Stories by Sheila Paulson

Faramir's Lament--

I was bid to do my duty
And they followed where I led,
To the Orc-infested city.
Now my comrades all are dead.

The World Beyond Sleeping--

Soon now, old Ioreth would come to urge him to his bed, her lined face revealing concern and love for him, but he did not wish rest now, or even her caring, although he valued it. Instead, he watched and waited, his eyes upon the East, his body tense. The armies should have reached the Black Gate. What would they face there? All the Orcs left in Middle-earth? Fresh from his own hopeless battle in Osgiliath, Faramir found it difficult to cling to hope.

The floor beneath his feet trembled. With a great crack of sound that could be heard even unto Minas Tirith, Mount Doom flung fire into the heavens. Faramir's breath caught; his heart leaped with hope. Had Frodo succeeded in his quest? Had the Ring gone down into the fires, thus to be unmade? But fear shook him also, for Frodo, who might be lost in the heart of that fiery eruption.