Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gilmore didn’t know how long he lay on the floor of the conservatory. At some point, the door banged open and the sound of running footsteps approached. “Master Gilmore! Master Gilmore, are you alright?” Sherri knelt down next to him, peering into his face to make sure he was alive. Then she felt his forehead. “You disappeared! No one knew where you’d gone. We couldn’t even find you by scrying! Sir, it’s been days!”

“Days?” Gilmore croaked. Damn the Feywild. What an evil place. “Where’s Kima? Allura?” He let Sherri help him to a sitting position.

“They left, Master Gilmore. After you disappeared, we all feared the worst.” She leaned forward to hug him. “The Arcanist said the barrier couldn’t wait any longer. Then Allie, Kima, and Master Thunderbrand left to get more information on the green dragon.” 

Gilmore frowned. “Who cast the barrier?” How had they managed to cast it without him? And who was maintaining it if Allura had left the city?

“The Arcanist and Master Thunderbrand cast it with the Realmseer,” Sherri said. “It took some doing...none of them are as powerful as you, Sir.” 

“I’m not certain I agree with that…” Gilmore began. But maybe this was for the best. If they’d managed to cast it without him, maybe Gilmore could rest a little after his close call with the archfey. Not to mention warn Vox Machina that they were being stalked by said archfey. 

“Master Gilmore, what happened?” Sherri asked, watching him closely. “Where have you been for the last two days?” 

“You do not want to know,” he told her, using his cane to rise unsteadily to his feet. There was a ringing in his ears, and all Gilmore really wanted to do was lie down. But now that he was safe, it was probably best to make sure everything in Whitestone was as it should be. A lot could happen in two days. Clearly. 

Sherri hovered at his elbow as Gilmore made his way through the house, in case he should need help. “What can I do, Sir?” 

“Something to eat, perhaps.” Gilmore could not recall the last time he’d had a proper meal. 

“Yes, Sir.” Sherri led him to the kitchen. 

“But everything has been alright since I’ve been gone?” Gilmore asked. “No more ghosts? No more demons?” 

“Everyone was very worried about you,” Sherri said. “When all of our scrying attempts were blocked, the council took it as a sign of an imminent attack. Besides putting up the barrier, the council told Jarett to build an army.” 

Gilmore blinked. “What?” Surely they hadn’t done all of that because of him. It did seem to disprove Garmelie’s argument most spectacularly. 

“I was surprised, too,” Sherri said. “Everything’s been fine in Whitestone, but the council shifted into high alert when you disappeared so soon after the attacks by the demon and Lord Briarwood’s ghost. Cassie didn’t want to take any chances.” She paused with a cup in her hand. “Oh, I really should tell her you’re back. And General Howarth. He was so upset.”

“He was?” Gilmore asked, not too tired to hear he’d been missed by someone he cared about. 

“Oh yes.” Sherri nodded, putting the cup down on the counter. “When they told him he was in charge of building an army and finding allies outside of Whitestone, he told the council to fuck themselves.” Gilmore’s eyes widened. “He took it back, though. Honestly, I think it’s been a good distraction for him. He hasn’t slept since he found out you were gone.” 

Gilmore put a hand over his heart. “If you’re sending word to Cassandra, will you tell him, too?” 

“Of course,” Sherri said. “But what will you be doing?”

Gilmore sighed, withdrawing the arcane parchment from his sleeve. “I’ve got to warn Vox Machina that they’re in serious danger.” 

Sherri put a hand on her hip. “Aren’t they always in serious danger?” 

Gilmore shook his head. “Not like this.” 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Sherri asked him. Gilmore merely nodded. She bent and kissed his forehead before setting off for the castle. 

Alone in the kitchen, Gilmore put one hand on the kettle to heat the water and composed his message with the other. 

My Love, 

I must warn you. The faun Garmelie is a very old, very dangerous fey in disguise. Do not trust him. Do not keep his company. Do not accept any more of his bargains! Please return home as soon as you can. It’s no longer safe for me to visit you. Not in the Feywild. 

After he sent it, Gilmore tried to scry and see if Vax had gotten his message, but he found himself unable to do so. Damn the Feywild! Finally, he decided to incant the arcane paper to heat up so that it got Vax’ildan’s attention if he had not yet read it. For now, that was all he could do. 

Having made tea, Gilmore was preparing to draw a bath in order to relax when he heard a scratching sound on the table behind him. He turned to see words slashing themselves into his parchment with bold, broad strokes. 

That’s not a very nice thing to say. Gilmore.

