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, since so many seemed to enjoy him. This time the language Latin.

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.

As always when Sharpe appears here, warning for curses and such, also this is another time when there will be several parts.

A King For A Soldier chapter Two

Charge! No Charge.

When the Orcs were just within sight Aragorn quickly ordered the troops. Sharpe took that time to look at them through his telescope. He had to look again, and again, never had he seen such hideous brutes. Well, a few officers he had run into had come close, not to mention the yeti. Yet those creatures were just too horrible.

He shook his head and tucked the telescope away again. He was not about to risk that, it was his most treasured possession. Nothing would make him risk that one.

"How do you kill them bloody buggers?" He asked Faramir who was readying his bow.

Faramir shook his head ruefully. "As many as possible with arrows, after that we have to use swords." He looked up at Sharpe. "We will lose many men here. It's the worst kind to fight."

"We'll show them how to fight then." Sharpe grinned. He was not one to back down for some buggers, no matter how ugly they were. "Won't be one of them standing when we're done."

Faramir shook his head again. Sharpe was a good man, but he was a cold soldier, he had been forced to be that way to stay alive. Faramir could understand that, but it was hard for him to understand how anyone could look forward to a fight. He had not understood that trait in Boromir, and he could not understand it in Sharpe either.

Maybe more in Sharpe than in his now dead brother, for Sharpe was a product of a harsh environment.

Boromir had never had to fight for his life every day before he joined the army, this man who had grown up in the gutters had done that. If you did not you died, and he was still alive. Now he was eyeing the Orcs with eager anticipation.

Sharpe was the kind of man who wanted peace for others, but not for himself.

Aragorn moved to the head of the force, taking a deep breath before calling for the attack.

"Charge!" His voice rang loud and clear, and Sharpe kicked his horse into moving. Slinging his rifle from his shoulder and cocking it. Raising it to his face, he had one shot, and he intended to make it count, for there would be no reloading it. The soldiers with their bows did not have time to look curiously at him, though one or two did so anyway.

A handful of Orcs fell from the arrows, then Sharpe fired. The loud bang took the others by surprise, and horses not used to the smell of exploding gunpowder smoke shied, but they continued steady, and Sharpe watched how the ugly creature went down. Slinging the gun back over his shoulder he drew his sword, and then he was in the middle of the creatures.

Sharpe was unseated from his horse as the creature reared, well, he was not used to fighting on horseback anyway. He did better on the ground. So he ran up to the first orc within reach, intent of slaying the foul beast.

The heat of the battle is a haze when there is no time for any coherent thinking. You hack and you slash, and you burry your sword to the hilt in a body. Sharpe kicked the corpse of an orc lose from his blade. Shouting curses and challenges to them.

Faramir had seen Sharpe's horse throw him, and had moved over to help. Used to Boromir and to the talks of barracks he nearly balked at the things the man was shouting, but he was fighting well enough.

A raw power that slaw anything that got into his way. Faramir watched as he took the head of an orc. Then he had to concentrate defending himself.

Aragorn, also looked to the man fighting on the ground, he too was surprised over the way Sharpe seemed to use curses as a weapon. The man fought like the devil, and sounded worse. Yet he was effective.

He was however more used to fighting men it seemed. Sharpe spun around, kicked the next orc in the crotch, something that would have felled a man, but the orc did not seem all that bothered. He dealt a blow that swatted Sharpe aside, and Aragorn feared that he would be killed then. Down on the ground with an orc looming over him.

Sharpe shouted a defiant curse, one of the worse ones he had used this far, reached to his side, and scrabbled for a hold on a spear that lay there. As the orc jabbed down, Sharpe lounged up with the spear.

Sharpe took a cut to his arm, but the orc suddenly found himself subject to a rather fatal kind of body piercing. The kind where a spear penetrated him front side to back side.

Sharpe scrambled to his feet with a half stunned expression, scrubbing the back of his hand over his face. Then he stumbled over to the next orc. It was back to hacking and slashing, and hoping that no one would be cutting and hacking him behind his back.

It seemed that he was lucky enough this day, he kicked the last orc away, or tried to. The bloody buggers were so heavy they hardly moved when you kicked them. Not like the bloody frogs at all. Yet he had to free his blade. There was always the possibility that one or two of the corpses were not really all that dead, but just looked like a carcass. If so, he wanted his blade free enough to do something about it. One more kick freed the blade.

He looked around and saw Aragorn there, the man was down on the ground and looking after the troops. He gained Sharpe's respect then. Because he obviously cared about his troops.

Faramir was coming over to him, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Are you well?" He asked.

Sharpe nodded, the slash in his arm could wait. Though Ramona, the wife of his sergeant would not be happy over having to mend his uniform again. She did the washing and mending for Sharpe, not because he demanded it of her, he would never do that. She had just claimed that it was her duty, and he could not say that he minded as such.

"You fight well." Faramir noted. "Orcs are the worst kind, evil, they kill for liking."

"I've seen men do the same bloody thing." Sharpe shrugged. "Seen men kill for a shilling and less."

"I wish there would be no need to fight." Faramir looked across the ground where the bodies of men lay scatted with the carcasses of orcs.

"But you do it well." Sharpe told him. He knew that reluctance this man showed, he had seen many men display it. "Tis no shame to fight and kill, not when it's to defend your country and your people. If ye didn't fight, those beasts would do worse."

