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Author: Elb

Sharpe, I.

Notes:

Katana: Long sword
Wakizashi: Short sword
A doka is a small container for used to safely carry live coal. This device is used for lighting candles, fuses. It can also be used to warm their hands on cold nights.
Metsubishi, or "eye closer", were used to temporarily, or sometimes permanently, blind the enemy. Hollowed out egg shells, paper bags and short bamboo tubes were filled with a combination of sand, metal filings and pepper and were used to attack the eyes of an enemy. Egg shells and paper bags were used by throwing the fragile containers at the opponent's face, causing it to break on impact and scatter the contents across the face and into the eyes. Bamboo tubes were sealed with paper or wax and, when the seal was broken, the tube was flung in the direction of the opponent, sending the contents into the face, blinding him.
Usually, metsubisi were used to make an escape when surrounded or cornered or if the Ninja felt there were too many opponents to fight at once. For example, if a Ninja were faced with 5 or 6 opponents, he might use metsubishi to blind 2 or 3 of them while he dispensed of the others.
Since most Japanese doors slid from side to side instead of opening outward or inward, the Ninja would carry a variety of "jamming" tools. The tojime were bars of steel with a hook on each end. These hooks would be used to hold the door closed by locking them closed.
The Kakute were rings that the kunoichi wore that were dipped in poison. The rings could be made out of metals, and tempered wood. The ninja would quietly strangle enemies with the ring stuck in their neck. It was far less messy then using a sword, and left very little evidence on how the victim died.


20 miles north of Salamanca, 1813

Galadriel was sulking as she, her husband and his kinsman walked across the camp to the white tent set up overlooking the surrounding countryside. "Spain! I hate Spain! We should have stayed in China, darling, they make proper silks there, so the heat is at least bearable. We had royal influence there as well."

"We have royal influence here, buttercup."

"These aren't royals! Fat Germans who think this is all a game! Oh, that dreadful Napoleon Who's this were going to see then?"

"Arthur. I knew him at Eton; I was stand-in headmaster for a while while the real one was off buggering the Duke of Windsor. He's the Duke of Wellington now."

"So he's the one running this war?"

"Indeed, so best manners darling."

"Hmm, well, if he has some power..."

"He also has a nose the size of Wellington. Find a nice young lieutenant to seduce."

Were he not used to this sort of chat, Falle would have been extremely worried. In fact, he was looking around at the countryside, the rolling hills, the long stretches, the cerulean sky. Galadriel was viewing the wildlife. She was in her best dress, bust practically falling out, gold curls swept up to temple from beneath a white ribbon. Celeborn wore a smart uniform, hair tied in a club.

Falle was wearing a long violet robe with a silver sash, leather gloves and a wide-brimmed Chinese hat, a thin veil sheltering him from the sun. It would take him a short while to adapt to the strong sunlight; due to the paleness of his skin it would affect even him. Besides, always useful to stir up a little conversation about the pale, swathed stranger before he spoke to anyone. One thing Elb had taught him; having a reputation made people nervous, which made them careless. Always useful in a new place.

"Celeborn!"

Running over to meet them, Nenya and Anaril skidded to a halt. The beautiful strangers were gathering a number of looks from the surrounding soldiers, especially Nenya, who wore pale sky blue, and Galadriel, fanning herself with one hand with a white parasol protecting her form the glare of the sun. The strange curved swords that Falle had at his waist drew quite a lot of attention too.

Nenya had travelled back from China with the other three, training completed and now skilled in the Tiger style of Kung Fu, as well as being well-versed in a number of Shaolin techniques. She'd gone on ahead a couple of days ago to meet Anaril on one of his sweeps of the low-lying area.

Anaril wished, anyway.

"How's Arthur?"

"He's fine. Can't wait to meet you and the Countessa, and I've told him a lot about you too, Falle." Falle bowed slightly to Nenya, smiling. The two had grown quite close in their time in the temple.

"I apologise for having to rush to the capital before the end of your training; there was trouble at the Mongolian border that I had to see to. The Abbot sent me his report though; most impressive."

"Really? What did he say?!"

"Adequate."

The word fell rather flatter than Fall ewas expecting. Anaril glared as Nenyas face fell. "ADEQUATE?!"

"That's high praise, Nenya! I've never heard him be so enthusiastic about a pupil before! Master Chang is the most discriminating teacher I've ever known! He says my Snake style is mediocre." He gave a modest little chuckle before continuing. "He still hasn't realised that I taught his Master. Ha!"