He shakily grabbed onto the door frame to steady himself. Gilmore hadn’t known the archfey could overtake his communication spell, all the way from the fey plane, no less. He snatched up the parchment and locked it away in an insulated safe where Garmelie would not be able to use it to scry on him. And for the first time, Gilmore wished he had gone by the name Shaun, instead.

After he’d had time to calm down, Gilmore realized that the ringing wasn’t inside his head, but coming from outside the house. He opened his front door to look out at the wintry Whitestone morning. The sun was dim this far north, but Gilmore stepped outside just the same, wanting to feel it on his cheeks. He’d come so close to losing his freedom. It was not a comfortable feeling. 

Once he was outside, standing in the front garden, the ringing became more clear. It wasn’t a noise so much as a throbbing in the earth. The leylines were pulsing, like veins fighting a heart attack. Gilmore followed them to the market square, where it felt most intense under the sun tree. Even the townsfolk were avoiding the spot. When he looked up, the barrier was throbbing as well, and Gilmore thought he knew why. 

He reached out and grabbed the arm of the nearest villager. “Send to the castle for Lady Pike. Have her meet me at the Realmseer’s as soon as possible.” Gilmore pressed a gold piece into the person’s hand and took off for Eskil’s at a fast jog; he was far too tired to run.

When Gilmore arrived, the Realmseer’s entire house was shaking. It was a wonder none of his neighbors had reported it. Perhaps they were too wary of mages to mention it to anyone. Gilmore found Eskil--or what was left of him--on the floor of his library. The barrier spell was stripping his flesh from his bones by alternate throbbing beats, the Realmseer’s lipless jaws working to recite the incantation that was keeping him alive, but only just. It had been so long since Gilmore had rested, he had little more left than a Lay on Hands to help save the old mage’s life. 

Gilmore knelt on the floor beside him, trying to rein in the wild magic as he cast his heal. He took the leyline between his fingers and very gently pulled, channeling the spell through himself, drawing the eye of the needle away from Eskil gradually, so that the spell would hold and the Realmseer would not go into shock. 

How the three of them had thought they could cast the barrier without him was beyond Gilmore. Well, if they had assumed they had no choice, imagining him kidnapped or dead… Still, Drake Thunderbrand was an elementalist. His skill was to paint in broad strokes, to sculpt elemental forces, not hone fine details of arcana. He was no substitute for an artisan like Gilmore. They must have been convinced Gilmore was truly gone.

When the spell finally settled on his shoulders, Gilmore could feel the rough miscast of it. It would take days to fix the flaws in their hurried casting, and Gilmore was not certain he would survive that long. The barrier began to eat away at his life force faster than he could feed it power from the node beneath the sun tree. It would have been painful if Gilmore had been fully rested with all of his spells at his disposal, and he was currently neither of those things. 

Through the haze of pain, he looked over at Eskil, who now lay on the floor, unconscious. At least the sallow flesh had returned to him, and he was breathing, if shallow. Gilmore stayed where he was, afraid to risk losing his grip on the spell or incurring more pain if he attempted to move. 

He did not know how long he had been kneeling there when Gilmore began to grow very tired, his head sagging toward the floor. Someone was calling him from far away, but he couldn’t quite make out their voice. 

*

“There he is!” Pike cried out, pointing toward the workroom that looked like the one in the tower where they’d first met the Realmseer. Jarett’s legs were longer than hers, and he sprinted forward to catch Gilmore as he fainted. Pike gripped her pendant and cast Heal, feeling the arcane magic using Gilmore in a way that she didn’t think spells were supposed to do. 

“Is he dead?” Sherri asked, looking dubiously down at the Realmseer. 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Pike said. “But someone should probably pick him up off the floor and get him warm.” 

“I know a good cantrip,” Sherri said, lifting the old mage using Telekinesis and floating him over to one of the large reading chairs by the fireplace. 

“What about my lord?” Jarett asked, holding Gilmore’s head so that it would not fall back. 

“I just have to figure out a way to fix this spell,” Pike said, thinking hard. 

“You are a mage as well?” Jarett asked. 

Pike’s brow furrowed. “No, but it’s eating him up, and I feel like that’s something I should be able to fix.” 

“Then dispel it!” Jarett said. “Such a spell is evil! We will find another way to protect the city.” 

“Please,” Pike said, trying to be patient in the face of his panic. “Just give me a few minutes to pray. I can do this.” 

Sherri looked back from having settled the Realmseer as comfortably as she could in his reading chair. “I’m going to the temple to get more healers,” she said. “You should be able to concentrate on Master Gilmore, but I don’t think Master Eskil will survive much longer without a cleric.” Jarett looked away from Gilmore just long enough to nod his understanding. 

