He looks at himself in the mirror, shudders at what he sees. He hates it all, wants it to stop. The silks and the furs, the gold and jewels, horses and hounds. It’s all too much.

There’s something – someone - more precious than all these things, someone who gives him what he needs at such times without question or judgement.

Desperate, anticipating, he threads the halls, enters a certain room, locks the door behind him. Falling to the floor he crawls to he who understands, kneels shivering at his feet.

“Boromir, beloved” he pleads, “Please, I beg you… Treat me like dirt…”