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

In this chapter we have aimed for Russian as well as a few other jokes as well. First we have Sharpe, whom we have established in a previous chapter, is also played by Sean Bean, we thought that it would be fun to let him meet with Carl. To add to the fun we also made a reference to Leo Tolstoy's book Anna Karenina, where Sean Bean played Count Vronsky in the movie based on the same book.

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.

This time it will be made into two chapters, meaning that you will get the last part next week.

Warning for the rather rouge language used by Sharpe.

Reminds of Someone I Have Never Met

The book was lonely, very lonely. It had been left alone for a very long time now. It longed badly for others of its kind.

The book hated to lie alone all covered in dust.

Richard Sharpe had been out on a very extensive mission. One that had taken much longer than it should have. He had been away for three full months. That was three months away from the main body of the army, three months without pay.

Now at last he was back. He had already been to Wellington's tent to leave his report. Wellington had not said much of anything, Hogan had complimented him on a job well done. Yet there was no more than that 'well done Sharpe, well done' that Hogan always was saying no matter what he did. Hogan always said those things, no matter what was going on.

He had told the lads that they had done well, and suggested to them that they should do some catching up on their rum rations by getting themselves dead drunk.

They had earned the privilege. He was in fact minded to do the same thing.

Only he was a bloody officer now, and was not supposed to be getting drunk with the men.

Bloody English army, no one minded if an officer got blind drunk on fine brandy and crawled in the dirt in a drunken stupor, but if he got drunk on rum, and that with his men, that was something else.

Why then he was not a proper officer.

Then he was a disgrace for his rank.

What bloody difference did it make if you got drunk on brandy or rum, long as you did get drunk.

Bloody English army with their bloody regulations, and their bloody proper officers.

Sharpe ducked inside his tent. It was not hard to notice that he had been away for a long time. Everything in the tent was covered in dust, not that it was a lot of things. He did not have very many things in his possession. There was the Voltaire book that Harris had traded him for the Simmerson book.

It was however completely covered in dust.

Knowing well Harris and books Sharpe picked it up and wiped the dust away from the cover with a swipe of his arm.

The book would have shrieked with joy if it had been able to utter a sound, other than the thud it always made when dropped on the floor that was. It would get some company now.

Sharpe looked up, where the bloody hell was his bloody tent. He was not in it anymore, that much was soon established. What more, where the bloody hell was the bloody army?

All he could see when he looked around him was bookshelves. He had been in a few libraries. He knew what they looked like.

They looked like this, but how the bloody hell had he wound up in a damn library?

Carl came around a bookshelf, feeling most pleased with himself for having once more avoided the extensive prayers by heading into the Kingdom of Dust. If the gigantic dust motes was ever forced on route, so that the others dared to venture here he would be in much trouble.

Then he saw what was on the other side of the bookshelf, and stopped dead in his track. He had gotten well used to a visitor that might appear at any given time. There was really no surprise to suddenly have company when you had been alone the minute before. Not strange at all, but this was strange, it was a complete stranger who were standing there.

He was dressed in a green jacket with many buttons and other details. He wore leggings with leather reinforcement for riding.

What made Carl concerned was that he wore a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Had the monks sent him to shoot the dust motes? He prayed that they had not.

"Er, em, can I help you?" Carl mumbled.

The man sprung around to face him. "You can tell me where the bloody hell I am." He growled menacingly.

"Why, in the Kingdom of Dust." Carl thought that the man looked rather menacing, so it was all right that he sounded so as well.

"What bloody Kingdom?" The man growled, stepping closer to Carl.

Carl suddenly realised that if the man did not know where he were, he probably was not familiar with the term Kingdom of Dust.

"Er, not an actual Kingdom per see." Carl said nervously. "You are in a library in the Vatican in Rome."

"How the bloody hell did I get to Rome?"

Carl had no answer to that one. He also thought that despite the mans menacing appearance and speech, there was something oddly familiar about him.

"Who are you?" Carl asked attentively. This man could probably be as dangerous as Van Helsing ever was, and that with ease. Now, he had no qualms at annoying Van Helsing, he always annoyed Van Helsing, and they were still friends. He knew that no matter how annoying he was Van Helsing would never kill him, granted he had been threatening to do it a few times, but he would never actually do it. This man however, very well might.

"Who are you?" The man demanded in return. "A bloody monk?"

"Actually I am still just a Friar, and I'm Carl." Carl noted, hopefully the man would not kill him. "You remind me slightly of someone I have never met." It might not sound too logical, or might not sound logical at all, but it was the best description of it that he could come up with.

He had never seen this man before, nor anyone like him, and yet he was familiar in some way.

"Ye drunk, monk." The man accused.

"No, but you do remind me of someone, but I have never met anyone who reminds me of you."

"Bloody British army." Sharpe growled. "A bloody monk can get blind drunk, but a bloody officer can not. Bloody hell."

Here is regretfully where I have to break this tale up temporarily. Fear not, the rest of it shall be told next week. It was merely that we did not dare to put more of Sharpe's rather course language in one chapter for fear that the computer would fry from the shock of it.

Earendil Eldar: We just never could picture Faramir with only one child, so we have established a suitable number. I can really see him as the perfect father. It is a bit of a bother when the servers are down, is it not, I really strive to make updates on the promised day, and it is hard when you only get server error.

You want to know what we will do on father's day? Well, so do we. It was a spur of the moment that we did mother's day, but I suppose that we can come up with something.

Steelelf: Glad that you liked it, very glad. It is still so very nice of you to tell me, not everyone thinks like that, and I truly appreciate it. Thank You.

Silver Sniper: I enjoy writing both serious things, and pure senseless humour, but even when I am serious I seem to work humour into it, so I am glad you like it. Yes, mothers day is nice, and I even got her a gift, regretfully I have still not seen my mother since then, so it still have not reached her, oh well, she'll get it, and she does not mind.

Yes, we are quite surprised to see for ourselves how many chapters we have here, and we intend to continue for as long as we can, but lately we have been a little short of ideas, so we might be dividing more of the longer ones into separate chapters, I hope that you do not mind that, for it would indeed be fun to reach 101 chapters. We shall just have to see, shall we not?

Lindahoyland: I think that Faramir and Eowyn are great parents. I might also say that thus far I have loved every single syllable of your stories, and I might add that I am very grateful for the kind reviews you leave me.

Legolas's Girl 9: It makes me so happy to hear that. I hope that you shall enjoy this as well.

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.