van Helsing movie.
Here is the tale as we will tell it.
Faramir's Friar in French
Friar Carl was, not surprisingly, seated at a table surrounded by bookshelves. There were several small mountains of books in front of him. Small when compared to the highest mountain on the planet Tellus that was. The corner of the library where he had taken refuge was in the least used part of the library. It was very seldom used by anyone else as the books there was of little interest to them.
Carl however had a habit to search out all the oddest texts, and as a direct result of this the others shook their heads at him.
Another thing that came out of this part not being frequently used was the dust that covered every horizontal surface. Actually it had found some way to cling to the vertical surfaces in thick layers as well, but he was still searching for an expression referring to that phenomenon.
There was only one expression that seemed to cover it, and he rather liked that phrase, it seemed to suit all of it. Dusty shelves, old brittle texts and the air of a place forgotten.
This corner was what he called his Kingdom of Dust. It was where he stowed away from monks that was so busy praying that they had time for nothing else. He did not mind the fact that they prayed so much. If nothing else it kept them from bothering him, but they tended to insist that he should pray as well. That was a bit annoying.
The good thing was that none of them was brave enough to battle the giant dust moats in order to find him, thus he was safe here.
Today however there was a touch of dread in the otherwise dusty air. How did the dust manage to cling to the air in thick dusty clouds anyway. It could not be Van Helsing. That would have been dreadful enough. It was one thing to cling to vertical surfaces that it should not be able to cling to in the first place, but the very air, that was even more impossible. Carl rather liked Van Helsing, if nothing else he saw a worth in Carl, and not many did that.
The unfortunate thing was that people and various other creatures tended to want to kill said Van Helsing, and if Carl was near, they were rarely picky about the fact that it would include killing him as well, and he was sort of trying to avoid getting killed. Being near Van Helsing, even if he was nice, made that rather hard. Anyway, he was nowhere near the Vatican for the moment, and strange as he was, he was usually where he was and not somewhere else entirely.
Anyway, that feeling that was clinging in the dust clouds was not really dread, it was just something that was not quite what it should be, and that could be anything.
He looked up at the tall man standing next to a book shelf. He wore travelling clothes of a rough material and a cloak that that was tattered and in a colour that would fade in well among trees. It made a fairly good job of fading in amongst the books as well. He had seen this man before.
"I should rather have expected it to be you." He muttered as he closed the book in front of him.
"You are not surprised then." Faramir offered a warm smile and a formal bow.
"Why, not at all. So many strange things occur here that one more hardly makes a difference." Carl peered at him. "Still, why are you here this time?"
"I am here because you can read this." He pulled out a few sheets of paper from a leather scrip that was partly hidden by the cloak. "And I can not. I recognise the language as coming from here. But I do not speak it, nor read it."
Carl eagerly took the papers from his hands. "Well, since this is French, not the most common form mind, I am not really all that surprised that you don't."
"Am I right in my belief that you know it then?" Faramir took a seat at the table.
"Yes, quite." He leafed through the papers. "Is this really the only reason you have come here." As he spoke he tilted his head just the slightly sideways to peer at him.
He gave Faramir the impression that he had ignored what was happening around him in the world, in favour of reading some book or ancient text. It now appeared as if he had just closed the book, looked at what had occurred in the world during the time he read, and was now trying to figure out what he saw. His slightly hunched posture and the way his hair fell down near covering his eyes made it look as if he had no clue whatsoever as to what was going on around him.
To some extent it was true. Carl read his books, and he was a genius when it came to inventing weapons, but he was a bit ignorant as to what went on outside the Vatican. It was a rather endearing trait, but it also made for interesting conversations at times.
Another thing Faramir liked about the Friar was that he spoke his mind, a bit thoughtless at times. He strongly believed that he had narrowly escaped being punched for it several times, but he did speak his mind.
"It was the only excuse to come here that was good enough." Faramir smiled. "But I cannot say that I do not enjoy your company. You are a very interesting man."
"Well, this is rather interesting." Carl frowned. "Where did you get this?"
"The Realm of Dust." Faramir grinned as Carl looked up. "I have been told that I may not call it Kingdom of Dust, ere the King of our land might take offence."
"I see." Carl nodded. "A pity."
Faramir chuckled. "I think I could get away with it if I truly wanted. With the exception of me there is only one other man that ever ventures there, and that is the King of our land. He agrees with me that it is a fitting title. I went into the oldest part of it once as a child, and one can still see my footprints from then in the dust I am sure."
"You should look into that corner then." Carl motioned into the general direction of his left. Somehow managing to include the area both in front of him and behind him in that gesture as well. "I am certain that if I move enough dust out of the way I will find tomes underneath it, but this far I have been unable to."
"I might take a look before I leave." Faramir stated. "For now I would ask that you read me that text."
"Dou you wish me to read it out loud to you, or just to translate it?" Carl asked, still focused on the papers and so sounding rather distracted.
"Since I would like to gain a better understanding of it, please read it." Faramir smiled.
