"I should like to save the Shire, if I could - though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again."

carrying the world around his neck

"I see no hope of it now. But I've got to do the best I can."

a plea;

themagehero:

ninefingered:

^{Ragged breathing, the cowed posture. The signs of pain, a sagging position against a wall, eyes cloudy from something that could and should not be written or spoken. Words spilled, dream-like, weak in a way they had not been since he arrived. Each word took a hitched gasp from aching lungs.}

^{”..Tell me — please, what….” His eyes flutter. “What.. happens to those who leave this place? I must know. Where..where do they go?”}

This whole thing had taken so much out on everyone. The memories, recovered after being taken away. Your home or this city, either had collapsed in front of your eyes and you never knew until now.

This other man was obviously in pain, making Daylen wish he knew healing magic. Instead, he could only try to tel the man the truth.

“There is no way to leave, I’m afraid. From what I can remember, I believe the scientists hold us here. If people do leave it is a t random and I do not know where they go. But that isn’t what is important now.”

The mage leaned in closer to the wall, extending a hand.

“What happened to you?”

Odd how he once felt so comforted around others a few weeks ago. Now this. Back to how it was, leery of those that weren’t an assured friend. 

“No – that is of every importance. ” His voice, though slurred in agony, is very clear on that, the cloudy eyes, terrible in their almost emptiness, settle on Daylen’s face.

“What is done to me is nothing. It will pass. It is my companion who faces greater pains than I do, if they..” A sharp intake of breath, not exhaling, fear of drawing out the pain, the greatest the wound from Weathertop.

“If they are discarded like trash then…then I must go with him…cannot…abandon him – ” Bleary eyes took sight of the hand and a feeble smile touched his lips, not full of any real happiness.

“You…are kind – I do not know if I can reach…” Perhaps his other shoulder might help but he was in too much pain to move, presently.