For you Boromir fans out there, I'm afraid you are not going to like me too much for my characterization of him. My apologies if I'm messing with something you cherish but I needed him to have "room to grow" as a person. Please don't throw rotten fruit at me...
Boromir rode into the city of Minas Tirith to the sound of trumpets. This was his father's latest vanity – the insistence that the "Heir" be announced to the people. If and when the King did come home his father was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Not that any of that was Boromir's concern.
Boromir rode through the streets without really noticing the people who cheered for their Golden Knight. That the people of Minas Tirith admired him made little difference to him. He found life in the White City tedious and the people who lived there more so. Not that Boromir really knew the people of Minas Tirith. Even when he was here, he made little effort to walk the streets and see the people he spent his days defending. He generally felt that the "common folk" should be grateful that he took up the sword for them and not expect him to actually care about their drab little lives.
As he rode up to the Citadel, he schooled his features to look less bored. He had learned years ago not to show his disdain for Minas Tirith in front of his father. The White City was the heart of Gondor and his father brooked no insult of Her, taking it as an insult to himself.
Reaching the courtyard of the Citadel, he dismounted, letting one of the guards take the reins of his horse. He walked briskly up the steps and into the Citadel. At the doors to the Hall, he stopped and straightened his clothes and hair. Squaring his shoulders, he gestured for the soldiers at the doors to announce him.
Once announced, he moved steadily through the long hall. He could see his father impatiently tapping the White Rod against his palm, but Boromir refused to pick up his pace. He was not some sniveling servant to run scurrying to heel. By the time he reached the throne where his father sat, the man was red faced and fuming. He wasted no time laying into his son.
"You took your time getting here. When I say there is a matter to be dealt with, I expect you to come immediately. " He glared at his son, looking for some sign of contriteness, but Boromir merely looked back at him with the polite yet neutral face he kept especially for these occasions. Denethor's mouth tightened as he paused to decide on his method of attack.
He looked at his only son and heir and what he saw would make any man proud. Tall and well muscled, he held himself with the straight carriage of a true warrior. That he was also well favored in looks was an added bonus. Boromir's blond hair and green eyes, that he inherited from his mother's people, gave him an exotic look that made him a favorite among the women of the court. Not that Boromir ever paid them any mind… that irritating thought killed any kind sentiments that might have been surfacing.
He tightened his grip on the White Rod, as if to remind himself that he was Lord and Master here, and glared once more at his son. "I have a problem that I need you to handle. As you may have heard, a band of outlaws have set themselves up in Ithilien. They have been raiding caravans and robbing travelers for a number of years now and their insolence has reached a point where it can no longer be tolerated. Just recently, they attacked a convoy bringing tax money from Rohan. Do you have any idea how much gold that was? How much that cost me?" Denethor was practically spitting with rage.
Boromir looked at his ranting father and once again wondered what would happen if the King ever did come back from the war in Harad. His father had long since forgotten that he was only a caretaker of the realm and felt that he was the rightful Ruler of Gondor. While Boromir had grown up under his father's rule, he still heard tales about King Aragorn and his great love for his people. Aragorn was beloved even after a 50 years absence. The same could not be said for Denethor.
His father ruled Gondor with an iron fist and in the time of his Stewardship the borders of Gondor had expanded threefold. Rohan – which had always been a principality under King Aragorn – was now completely under the rule of Gondor. And his father hadn't stopped there – the territory of Hollin was now part of Gondor as well. Even the lands of the Halflings had been snatched up by his father's ambitions for an empire.
Denethor noticed his son's wandering attention and it only fueled his ire. "Boromir!" he snapped, bring his son's attention back to the present. "You will go to Ithilien and you will deal with this Fox. When you find him you are to bring him back in chains to face me. Failure is NOT an option, do I make myself clear?"
Boromir drew himself up stiffly, anger evident in every line "Yes, my Lord Stewart, you have made yourself abundantly clear. Do I have my Lord Steward's permission to retire? I have much planning to do." He did not bother meeting his father's eyes, staring instead at a place just to the left of his head.
