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

Sharpe is back, he sort of made me write him into another chapter, and since he can be very insistent when he wants to, I wrote him in. Thanks goes to Earendil Eldar for help with the translation. The poem used is one I have written myself.

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 chapter will be divided into two parts, this is part one, and part two will come next week.

Sharpe's soldier

What the bloody hell was wrong with the bloody British army, Sharpe wanted to know. Bloody bastards, all of them buggers. They called themselves officers and gentlemen, but they sure as bloody hell did not act that way.

They used dirty tricks, so they did.

Not only did they call him to get to the other end of the bloody camp on just a moment's notice, but then they reprimanded him for being late, before telling him to wait.

It was the old army routine of 'hurry up and wait' all over again. He hated it, he had always hated it, but when he was just a common soldier he could have stretched out on the ground. Not now though, no, now he had to act like a bloody proper officer.

All of them buggers and their damned proper officers, they could get themselves blown to Kingdom come for all he cared. He was a proper bastard, and it was bloody fine with him, so the bloody lot of them should just stop being so shocked by it.

His mother had been a whore, so it made sense to assume that his father was a customer. He certainly could not imagine any other way a whore would end up with a bastard. He had been born in the gutter, and only luck had seen him alive long enough to be dumped outside the doors to the foundling home.

Many bastard children to whores were drowned in the nearest rain barrel as soon as they uttered their first wail. Why he had been spared that fate he would never know. No one cared much about bastard brats, the police certainly did not. They would not send a whore to the gallows because she drowned her bastard like an unwanted litter of kittens. They bloody well could have just thrown him into the river too, it would spare them having to pick up his body out of the barrel, only to then have to throw it into the river.

Rivers was a very effective way to get rid of dead bodies and unwanted bastards.

He was a bastard born, and so he was always called, a mean bastard in the foundling home when he fought with the other orphaned brats. A lucky bastard when he ran from the foundling home and ran wild in the gin houses. When he were made to guess on the outcome of the fights, and learned the art of picking locks. A bloody bastard when he first joined into the army and fought in India. Then a proper bastard when he was made officer. When his chosen men understood that he was a there, and he intended to stay there, and they had better shut up and follow orders.

You learned to fight in the gutters. You learned to fight for yourself, because if you did not, you got killed. It was a fine way to learn, and you did, every dirty trick in the book. As well as quite a few that was too dirty even to put there.

All those bloody fine proper officers, they looked down on him, all of them did. They died and he lived, for he could fight. It should have given them a hint or two, but they just never where smart enough to understand it, so there he was, hurrying up and waiting.

They did not even have the decency to make him wait in a nice place, no, they showed him into a library and made him wait there.

What the bloody hell was he supposed to do in a library, not much one could do there. Not unless you were like Harris, he mused as he pulled out a book to look at it. Then put it back again. Or that bloody monk and his friend, the one that at least was a soldier. He thought about them as he pulled out another book. They would most certainly enjoy themselves there. He chuckled as he thought about them.

Then he felt suddenly suspicious, why had it suddenly felt as if the world suddenly slid a few meters to the right and then back again. He was pretty sure that the world was not supposed that. Also, why was the shelves suddenly oak, and where the bloody hell had that stone pillar come from. There had been none in the library when he entered, that much was certain.

He looked around with as much a suspicion that he felt, something was not right, something was definitely not right. Before he had been alone there, now he was not. There was a man sitting at a table that must have gotten there the same way as the stone pillar. For it certainly had not been there before.

The man had shoulder length hair that fell around his face, he was sitting with one hand on the book in front of him, the other elbow on the table and his chin supported in his hand, gazing at Sharpe curiously.

Most men would have reacted by now, wanted to know how he had gotten there. This man was just watching him with a keen interest.

"How the bloody hell does that bloody thing happen all the time?" Sharpe demanded glaring at Faramir.

"I am beginning to have a fair understanding of it." Faramir noted. "How it comes that you keep winding up here, I have no idea."

"It's bloody annoying I can tell you that." Sharpe growled.

"Maybe you have a tendency to pick up the wrong book." Faramir nodded towards the book that Sharpe held in his hand. "Certain books seems to be drawn here."

With an angry glare Sharpe tossed the book onto the table beside Faramir. "Can stay here for all I care. I've no use for books anyway."

"You both look like my brother, and sound like him." Faramir shook his head ruefully. "T'is a shame that he is not here now, for I think that he would have been a soldier to your liking."