Nenya looked a little mollified at Falle's happiness. She was rather pleased; he'd been in one of his melancholic phases for all the time he'd been in China with her.

Galadriel sniffed. "I don't see why Nenya had to go training with sweaty little men anyway."

"Dearest, not everyone has the powers you do. We lesser ones just have to make do." Celeborn winked at Nenya as he opened the tent flap for his wife. Nenya stooped and hurried afterwards, followed by Anaril, and finally Falle. He did not immediately raise the protective veil; better to catch a glimpse of the men before they saw him. He removed his gloves though.

There, as Celeborn had promised, was a man with a huge nose, that had Nenya sniggering over the enormous conk, a rather fat, sweating man with half-moon glasses, and there, sitting very uncomfortably at the end of the table, was a nervous, fidgeting man.

His hair would have been a light brown, but the sun had bleached it to an almost blonde colour. He had sharp blue eyes, tanned, weather-beaten skin, and a long scar on his left cheek that twisted his face into a half snarl, half smirk. Except when he was smiling, as admittedly, he was doing now, albeit rather nervously. He had a lean, muscled body that bespoke of many years of exercise, and rather tattered pine green uniform and dark trousers. He worse a red sash and a sabre on a leather belt awkwardly, as if he was unused to the insignia, and his left shoulder was slightly tense, as if used to carrying a musket. Or, as Falle surmised after he quickly updated his ideas from when he was last in Europe, a rifle. Wellesley pulled up a chair for Galadriel, while the young officer stumbled to his feet to guide Nenya to hers.

As she sat, one fire-coloured curl fell from beneath her bonnet to brush her neck. The young man automatically swept it behind her ear, causing her to turn and smile. He blushed and smiled in return.

Falle caught sight of Anaril glaring at the man's spine as if willing it to snap.

Finally, he turned to Falle, offering the seat he had been lounging in as they entered. Fall declined, puzzled.

The talk was mainly inconsequential. Celeborn ran a spy network with Elrond's help, reaching from Venice up to Moscow and all the way back to El Mirador in Salamanca. Incidentally, both Anaril and Falle had learnt Spanish there, although 400 years ago. This had nothing to do with anything they were talking about, but the memories made them feel better, especially Falle, who was feeling very out of place in his Oriental garb.

"Oh, Sharpe, you and the others can leave; I have some important things to discuss with Lord Brown here." The young man, a sharpshooter from the 95th, as the Elves found out, answered to Major Richard Sharpe. And he'd be answering for a lot before they left.

Celeborn took Galadriel's arm, Nenya took Anaril's. Sharpe looked bemused, then held out his own arm to Falle. "Milady?"

There was a long, frightening pause.

Anaril and Nenya actually fell over, clinging to each other and almost sobbing with laughter. Celeborn shook silently with repressed giggles. Falle removed the veil from his hat and brought himself to his full height, a good 7 inches above the poor Major.

Sharpe was horrified to discover that the mysterious lithe woman was, in fact, a very tall, very pale, and very, very angry man. The long hair, dress and softer, veiled face had automatically suggested woman! The foreign dignitary, he presumed, tried to make the best of it with a hard laugh. "Don't worry, everyone makes the same mistake!" in a voice that said 'everyone' in fact meant 'moronic retards who are all now dead.'

Galadriel bustled forward, pushing the icily beaming Falle to one side. "Don't worry dear; you can escort a real lady." She fluttered her eyelashes, and Sharpe thought she was the most glorious person hes ever seen.

Instead, he rushed forward to gracefully lift the flame-haired woman who was still giggling with the blond. "Milady? Are you alright?" He'd always had a thing for redheads. He was also scared of Galadriel. Sure, she was beautiful, but the heady scent of power and the heaviness of her offer had scared him off. He, Richard Sharpe, who had defeated French Generals up the Yin-Yang, taken the Eagle at Talevera! Perhaps it was the slightly green aura. "I'm sorry if I caused any offence to, err, the young sir.."

Nenya laughed. "Non, none!" The grin was wiped of Anaril's face as he quickly stood and went to Falle's side, who seemed to be developing a slight twitch. He leant forward, whispering. "What do you think-?"

Falle glared. "Just watch."

Nenya was clutching the front of the scruffy officer's uniform. "Thank you so much for helping me up. You really are most kind..."

"It was nothing, really."

"Oh, but it was." She stroked his chest. "My, you're very tense, major. They must work you hard."

Sharpe beamed. "All day, ma'am, all day."

