Simple Pleasures, to a Soldier (Gluttony)

Boromir was not a man who took great stock in possessions. Well-tailored garments made sense, saving time and bother; finely crafted armor and sword were necessities, not vain displays.

In Imladris, though, he encountered soap of such surpassing excellence that he gasped in surprise and delight. A dense creamy chunk that could have been molded to his hand, scented of lemon and rosemary. Vast quantities of hot water, and that marvelous soap – he felt his body had been recast, his aching spirit poured into a new skin.

He wondered how much he could slip into his pack without arousing suspicion

The Land of Illusion (Pride)

What surprised Boromir most about Imladris was its shabbiness. The gold leaf woodwork was cracked, the paint faded. Dead leaves littered the stone paths and crumbled in dusty corners. The guest chamber was, to his soldier’s eye, luxurious; but the steward’s son noticed the threadbare linen sheets and very faint smell of mustiness overlain with cedarwood and old rose. What was this place? Why had the dream led him here?

Travelers came, seeking answers, yet where were the libraries, the scholars and historians, the congregations of the learned? What wisdom could be found in Imladris that Gondor did not possess?

Exhaustion (Sloth)

“Wake up, slugabed!” A hundred long days riding on the edge of despair; a hundred cold nights of stone under his back. At last in fabled Imladris, drugged with blessed sleep, he hears Faramir’s voice, woven into a dream of playful days long past. Go away. Leave me be.

“Wake up, slugabed!” Through many long weeks, councils are taken, routes are surveyed, plans are laid. Rest now. Build your strength. The road is long, and full of peril.

“Wake up, slugabed!” He hears the terror in his brother’s voice, and is shocked awake by the pounding of his own heart.

Second Breakfast (Greed)

One thing Boromir appreciated about Imladris was the food, abundant and varied. Arising late one morning, he followed the aroma of something extraordinary…

“Lingonberries! In a bread with pumpkin, of all things! What is that spice, do you think? Nutmeg? Or mace?” It was astounding how the smallest one could talk so much without breathing. “Those dwarves can eat, can’t they? And those men really tuck it away. We’d starve if not for second breakfast. Good thing none of them are around right now, more for us….”

They had the grace to blush, and happily share what little was left

Loneliness (Lust)

Boromir found the elvish women beautiful, elegant , yet curiously boneless, as if they might melt away at his touch. But the curve of a breast, the sight of long fingers brushing aside a curl, the scent of jasmine – these things aroused in him such a shock of desire that he was left breathless.

He hungered suddenly for the company of his own kind: solid fleshy women of heat and passion who could kiss away all memory of pain. That girl at Edoras - what a beauty! What fire in her eyes! Yes, she would be such a one. Eowyn.

Ignorance is Bliss (Envy)

It was not that the halflings never devoted any effort to preparation. They had organized their packs, cleaned their rusty weapons, and one of them, Samwise, had visited the kitchens several times to help plan provisions for the journey.

Sometimes one would look briefly at a map, or ask a question about the weather, or might there be any inns along the way?

Mostly, though, they told stories, and played jokes upon each other, and listened enraptured to the Elvish singing each night. The possibility of danger, or pain, or failure, never seemed to trouble their minds.

Boromir envied them.

Shock (Wrath)

“… heir to the throne of Gondor…”

No! All his life he had heard tales he had only half-believed, to find now that they were true, all true, and his world about to be turned up-side down.

And by whom? This ragged stranger with the whispery voice who would not even meet his eyes. A wanderer bearing a broken blade.

All that Boromir had desired, in the most secret depths of his heart, would finally be claimed. The winged crown, the alabaster throne, his city…

“Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.” For one bitter moment he denied his heritage.