"Wasn't he one of them bloody proper officers?" Sharpe demanded. He was annoyed and yet curious. There was something strange about this man. He was a damned scribbler to be sure, but those calluses on his hands did not come from a book or a pen. He was gentle in his manners, and yet there was a an air about him that made Sharpe deem him a worthy soldier.

Also, he spoke like all of them buggers who called themselves gentlemen, but he also acted like one.

He had not frowned over Sharpe even once, not as much as one disgusted look at muddy clothes. Sharpe would have thought him to be a great asset in the battle against them bloody Frogs.

"Where's he now then?" Sharpe asked.

"Boromir died in the war." Faramir gave him a sad look. "He was alone and badly outnumbered. He died to protect two others, two who could not fight for themselves. He was a great soldier though, even if he was an officer. I think that you would have liked him. For if anyone ever would have put his feet up on the dinning table in the King's Hall. Then it would have been Boromir."

"I don't care much about 'em royalty." Sharpe sneered. "No brain to go between them. Think they know all about war, all they do is getting soldiers killed, the lot of them."

"There are exceptions." Faramir said softly. "I would follow my King into battle, and trust him not to risk any lives in vain. Yet he have fought as a mere soldier himself. We have an different army than you have my friend, and we fight a different enemy. Boromir though, could look like the perfect gentleman if he should wish to, sit at the high table and you would have thought he was born noble. Then he could go to the barracks and be just as at home there. Downing ale after ale with them, and tell every dirty joke that was ever made. It think that you would have liked him, because you remind me so very much about him in so many ways."

"They say that soldiers are all alike." Sharpe shrugged.

"And we both know that it is not true. We both know how wrong they are." Faramir pointed out. "Aye, if you stand before an army, you will see all of them in their armour and their uniform, and you won't see anything on one man that you do not see on the rest. They will look identical then. Yet, take your chosen men, there is nothing identical about them. They are all different from each other."

Sharpe nodded. "That's why we are chosen men." He grinned. "No one like us in the entire bloody army."

"And we had our Rangers." Faramir nodded. "I think that every army has an elite troop of some sort. Even the Greek had. Achilles and Odysseus."

"Never heard of them buggers." Sharpe frowned.

"They are from a great literate work." Faramir explained. "You shall have to excuse me for bringing books into it, but it is a very well known work. You had a scribbler in your troop, did you not."

"Aye, Harris. Always reading them bloody Frog books and all." Sharpe nodded. "He'll know what book them buggers wrote."

Faramir hid an amused smile, here was someone who was as ignorant of books as his brother had always been.

"They did not write the book, they were in it." He explained. "Achilles was said to be the greatest fighter of all times. The one who could not be defeated. He was in the end of course, he fell in love and searched through the burning city to find his beloved. He was shot then. Killed by a young wimp who's brother he had killed. Odysseus was a great King, one who fought along side his men in every battle. He was also a great tactician, it was he who made the Trojan horse. The one that allowed them to take Troy."

"How can a bloody horse let you win?" Sharpe demanded.

He wanted to know, and Faramir thought that was a good thing. "It was a wooden horse." He explained.

"A bloody wooden horse. Wouldn't be of any damn use." Sharpe spat.

Faramir grinned amused, this was so much like trying to tell Boromir about these things. "They built a great wooden horse, one that was hollow, then they packed up on their ships and pretended to leave the city, leaving the horse as a sacrifice to the gods. The Trojans took it into their city to show that they had been victorious."

"You mean to say that they were not?" Sharpe figured that if the enemy packed up and left you had won.

Faramir shook his head. "They had only sailed out of sight. They returned. The horse was filled with soldiers, and when the darkness fell they excited the horse and opened the city gates. The city was taken before they had time to react. Odysseus would not fight battles that would only cost him soldiers and give him no gain, but he was very skilled in ways to win without losing much men. He was a great leader and a great King."

"Sounds like a decent man." Sharpe admitted. "What army did he fight for you said?"

Faramir could not help but smile. "Ask Harris about Odysseus and he shall tell you I am certain." He grinned.

"He only knows about them bloody Frogs." Sharpe complained.

"I think that he knows the Greek as well." Faramir was not quite sure what the Frogs were, but it seemed to be a way to refer to the ones called the French, Carl had taught him some of their tongue.

"He might have been going on about it some time." Sharpe thought that he might have had at one time or the other. "Can't keep track of all the philosophers and poets and all he is always going on about. Don't know who all them buggers are, Macbeth and Shakespeare and all of the bloody lot."