Faramir nodded, it was the reason why he did fight.

"Come, we shall strike camp." He said. "We need to see to all the wounded."

Sharpe helped them to strike the camp. He would have tied a rag to the gash on his arm, but once Faramir had caught sight of the tear in the sleeve and the blood soaked shirt, he found himself being dragged over to the King. There were only a few men then that had not been cared for already, and Sharpe found himself sitting on the ground while Aragorn took off his rifleman's jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt.

This was not something that a King should do, and Sharpe had told them so. Only to have Aragorn laugh and say that he was a Ranger and a healer long before he was a King.

It was wrong, bloody wrong, but you did not order a King, so Sharpe gave in. He had to admit one thing. This King was better than any surgeon that had ever been with the British army. Sharpe would have thought he would either just clean it off and bind it up, or just burn it shut. It was what was usually done to this kind of wounds.

Aragorn cleaned it of, but he also stitched it shut before smoothing a salve over it. Neat and tidy with a clean bandage.

Sharpe would not try and deny that he was grateful, he was, and now he understood how Faramir felt about his King. A King, who seemed to care about every single man who marched in his ranks, that was something special.

Faramir was still looking out over the grounds. The men who had not been hurt was now taking care of those who were injured or dead. Stacking the orc's carcasses in a pile. They would be burned later. Their men would be buried.

"Vae mortuis." Faramir sighed.

"You talking bloody Frog again?" Sharpe frowned.

"No." Faramir shook his head. "Latin, 'Woe to the dead.'" He turned to Sharpe. "It may be that they only pass beyond the veil, but I still woe that so many was lost.

"I know some of that bloody Latin." Sharpe grinned. "Campus gloriae. There will always be many dead if ye fight. But it's a 'field of honor' just the same. Their honor, for they're the ones that sacrificed themselves for others. The real honor of a won battle does not fall to the commander or to some bloody King. It falls to those who gave all for others." He gestured across the grounds with his arm. "It's their honor alright."

"You might not believe it my friend, but you speak more like a poet than one would think." Faramir found himself smiling.

"I'm a soldier, not a bloody scribbler of any kind." Sharpe stated firmly. "All I know is how to fight, and I don't care about anything else."

He looked around them. "I'll give you one thing though, your King's not so bloody bad as one might think."

"He's a very good King." Faramir agreed. "I'm proud to serve him."

"I took the King's shilling, so I fight for the bugger." Sharpe stated. "I fight for him alright, but he wouldn't think twice of sending me to die on a whim, I don't think yours would do that."

"He would not." Faramir agreed.

"Better keep him alive then." Sharpe grinned. "Wouldn't want to get some other bugger instead."

Faramir laughed at his friend's wry grin, it was how this man expressed emotions, and Faramir could read the praise in his words.

"I'll even give ye a hand, no charge." Sharpe grinned.

This was the third part, and unless something very strange, (read, stranger than usual in this thingy,) happens, it will also be the last part of this particularly tale. No matter what happens it will be a temporary ending here until the next week, until then, may Sharpe be with you.

Pronounciation Guide by Celebrion:

I like Sharpe, he's deeper than he thinks.

At last there is something to actually put here!

The advise of today is... drumroll ... that 'Vae' should be pronounced as it's spelled, with 'e' as in 'wet' and a hard 'v'. 'Gloriae' on the other hand is NOT pronounced exactly as spelled, the 'ae' here is pronounced only as 'e' in 'wet'! Latin is very strange indeed...

Have a happy week!

Earendil Eldar: Does it not sort of depend on the wall? I mean, a paper thing titanium vs a mile thick brick wall…. If you want life to get interesting I suppose you could go for the great wall of China, but I have a sneaky suspicion they might not appreciate that. Reading outside is very nice, if you pick the right tree to sit and read in, a squirrel will come and peak at you at about five am. I really like that.

Lady Elbereth Tealrose: The books are really great. I recommend starting at the beginning. With Sharpe's Tiger I think it is called. By Bernard Cornwell. Very good author, I truly enjoy reading what he has written, and I think that you would like it as well.

Lindahoyland: Glad to be of service, it was the least I could do for you, and Sharpe has some higher thoughts about at least one King now. Aye, he fight a few of those, in Sharpe's Tiger it should be, you will love that one, he tries to teach a small Indian boy English, sort off. As for the Yeti, he gets asked in one of he movies if he has ever dealt with a Royal bodyguard before, they were going to get one to use as soldiers. Sharpe was saying, 'Aye, the Tippo Sultans bodyguard, I dealt with them alright.' He got asked if he had killed them, and went, 'Aye.' They did not count on a victim fighting back, big mistake when dealing with Sharpe.

Saerwen: Glad you liked all of them chapters, hard to comment on all of it, and we took a lot of it when you were reading. Still, points goes to you for being the closest at guessing the true meaning of Lord Demeni's name, and also for being the only one who guessed. Take care now.

Silver Sniper: School, one thing I absolutely hated in school was being in school… Several reasons, but school and I never went well together. Glad as always to hear that we could bring a bit of cheer thought, as for punctual, how many times do you think I have been going, YIEKS update, late at night? It is a few. Still, here it is once more.

Legolas's Girl 9: How can you be outside in a wagon, and what are the dwarves doing there? I hope they are nice to you.

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.