Boromir was very young when he understood it.

When he understood that he was strength, battle cries, restlessness, brevery and purity; and that his little brother was books, library scent, curiosity, light and wind. And that his strength was of another kind, but it was there, and he could see it every day.

Boromir was too young when he understood that the only strength their father saw and acknowledged was that of the sword. And that because of it, he only saw him.

While Denethor watched proudly how he trained and how he became taller, stronger and more respected, he watched even more proudly how his brother grew up, becoming the wiser person he knew.

With every visit from Mithrandir, with every book he read, he felt as the light behind his eye, that light that belonged to their mother, was becoming more intense. And then they would steal sweets from the kitchen and they would stay up until late, talking in the dark about everything Faramir had learnt that day, about distant places and strange lands, long ago forgotten. They would speak about Boromir's future conquests, about their next mischief, about Faramir's future journeys to see far-flung libraries. Then Boromir would start tickling him and they would fall asleep laughing.

Boromir was just a kid when he understood it.

And when he did, it tore his heart apart.

He understood that Faramir wanted their father to see him as he saw Boromir, to recognise his strength as well, to be loved. He understood that he had been too busy following the path of expectations that was marked out for him to nottice that his brother's path only veered away from his own.

Denethor did not see Faramir's strength, that strength that he saw as clear as day, so he watched how Faramir destroyed himself in order to be someone their father could love.

He watched how Faramir looked the leaves of the White Tree fall, with a sad but determined look.

And it hurt so much.

To see how he destroyed himself, and yet their paths diverged even further as they grew.

He loved his little brother so much that he would do anything to protect him.

But he did not know how.

He could see his strength, but knew their father was blind to it. And, crushed but the weight of responsibilities and love, he could only be a shield. A shield between Faramir and their father.

If he was everything their father expected, Faramir would not have to suffer that weight. He would love Faramir for their father. He could do it. He had enough love to fill all the gaps that Denethor would not fill in Faramir's heart.

And yet, every arrow that he was not capable of stopping and that pierced his brother, hurted as if the wound was his own. He could see another leave of the White Tree falling, agonizing.

His dream was a free world, in which nobody would feel afraid nor the presence of darkness. His dream was a Gondor in which his brother could show his strength, in which everyone could see how bright it was and he need not to blow it out to please Denethor.

And love and responsibility tore him in two when he had to cross Middle Earth twice to save it, when knowing that in the East, Faramir's light was disappearing without his protection was killing him

And when there were real arrows that were piercings his chest, love and responsibility crushed him completely finally. He thought of his King before dying, but his last thought was for Faramir.

His brother.