It was a question that haunted him. At those times when he thought he had a grasp on the answer, he felt as though he were hiding the real, rock-bottom truth from even himself. So he replied as best he knew how, even if it made sense to no one.
“For ten years he mentored me, took me in like a son.” His face darkened. “The son he wished he had. Yeah, I know about him and mom. I could read it in his eyes. Every time he looked at me, he was reminded. I was not his brother or his son or his comrade – I was a burden.” He had long since given up fighting back the anger that was coming again to the surface. “He thought he could cast me aside and leave, just like that. Hurry me through the knighting ceremony so he could get rid of me and be on his way. He was my idol, but he didn’t really care about me, I know that now. I woke up one day to find the stupid, starry-eyed, hero-worshipping kid I’d once been was dead, and – this,” he spread his arms, presenting to them the current Les Wyler, “was in its place. And now, I don’t know who, or what, I am.” He looked to each of them, doubtful that they would know, or understand, either.