"Very well then." Carl began reading, it was clear from the beginning that this was either a poem or a song, but then he had been able to see that before. What Faramir wanted now was an understanding of how it was spoken. He had been able to guess at the pronunciation, but he wanted to know it for certain.
Carl's voice was more pleasant to listen to than most of the monks would willingly have given him credit for. It came from the fact that Carl truly enjoyed these things. He knew the language, but here was an ancient text that he had never read before.
"On est les scouts de Suédois.
et le serment on donne heuresement.
un journée scintillement de printemps si libre.
est ecrit clairement sur nos coeurs
pour Dieu, pour Roi, pour notre pay
n'importe où to te trouve
soyez préparé toujours alors
avec coeur, ésprit et ton main
notre loi est le joie et paix
d'aider toujours et supporter
leve aux ciel notre chanson
notre obligation et fardeau fier
less les l'espace a l'etroit d'ames
hors de jusqu'au les forets larges,
ou montagnes et vallees de La Suede
ou le vent soufflé
on est les scouts de Suedois
on ecoute et on observe
Sur les traines du fourmis, et le cri des faucons
sur tout qu'on vois et sentons
le faible on lui donne notre courage
fardeaux lourds que nous eclairons
tout pour ques qui est bonne et correct
on sacrifice heuresement notre sang
etre preparee pour entendre l'hurlement du tempete
en temps qu'il voyagent partout le monde
gardez votre arc ficelé, gardez votre
point du fleche brillent
maintenant est le temps pour
maintenant on attache le bande de nos freres
en amour et l'amite doux
maintenant on le faites complete et vraie.
"It sounds wonderful." Faramir sated. "A beautiful language. Can you give me the translation of if now?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course." Carl nodded. He had been working it out as he read through the text. "Shall I read that as well, or would you prefer to have it written down?"
"Oh, please read it." Faramir smiled eagerly. "I should be able to write it down."
"I'll read it slowly then." Carl took up the paper again.
"We are Swedish Scouts,
and the oath we gladly gave.
A sparkling day of spring so free,
are written clear upon our hearts.
For God, for King, for our country.
Wherever you may find your self.
Be prepared always then,
With heart, spirit and your hand."
He got no further for now Faramir was laughing so hard he could hardly hold on to the quill.
"What is so funny?" Carl asked, wondering whatever he should be offended or not. Faramir was laughing, that much was certain, and he began laughing as he read. The question was, was he laughing at Carl or at something else. He wanted to know that, for if Faramir was laughing at him, then he would be offended.
"I mean no offence my friend, it is just that I have encountered this particular text before." Faramir was no longer laughing, but smiling happily. "It was not in that French tongue then. It was in a language called Swedish."
"Swedish, I do not think I have encountered that." Carl said thoughtfully.
"It is not very well known. I encountered it once and learnt it, then a friend of mine had found a document about an organization called 'Scouts'." Faramir explained. "The Scout group in Sweden, that's the country, used to sing this song."
"Ah, well then." Carl nodded, satisfied about the reason for the laughter. "We shall see how the rest of it reads." He began reading again.
"Our law is joy and peace,
to always help and support.
Raise to the sky our song,
our duty and proud burden.
Leave the souls cramped space,
out to the wide forests,
to Sweden's mountains and valleys.
Where sweet the wind blows.
We are Swedish Scouts
We listen and we watch.
On the ants trail, and the falcons cry.
On all we see and sense.
The weak we give our courage,
heavy burdens we enlighten.
All for what is good and right.
We gladly sacrifice our blood.
Be prepared hear the storm howl,
as it travels through the world.
Keep your bow strung, keep your
arrowhead shining.
Now is time for tying bands.
Now we tie our brothers band,
in love and sweet friendship.
Now we make it whole and true,
around whole Sweden's land."
He finished and laid down the paper. "It does sound rather nice, even translated like this." He allowed. Then his curiosity took over. "Where did those 'Scouts' come from?" He asked.
"This world." Faramir looked at the paper again, there were a few more lines on it that he could not read. "That is all I know, maybe that can tell more." He pointed at the lines.
"Oh, yes. I had forgotten about them, let see now." Carl muttered. "The first camp was in 1907, on an island belonging to England. It appears the Scouts spread and a few years after that they got to Sweden, and then this song came to be."
Then thought caught up to the good Friar. "That does not make sense." He frowned at the paper again." This can not be."
"Why, what is the matter?" Faramir was beginning to grow concerned as he saw his baffled expression.
"Why, this." Carl pointed at the paper. "It sets the date as 1907. That is hundreds of years away from now. It can not be, there is no such thing in England."
Faramir chuckled. "So it is here a bit early. Somehow that do not surprise me. I found it in Minas Tirith, and it being here early is no stranger than it being there." He smiled warmly at the confused friar. "Strange things occur in the Kingdom of Dust my friend. One never can tell what one shall see next there. I would not fret over it."
"But how can it be." Carl's glance darted of to the side as if he feared some monster would come out of the shadows. Some monster more dangerous than a gigantic dust mouse.
