I have heard it said that the stranger a person seems in his youth, the wiser he is in his old age. I will not vouch for that saying—but I do know that, when it came to my friend, it held true.
He was, perhaps, the only man I had been truly close to. And I knew as well as anyone else how strange he was. Amongst his own kind and amongst mine, he was thought of as strange. Even with his friends and family, he seemed to lack the basic common senses—and yet, he could understand things thought far beyond his grasp.
I knew him; I knew him when he was a child, and I hoped that that child lived on in him forever. I knew his spirit and his joy; his laughter and his jests; his foolishness and his disregard for authority; his strange ideas and his carefree smiles.
I knew him when he was a King, and I knew that the King lived in him long before a crown touched his brow. I knew his concern and his worry; his healing and his strength; his patience and his love; his powerful leadership and his calm reassurances.
He was the most loyal in his friendship, and most steadfast in times of need. He was the most unwavering in his support, and willing to abandon all for those he loved. He was the most courageous when war arrived, and the most unwavering in the face of darkness.
He was my friend. He was my brother. He was, and always will be, Estel. Our hope.