Nenyas eyes widened. "All day? Really? In this heat? How cruel!"

"One must do one's duty, must'nt they?"

"They must indeed! And I bet you do your duty, don't you, Major?"

"I try, Ma'am."

"I bet you succeed."

Sharpe blushed and looked away. "Always with help, Ma'am. I couldn't have done any of it without my rifles."

Nenya leant in a little. "What about your Rifle?" At that, Anaril stepped in, yanking Nenya away by the arm.

"Thank you, that's quite enough now, I'm sure the major has a lot to be getting on with, I'm starving, let's go and see if Lieutenant Ivers is ready for lunch yet." Nenya allowed herself to be pulled away, simpering and waving over her shoulder at the rifleman. Celeborn led Galadriel away, who was sulking and looking slightly green. Finally, Falle bowed, a short, cursory one, and stalked away.

Sharpe waited until Nenya had disappeared into one of the tents, spat to the side, and made his way back to his regiment's pitch area.

---

Falle rose with the sun, springing carefully into tai chi to open the day. Anaril, who was sharing a tent with him, kicked him in the groin and rolled over for another seven hours sleep.

Then the bugles went off, Anaril fell off his camp bed in shock, Falle kicked him in the stomach, and then Nen poked her head around the tent flap. She was wearing no bonnet today, but had ribbons twined around freshly curled hair, and was wearing riding gear; shirt, waistcoat and tight trousers. Her excitement was such that she barely gave the two elves a glance, topless and scruffy from sleep, as she said, "HigoingtogowithMajorSharpeandtheboystodaygetupsleepiesImofftoodles!"

And she was gone.

Anaril let his head drop with a groan. "How can she have so much energy this early in the morning?"

Falle gave him another sharp kick in the ribs. "She's driven by lust, my friend."

"What was it she was saying?"

"Something about sleepies". Saying this, Falle went for a final kick, rubbing sleep from his eyes and groaning.

Anaril got up, blocking a final lazy kick from Falle. "I need some more bloody sleepie. Now. What are you wearing today?"

"Hmm, I was thinking of the ultramarine kimono with the foam pattern and the silver obi. What do with think? Grey obi-age or white, I was thinking white to go with the hem pattern, but now I'm not sure..."

Anarils face was blank. "Nuh-uh. Today you're wearing mens clothes. I'm not being embarrassed like I was yesterday."

"You were embarrassed? Besides, it was only that cultural eunuch's fault, that was a man's kimono, I only wear women's kimono on festival days, I'll have you know-"

"I don't care. Today, you're wearing European clothes. I have a spare shirt and trousers set aside, that'll do for today and leave the hat."

"I'll do no such think. Those flimsy things offer absolutely no protection from the sun, and you know-"

"You're a woman, sure, but you're not leaving this tent until you're in normal clothes."

"I can't. I need sun protection, and I need to modify any clothes before I wear them."

"Modify them? You're not that much thinner than me, and besides, the girls like it nice and billowy-"

"I, unlike you, have no interest in women for the moment, and I need pockets."

"Pockets?"

"Pockets. For the usual."

"I dread to ask..."

"Just books, poisons, medicines, metsubishi, weapons, rope, doka, perhaps shuko, tojime-"

"You carry all that in that dress?!"

"Of course."

"Well, you'll have to make do today. You won't need most of that, we're just going to be sitting around listening to pompous Englishmen speak frightful French and drink and smoke afterwards."

"Sounds delightful."

"Of course. Now. Put on this shirt..."

"Shan't."

"It'll be so sad when Elb is resurrected the first thing she hears about was that ghastly incident with Genghis Khan-"

"Actually, I might take your offer up on that shirt, gorgeous weave, is it Italian? Yes, quite suitable for this weather, of course..."

"I thought so."

---

Half an hour later, appropriately attired, Falle and Anaril left the tent, Falle looking extremely uncomfortable in shirt and trousers. He was, however, wearing a slightly padded belt, which was, in fact, filled with various poisons, and he was wearing a wakizashi in a katana sheath slung across his back, with spare room for various small tools and herbs, darts and kakute. As well as the sword, he used a cane, which contained a thin, needle-like blade, a small but long length of chain, and another collection of metsubishi tubes. Anaril wore a brace of pistols, a boot knife and a pained expression.

Falle also refused to part with the hat, thought it was at least veil-less.

"There? Feel better now that youre dressed like a man?"

"No. I feel distinctly unarmed."