"I can not tell you that." Faramir shook his head. "I do not even dare to try to understand it. I fear I would lose my sanity if I did, but we both has seen it, and so I guess that it is."
"You might." Carl gave him a pointed look. "I am a man of science, if there is an explanation to this, and there should be one, than I shall devote myself to finding it."
"If you do, I would ask you to share it with me." Faramir smiled. "Until then I would ask you to share your knowledge of this French tongue with me."
"Easily done." Carl was now temporarily distracted from the mysterious ways documents and books used to move between different libraries. Instead he set to the task of teaching the other man French.
Had Eowyn seen them she would have said that they shared some likeness to each other. Not just in the love for lore and faded old documents, but in appearance as well. Both men had a certain air about them, and in the dusty room, one could just make that out.
Since Eowyn was not there, that likeness would never be detected. Or would it, has it been noted that there is a resemblance between them. Stranger things has been know to happen, there in the darkest corner of the long forgotten realm, the Kingdom of Dust.
This was a longer chapter as that has been requested, there will however be a temporary end as usual, and that is here. I hope you all enjoy the temporary pause until the next time when all begin anew.
Pronounciation Guide by Celebrion:
I have absolutely no idea how to say most of this harangue, but I think I got through it somewhat correctly (it's a little ability of mine to see how most words are pronounced).
If you've ever seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, you'll remember the outrageous French accent. (Why do yoo think I 'ave this outraegeuos accent?) It worked pretty well for me. And if any French speakers out there now want to kill me, I have but one thing to say to them: "You'll have to find me to kill me! Mohahahahahahaha!"
Here I would like to thank everyone who reads my works, thank you.
Here it must also be said that in the tale "A Two Colour Chain Mail," we started the vote based on the fact that Sean Bean and David Wenham made the perfect image of two brothers. We also got plenty of agreement on that.
So here it is, if you agree with us and think that they should be real brothers. Say so in your review. It shall be your vote. On my authors page, in the bio I shall keep score. When the score reaches 100, they shall be declared official brothers. Then on my authors page shall be an official declaration written by Elenhin and Celebrion.
Then the truth can not be denied, they shall be brothers.
Shy-Shadow Reckless: Thank you for the vote, much appreciated. I am also glad that you seem to like reading this. Your review was one of the funnier to read. I loved it, and I think that we could surely figure out some way to allow Australia some claim on Sean Bean. We shall be working on that.
Breon Briarwood: Glad to hear from you again, your reviews always means a lot to me. SO I am very glad that you like what we're doing. You have given us much help with it. Thank you.
Katieelessar: I agree, blood and clashing swords are usually more fun, but there has to be something else to at times. Something that puts in a contrast, one always enjoys a good fight much more after a cute little kid doing cute things, like hacking an Orc into small pieces. Since we are doing all kind of weird languages we try to make them easy to understand. There shall be more of the translation guides coming as well. I can see why you would vote again, I want to as well, but from me it would not be fair and I have not voted a second time. Still, I have no way of keeping count of who has voted and who has not. If you could squeeze a vote out of one of your friends, I would add it.
silvren ithildin: I know the names are odd, but I needed more kids, and I'm not good at names. I think that they shall serve thought. I just can not see Faramir having only one kid, and Eldarion is probably close to Elboron in age. I do not see wither Faramir or Aragorn waiting long to have kids. I mean, Aragorn had to wait sixty years to get married, he will be wanting kids. Thank you again for the translation.
ForeverFaramir: Dia is Muire dhuit! I am very glad that you liked this, and I hope that you shall like what we do in the future as well.
Go raibh maith agat as ucht do focail cineál.
Slán is sláinte!
Earendil Eldar: Hi, Celebrion writing this time!
I'm responsible for the Irish Gaelic here, which I have read the last term and continuing this term. I'm also going to read Scots-Gaelic this term and it's going to be fun to compare the two! The little Scots-Gaelic I've managed to get my hands on makes me agree with you concerning the complexity of the languages, Irish Gaelic spelling sometimes makes me want to tear my hair out! And thanks for r&r, both Elenhín and I appreciate it greatly.
As for me Elenhin, always happy to read your review. I am very pleased that you like what we are doing.
Lindahoyland: As always I do my best to please. It is great to be told what lines are good, and it seems we both think that Faramir would be a great father. So when does he get kids in your fic, just kidding, but that would be great to see, since you do him so well. I can not wait for your next update.
orli's-no.1-girl: Thank you for the kind words and the vote, both are equally appreciated.
Horsiegurl: Thank you. Well, we can not have Faramir teaching his children to swear can we. We wanted to use the Oh, Sugar line, and I thought that Faramir would not get angry on the kid for having picked up a bad word, he would give him something not so bad instead.
Silver Sniper: I am glad that you do not change person depending on whatever you can log in or not, teasing. Computers can be annoying at times I know. Next time, try threats, the threat of a screwdriver in the hard drive usually works for me. I am also glad that you think this was cute, we tried to make it cute, and Mir is turning out to be a rather cute and funny kid. If you like him and have not read A Snow Ball Fight yet, I recommend you read it.