Harvest dreams

Tree and Flower Awards, Drabble, First Place
Tree and Flower Awards Nominee

Harvest Dreams 

Nominee_143_290x150harvest.jpg picture by lindahoyland


boromir.png image by lindahoyland Scythe -Swords into Ploughshares

These Characters are the property of the Estate of J. R. R Tolkien. This story has been written for pleasure and no profit has or will be made from it.

With grateful thanks to Raksha and NiRi

“Why must we do this, Uncle?” Boromir looked suspiciously at the scythe in his hand. ”We are on holiday!”

“You will learn much helping in my fields,” said Imrahil.

“Much rather would I wield a sword!” Boromir complained, frowning at the scythe. “I am not a farmer!”

“A Steward's heir should learn the arts of peace as well as war,” Imrahil said firmly. ”Surely you would not have your brother best you?"

Boromir looked up and saw that Faramir was briskly harvesting the wheat. His little brother seemed to use the scythe deftly as a sword, if not more so.

Faramir-1.png image by lindahoyland Thresh- Wheat or Chaff ?

“Were you not a soldier, Captain, what would you be?” Damrod asked one night as they returned from patrol.

“A scholar, I believe,” said Faramir. Then, seeing the man’s bewildered expression, he added; “Or maybe a farmer, if I needed to earn my living.”

“And why a farmer?”

“With my sword, I must cut down all who stand before us as foes, unknowing whether they deserve death or not. With a flail, I would thresh, and winnow the wheat from the chaff, storing the good grain. A farmer knows what must be garnered, a warrior can never be so certain.”

icon Fileg

faramirniri.jpg image by lindahoylandHay– Harvest Visions

With thanks to Raksha

It was a perfect summer day and the hay harvest was bountiful that year. Young men and maidens cut the hay, laughing and singing as they worked. Several children played, chasing one another round the field. A woman called the labourers to come and partake of refreshment, cider and great hunks of crusty bread, creamy butter, and rich cheese. Faramir could not see her face, only that she had hair like ripe corn. A little girl clutched at her skirts.

"Captain, wake up! The Southrons are attacking!"

Faramir was roused from blissful dreaming to face the harsh reality of day.

icon NiRi

alanleeart.gif image by lindahoyland  Harvest Moon – Moonstruck

With thanks to Raksha

A tall man stood outlined against the rising harvest moon. A gem adorned his noble brow, and his eyes shone like stars.

Faramir knelt before the man together with a lady with golden hair. She held out a sheaf of ripe corn towards the man.

"Yavanna's blessings be upon you both and our fruitful land!" the stranger said.

Faramir swayed slightly as he came back to himself. Before him lay no fertile meadow, but a corpse strewn battlefield. Only the moon remained

"Are you well, Captain?" Damrod enquired.

"T'was but a moonstruck vision," said Faramir. "Would that it were real!"

icon Fileg/ Alan Lee

Faramir-1.png image by lindahoyland Apple – First Fruit

The old orchard had suffered long years of neglect when no man had dared prune the trees. Dead branches lay entangled with sharp brambles and weeds on what once had been carefully tended grass.

Faramir sighed. Ithilien had once been fair, but now it seemed a desolate place to build a home. The land had been neglected for so long. Could it ever again be fruitful?

Then he saw it: a huge single apple growing from one of the gnarled trees

Faramir smiled and carefully harvested the apple. Yavanna had given her blessing; this was the first fruit of many.

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faramirniri.jpg image by lindahoylandReap– Hard Labour

With thanks to Raksha and Windsurfbabe

Sweat trickled down his face and neck; his shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably. Faramir straightened up, grimacing at the pain in his back. It no longer seemed quite such a good idea to spend the day working in the fields.

As a Captain he had fought alongside his men, as Prince of Ithilien, he had a duty to farm alongside them and help them bring in this first harvest. At last they could reap the fruits of peace.

He straightened up and saw Éowyn approach, carrying refreshment for the thirsty workers.

Faramir smiled; he had reaped a rich reward.

icon NiRi


arafara.jpg image by lindahoyland Sheaf - Willing Hands


The rain clouds drew ever closer, their grey plumes like angry warhorses about to charge, trampling the grain. The harvesters quickened their pace.

Faramir bound the twine securely around another sheaf of wheat. He looked up and beheld the King walking across the field towards him. “I did not expect to see you here, sire.” Faramir exclaimed in surprise.

Aragorn smiled. “I grow weary of sitting at a desk, my friend. I have laboured over sheaves of paper all morning, this afternoon I would liefer choose wheat. Why should the king stand idle when the harvest is ripe for gathering?"

icon nerwende

alanleeart.gif image by lindahoyland  Harvest Moon – Fruition

The King and Queen had retired to their chamber. A few of the labourers lingered to savour another mug of cider and sing slightly tipsy songs in praise of Yavanna.

Arm in arm, Faramir and Éowyn strolled past the freshly harvested cornfields and into the orchards, where the trees were laden with almost ripe fruit.

Faramir looked up at the harvest moon and tenderly kissed his wife.

“How blessed I am!” he exclaimed. “I have you and our children. Our lord is most gracious while our land is fruitful and at peace. All I ever dreamed has come to pass.”

icon Fileg/ Alan Lee

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