"That's the Elb in you talking. A little brandy'll sort that right out."

Fall raised an eyebrow. Its only - he glanced at the sky - 9 oclock in the morning.

A high pitched giggle came from across the line of tents, where the 95th were camped. And then, only audible to Elven ears, "Oh, Dick, you're so naughty!"

Anaril shuddered. "It's already getting on then. Brandy. Now."

---

Of course, this was the British Army, but the fact that a great many of the Officers were Irish did not help matters one bit. It was a holiday, and very few of the regiments were officially working. The French, being 1. Catholic, 2. Jolly fond of a strike, and 3. French, were presenting very little danger, and probably wouldn't even if all the troops were willing to work.

As a result, after brandy came wine, and after wine came whiskey. The Irish officers were rather like the French in one respect, and Falle, who was used to water, cha and sak, (and was notoriously bad at holding his drink anyway) was soon at that blissful stage of not really giving a toss about the world, and was about the demonstrate on Wellington how a metsubishi tube worked. Anaril, who knew enough from overblown stories of the ninja that was Not a Good Idea, managed to drag him out just in time.

Once out, they were met with quite a sight. The tents of 95th riflemen remained. The 95th riflemen didnt.

"Aww, poor Nen-naa, little Sharpie's gone..." Anaril gave Falle a glare that the other missed since he was now remarking on how pretty the sky was. "It's very blue, Anarrr, isn't it? Very blue, you know, I have a kimono, I mean, dress, that colour, just that colour! Don't you think so Anar? I like the sun too; its' so shiny, hello su-OW! My eyes!"

Anaril half threw him into the tent, then stalked off the find Nenya. "Nen? NEN?! Where in Manwe's back-"

Her tent was empty. On the small camp bed was one of the ribbons she'd worn this morning.

"FALLE! FALLE!"

The pale elf looked up as Anaril entered, shouting. "Wha? What? I was asleep, you know..."

"Nenyas been kidnapped!"

Falle opened one eye, then the other, then sat up. All too quickly. "Ahh, I need some cha..."

"CHA?! How can you be thinking about cha?! Nenya's gone, her tent's a mess; she must have up a struggle!"

"Par on course for her then. Nenya is more than capable of dealing with an attacker-"

"But not more than one! It was that Sharpe, that Major, I bet it was! I bet it was that Irishman; he was even bigger than Ecthelion! The regiment's gone - maybe there wasn't a struggle! Maybe she was lured away, ach, what're we going to do?!"

Falle was quite calmly swilling herbs about in a white china cup. "Patience."

"PATIENCE?!"

"Have you considered all the possibilities? Perhaps she's somewhere in the camp."

"I've looked!"

"Perhaps she went of her own free will; she took rather a fancy to Sharpe..."

"Not enough to follow him on a mission! Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Look, we can't accuse such an illustrious war hero without proof. We'll set out tonight on horses; that regiment marches. You check with Wellington where they've been sent to, here, and say that you've heard of a small ambush planned there that Celeborn's just got news off. We'll leave as soon as its dark. I'll get an extra mask for you."

"Mask?"

Falle grinned. "Come now, Anar. I've been party to the ninjutsu secrets for centuries. We'll catch them this way."

"Are you sure we can ride that quickly? They'll have a head start."

"Of course I am! I've rode the Mongolian plains-"

"And we know how that ended."

"-and the Caucasus, and I've heard of your four day dash across Germany. We'll be fine. And so will Nenya."

---

The captive was currently alone with the forward Major, hidden by the scrub they were surrounded by. Sharpe look up, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "You told your friends you'd be coming with us for the day?"

One pale hand reached up from behind the scrub and scratched his ear, conveniently forgetting the difference in human anatomy. "Of course I did." The hand grabbed the back of the man's collar and jerked the head downwards.

There was a gasp, a giggle, then a small pause. The blond head re-emerged, crystal blue eyes gazing out from a tanned face. "They might be worried about a lass like you..."

"It's you they should be worried about, rawr!"

"Eh?"

"Shut up and kiss me." Sharpe was left little room for argument. The horizon was clear. Nenya's friends wouldn't be worrying. The day was his.

Just as he was about to make Nenya his (or more likely, he Nenya's), Harper rounded the corner to see his commanding officer struggling with his belt. He ducked behind a tree and averted his eyes. "Err, Sir, so sorry, but theres a group of Frenchies about a mile south, just a patrol group, nothing more, Sir, but you'd better check it, Sir..."

A long string of swearwords came from both soldier and lady.