Denethor looked for a few moments at his son, assessing his level of capitulation and deciding that he had won this round, said coldly "You are dismissed" Boromir bowed stiffly and turning on his heel, walked rapidly out of the hall.
Denethor watched his retreating back and shook his head. Boromir was proving more and more difficult as the years passed. He stubbornly refused to see that as Heir, he had certain responsibilities. All that Denethor was building, he was building for Boromir. His golden son would be ruler of a vast and rich empire. All Denethor asked in return was for Boromir to do his part to support Denethor's rule. Couldn't Boromir see that The Fox was undermining Denethor's authority? That the money he stole was money being taken not just from Denethor, but also from Boromir?
Fuming he got up and began pacing. He had to find some way to bring Boromir into line. When he had sent him off to head up the army, he thought it would be a good way for Boromir to establish his own connections and power base. Instead he became caught up in army life to the detriment of his political skills. The boy wouldn't even take a wife and the Valar only knew that he had thrown enough suitable candidates his way. This last point was the one that bothered Denethor most of all. If they were to establish any kind of legitimacy to their claims to the throne, Boromir must have a wife and better still a son.
Unfortunately, Boromir had proven highly resistant to the idea of taking a wife and he had managed to dodge all attempts to maneuver him into marriage. He had, on more then one occasion, flatly stated that the noble women of Gondor were weak minded and no amount of breeding could make up for that. He was not going to shackle himself with some totty-headed woman who would forever whine and nag at him for being away so much. He would sooner throw himself off the Seventh Level than put himself in THAT noose.
Still, it had to be done and there was little time left to waste. Perhaps the problem was that he was giving Boromir a choice in the matter. Maybe the more effective approach would be to arrange a political marriage – a contract that couldn't be gotten out of without causing a diplomatic situation. Denethor pursed his lips in thought. Yes, this might just be the way to bring Boromir to heel.
Boromir reached his rooms and slammed the door. Angrily he paced about the room. How dare his father treat him like some kind of lackey to be ordered about? Failure is not an option… when had Boromir ever failed him? He had been leading Gondor's armies for 10 years now and had gone wherever Denethor's greedy ambitions had sent him. And for all Denethor claiming that he was doing this for him, Boromir was no fool. This was for Denethor's pleasure, not his.
His father was the one who needed the power and position. He wanted a dynasty so that his name would live on – the greatest of all who ruled Gondor. Greater than Elendil himself, who had founded Gondor from the ruins of Numenior. He, no doubt, has dreams of statues being erected and songs being sung of Denethor the Great.
Boromir snorted in disgust. His father was obsessed and Boromir was dragged into that obsession whether he wanted it or not. And now he was to go to Ithilien and hunt down outlaws like a common sheriff. Damn it, he was the Captain General of Gondor. He had more important things to do than traipse about the woods looking for The Fox and his men.
He snorted again. The Fox – what kind of name is that? A fox is a weak, cowardly creature only good for fur trimming. A man who would take such a name is no doubt some sneaky, honorless creature who decided that being an outlaw was better then earning an honest living. His father's men must be pretty incompetent to have been unable to capture him.
Boromir sighed sullenly and threw himself into a chair. Regardless of how much of a waste of time it was to send him to Ithilien, his father was not going to let him off the hook. He was going to have to take some of his men and play sheriff. Thinking of his men, he realized that if he was going to suffer then Camcir, his second, was going to suffer right along with him…
Smiling evilly, he got out of the chair and headed for the door. Catching the attention of a passing servant he said "Please have word sent to Lieutenant Camcir that I need him to attend me in my study."
Boromir sat back down at his desk and grabbed a map. He had only been to Ithilien a couple of times since he joined the army. It was a place of mostly forests and farms – little that required an army's presence. There wasn't even a fort there, since historically Ithilien had been a quiet place. Or it was until this damn Fox decided to settle there.
Boromir poured over the map and tried to get a feeling for the territory. Ithilien was farms and villages interspersed between large stretches of woodlands. Boromir was going to have to use all of his tracking skills from his hunting days to bring in The Fox. Speaking of hunting, if he remembered correctly, the hunting was supposed to be particularly good there. He'd have to be sure to make some time for it before he had to bring the prisoner back to Gondor. Smiling to himself, he continued to memorize the map before him.
