Written for Day Two of the 2008 Advent Challenge.
Finduilas stuffed the scrap of parchment into the bottle. Boromir watched intently as she corked it. The sun beat hotly upon the planks of the wharf. Faramir was asleep up at the castle, and Finduilas had wanted to spend some time upon the beach with her oldest son. Time was running out-in a few days, this summer idyll would conclude and they would return to Minas Tirith.
“Was the wish what you wanted the most, Boromir?” Predictably, the word ‘sword’ had been printed on the parchment.
“Then take the bottle and throw it out as far as you can.”
“What will happen to it?”
“Sailors say that sometimes the bottles travel all the way to the West and then the wishes get granted. But not all of them make it.”
She watched, feet dangling over edge of the wharf like a girl as her son threw the bottle into the water with a grunting effort.
“What about your wish, Mother?”
What would I wish for? ‘Peace’ perhaps? Finduilas smiled sadly at her son, her back to the East. “I threw my bottle into the Sea a long time ago, Boromir. But I don’t think it ever got there.”