This was all tangled up in all the other stuff that had happened to Dolf back in 1212. "You remind me a little of my friend Carolus," he said, after a long moment. "He got sick too but he kept going because he thought people needed him to."
"Carolus was a fighter," Dolf said, opening his eyes. He smiled again, eyes watery, but at least the smile was a little more honest. "He was going to be King of Jerusalem once we got there, and he already was, really. A little king. And then one day he fell and I tried everything I could, but even then I knew there was nothing I could really do."
"My friends from there were always better at doing this," Dolf said, sort of answering the question. "Leonardo left for a while, and when he came back, half the children he had known had died in a battle. I told him, and he just went--" Dolf shrugged his shoulder. "'I heard something about that.'"
In some ways, Dolf did know what it was like, walking through the mountains with so many dying he couldn't care for every single one any more. But that wasn't quite the same, and he should really shut up about it.
So he looked up and looked her in the eyes instead. "I've liked you the way you are, too," he said. "Thanks."
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And all the kids had kept looking at him.
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Except he didn't, really.
He shook his head. "But that's not important, is it."
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So he looked up and looked her in the eyes instead. "I've liked you the way you are, too," he said. "Thanks."
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