It was about 20 minutes later when he heard a knock. Boromir bid him to enter, knowing it would be Camcir. His Lieutenant was a typical Gondorian, dark haired and gray eyed. He tended towards the practical, which was fine by Boromir, since it meant he saw to all the details and paperwork that Boromir just couldn't bring himself to deal with. And now he was going to help Boromir put together a small troop of men to deal with his father's latest problem.
Camcir nodded briefly in greeting, Boromir having long since insisted on informality when there was no one around. He walked over to the desk, which was disappearing under mounds of paper and shook his head. "How is it that I leave you alone for no more then an hour and you've already managed to make absolute shambles of the paperwork?" He took the quill from Boromir's hand and placed it back in the inkwell.
Boromir grinned and said, "It's a gift. Besides, if I wasn't so disorganized what would you do with yourself? I know how much you thrive on conquering my mess"
Camcir smiled in return "I have to, otherwise I would have been driven balmy long ago by your chaos. " He looked down at the papers and the half buried maps. Boromir's handwriting was worse than chicken scratch, another reason Camcir did the paperwork, and he was unable to make out the subject. "So, what was the important matter that the Lord Steward had to drag you from Osgiliath?"
Boromir frowned and said "Apparently my father has decided that Captain General is not enough of a job for me and so he has decided to add Sheriff to the mix. " He picked up a paperweight from the desk and began to toss it back and forth between his hands.
Camcir, with years of long practice, reached out and took the paperweight away from Boromir before he damaged anything and set it out of reach. He then settled himself in another chair and said, "So what is your first duty as Sheriff?"
Boromir sulked for a moment at the removal of the paperweight and then sighed and said "I am to go to Ithilien and capture the outlaw known as The Fox and bring him back to my father for punishment. Apparently it's hard to get good help these days and his own men have proven insufficient." He picked up a piece of paper off the desk and began to fiddle with it.
Camcir watched him for a moment and decided that the paper wasn't important enough to need rescuing. "I have heard of this Fox. They say that he is quite elusive. That he's able to come and go throughout Ithilien with no one able to track him to his den. " Stepping into his role as second in command, he gathered paper and quill in preparation to make notes. "I think I also remember hearing that he's very particular in his targets. He will hit conveys guarded by the Steward's men but will leave farmers and tradesmen untouched. And he particularly likes to ambush tax collectors. In fact, I think I remember a story of one such tax collector being sent back in nothing but his underclothes with a thank you note pinned to him" Camcir tried to hide a small smile. He couldn't help but admire the audacity of The Fox.
Boromir, however, was not amused. "So he thinks he's clever, huh? Well, we shall have to see about that now won't we? He will not be feeling too clever when he kneels at my father's feet in chains" He jumped up from his seat and began pacing the room.
Camcir realized that something must have happened between Boromir and his father for him to be this worked up over the request. And while his loyalty was with Boromir, he also knew that capturing The Fox was not going to be a simple walk in the woods - pardon the pun. He had to calm Boromir down before he went off and did something rash.
"I know that this isn't exactly in keeping with the position of Captain General, but why not look at it this way? It does get you out of Minas Tirith for a while. And since your father is clearly upset about this, he's hardly going to send for you as long as you are on this mission. This is really not such a bad situation"
Boromir looked skeptically at Camcir and then slowly began to grin. "You're right. As long as I'm sending back reports showing some kind of progress, my father can hardly drag me back to play the court fool at some noble event. Camcir, I say we prepare to set out the day after tomorrow. No point in wasting time now is there?" He grinned and walked over to a small side table. He poured two glasses of wine and walked back over to the desk. Handing one glass to Camcir he said, "I propose a toast. To Ithilien and The Fox. Thanks to his thieving ways, I'm to be given a well deserved break" He raised his glass to his lips and took a deep swallow.
Camcir looked doubtfully at Boromir but dutifully raised his own glass and drank. One day was never going to be enough time to plan for capturing The Fox. He had a really bad feeling about this whole mission.