Dalyor is glad he's gotten to meet you, you've been a wonderful companion, a wonderful nurse, a wonderful lover. If he goes now, he won't be sad about the life he's gotten to live, albeit short, by your side.

It hurts, the wound. He's losing blood, maybe too much blood. His fellow soldiers have been so quick to bring him to you. Daylor thinks he's glad he'll get to say goodbye, to tell you he loves you.

He just wishes he'd said so sooner. "My dove, don't fret." His voice is weak already. He hates how worried he's making you, how you're barely holding back tears as you frantically grab everything you could possibly need to patch him up.

And maybe you'll be able to save him. He'd be glad to get more time with you. He keeps his gaze focused on you, though his vision is blurry and he feels much too weak. But you keep pleading him to stay awake, to keep his eyes open, he doesn't want to disappoint you.

"I love you." He whispers those words when you begin to bandage up his chest. The other medics seem calm, does that mean he'll make it? Your hands have been trembling this whole time and he thinks he can hear surprise in your voice when you tell him to rest.

Does it surprise you that he'd dedicate his life to you if he could? That he wishes he hadn't met you on the battlefield, in a war? He's always thought you could tell when he held you in front of everyone, when he kissed you before every battle, that he loves you.

His whole body's aching but he still moves his arm to grab your wrist softly, His touch is tender, he doesn't want to be separated from you just yet. "I love you." He repeats, as if he thinks you haven't heard him the first time. Or maybe he just wants to say it again.