Faramir smiled to himself again. "Shakespeare was a writer who wrote plays." He explained. "Macbeth was a play that he wrote, as was Romeo and Juliet." Not for the first time Faramir was grateful for Carl and the access he had to books Faramir would otherwise never have found.

"All the same to me." Sharpe shrugged. "I'm a soldier, not a bloody scribe."

"I am a soldier as well, and still I enjoy the written word. Mayhap we should find you some historical tale about war, or we could try war poetry. "

"War poetry." Sharpe balked. "What the bloody hell is war poetry?"

"It is when poets try to glorify fighting and killing." Faramir explained to him.

"Aye, I know them." Sharpe nodded. "They write so fancy words about it all, make everyone think that they know all about war, then you take them and show them a bit of fighting, and suddenly the do not know anything about it anymore. I know of them bastards alright."

"Some of it is fairly good though." Faramir said softly.

"Beaucoup un combat a vous a combattu,

Parfois vois avez eté attrapé.

Mais jamais battu et jamais cassé.

Pas par les mèches et pas par l'épée,

Pas par les homes dans le trésor d'ennemi."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Sharpe demanded.

"It is French, or Frog, I guess you would say." Faramir smiled.

"Many a battle have you fought,
sometime you have been caught.
But never defeated and never broken.
Not by lashes and not by the sword,
not by the men in the enemy hoard."

"Well, what does it mean?" Sharpe had to admit that it did not sound all bad, but it was near impossible to tell what it meant.

"It is about a soldier who had fought many battles, and had even been taken by the enemy a time or two, but who was never defeated." Faramir explained. "Not by lashes and not by the sword, not by the men in the enemy hoard. They could not brake him, not by whip, sword or anything, not even the entire enemy army could defeat him."

Insert temporary ending until the next part here..

Pronounciation Guide by Celebrion:

Well, for not going into details you sure reveal a lot...

Yargh! Too much French the last weeks! Just go with the usual bloody Accent... Whoops, was that me? Sharpe's must be beginning to get to me...

And to Earendil Eldar: Some horses can be mean, most of them actually (according to me), with the exception of Icelandic horses. I've ridden one twice and quite enjoyed it! The last time actually on Iceland, what a stunning landscape... sigh

Ahum, back on track... Dogs can be quite intimidating too and they all think they're big! Can't stand barking dogs, freaks me out...

As always, you brighten up our Tuesdays aswell!

Oh, and one to our new reviewer Randa-Chan:

Hehe, that would be a nice idea... But I don't think we can go with Quenya, at least half of the library in Minas Tirith is written in it. Quenya is to Gondor (aswell as Arnor and the Noldorian nations east of the Sea) as Latin is to the Western part of our world and I think I know what I'm speaking of.

Hmm, I hadn't realised about the actors... Maybe because I prefer books to films generaly, with some exceptions..

Stay on, we love reviews!

Silver Sniper: I do all I can to keep my updates coming as promised. Summer can indeed do interesting things with your brain, yet hopefully that means you are able to relax some.

Earendil Eldar: I thought that we were doing insanity with these chapters, at least that is the impression I've got from them. I agree with horses being nice, I like horses, I miss not being able to ride regularly anymore. I am not always able to have as many chapters as I would like in advance, but I always have at least two or three written all the time, so there is no real danger of lacking one.

Steelelf: I thought the movie was quite good, but then again I would. Sorry for the mix up, my spell check must have missed that, (hrmm, Celberion) I am really sorry for these mistakes, the curse of having dyslexia, I can not tell if I make any spelling errors or not. Hopefully it did not ruing the chapter to much.

Legolas's Girl 9: What could be more important than Middle Earth? I am happy to hear that you got it, and we all of us agree that you are indeed very far from stupid.

Lindahoyland: Faramir have begun seeing his more formal training as a way to tease Aragorn, and he is indeed skilled at using it. I though it was time to tie in another Viggo role, and Hidalgo was the easiest one to use. Kalten is a character in a book series written By David Eddings. The first book is called the Ruby Knight, and I think you would enjoy them very much, so I highly recommend them to you. If you want to know more about them I shall be happy to tell you.

Angranse: Thank you, I can not express how grateful I am to know that you have enjoyed reading this, your review meant a lot to me. Ah, again sorry for the error. It is my dyslexia that makes itself known again, and sometimes Celebrion misses these things while he betas. I hope that those mistakes does not ruing the reading experience to much.

Randa-Chan: I do not have much more to say than what Celebrion said above, but I want you too to know how much it means to us to be gifted with your reviews. Thank you, thank you very much.

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.