*

When Gilmore woke up, Eskil’s library was much more crowded than he remembered. He also did not recall having lost consciousness. Gilmore groaned. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. “He’s awake!” he heard Jarett say. 

“Jarett?” A stubbled face pressed against Gilmore’s cheeks, kissing him over and over again. He realized he was being held in someone’s arms. When Gilmore opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see that someone was Jarett. 

“Praise god!” Jarett said. “I thought we had lost you twice in one week, which is too many times for my heart to bear, my lord. Two too many.” He kissed Gilmore’s cheek again.

“How are you feeling?” A sunny disposition incarnate that could only be Pike leaned into Gilmore’s field of vision. 

“Better,” Gilmore croaked. He stopped to see if the barrier spell had held. It felt quite different now, but not in a bad way, and it was still active. “How did you do that?” 

“I’m not quite sure,” Pike blushed. “But Sherri helped.” She glanced behind her. 

“I just pointed out a few things someone who’s not a mage might not see,” he heard Sherri say somewhere close by. “I’m not sure I could have done it without the special lesson on Allura’s sigil you requested for me, Master Gilmore. But really, it was nothing.” 

“It was something,” Pike insisted. “Hi-five, partner.” 

“Thank you all,” Gilmore said. “And the Realmseer?” 

“They took him to the temple,” Pike said. “But he should recover.” 

“Good to hear.” He would not have wanted to be the one to tell Allura her casting had resulted in the death of one of her teachers.  

“Let’s get you home,” Pike said. “I think we have some planning to do if this barrier’s going to hold up until we kill all the dragons.” 

Gilmore winced. “Do you have pain, my lord?” Jarett asked in Common, so Pike could help if he needed it. 

“Nothing as bad as before,” Gilmore said. “But I would love a little rest. And some tea, if it’s not too much trouble.” 

“I think we can manage that,” Pike said, smiling at Sherri and Jarett. 

“Anything my lord needs,” Jarett said. 

“It’s our job to take care of you,” Sherri chimed in. 

“Is that so?” Gilmore asked with the quirk of one expressive eyebrow. 

“It is now,” Pike smiled. And Gilmore felt very fortunate indeed. Both that he’d survived his encounter with the archfey and that he was surrounded by such kind, caring friends. Who had, in fact, noticed his absence and missed him. He was still worried about Vox Machina, but for now, he would have to pray that their inexplicable good luck held.

Chapter Text

By the end of the day, Gilmore and Pike had worked out a system. It seemed the best that could be done about the barrier spell was to slow its drain on Gilmore’s life force. He would need heals throughout the day, but at least Pike had managed to slow it to where he could survive with one cleric by his side using up all of their spell slots every 5-8 hours. That meant between Pike and Keeper Yennen and his other clerics of Erathis, they could both keep Gilmore alive and take shifts so that each of them could rest and recharge in between. 

One problem that they could not solve, unfortunately, was Gilmore’s need to remain awake at all times. They found out the hard way when he’d drifted off the first night and the barrier had burst like a bubble over the city.  Under normal circumstances, Gilmore needed less sleep than some, but not when he was being drained to the bone each hour by the spell. Seeing that sleep was going to have to become a thing of the past, Gilmore asked that some potions of sleeplessness be brewed. He also showed Sherri how to make proper coffee, but his foreseeable future looked bleak. 

Still, as he’d told Vax, the city of Whitestone was more important than Gilmore. And at least they’d found a way to maintain the spell without killing anyone. How long Gilmore could keep it going without sleep was something they would just have to find out the hard way. 

The first day, when all of the clerics were fresh, and Gilmore could still remember what sleep felt like, he decided to do some scrying and find out what the Chroma Conclave were up to. After all, the more he could tell Vox Machina about where and how the other dragons were, the faster they would be able to neutralize them. And then, maybe Gilmore could sleep again. He didn’t have to scry on Thordak. Gilmore knew exactly where he was and what he would be doing. Red dragons didn’t budge once they’d claimed territory and followers. 

The green was the most dangerous to scry on, as she was certainly a caster herself, especially after the story Gilmore had overheard when the adventurers had returned from the Cindergrove. So he began with the white dragon. Gilmore found him in Draconia, or what was left of it. Scrying became easier then, as Gilmore had a touchstone there. Easier magically, not emotionally. He would have to warn one of them before the children traveled to Vorugal’s domain. Such a loss of life! Nearly an entire race wiped out. And with such cruelty. It was hard to look at. 

Who would have thought Umbrasyl would have been the reasonable one of the four? Then again, he did have one of the best pedigrees of the lot. Gilmore knew what the Soul would have said. He could practically hear their voice in his ear, passing judgment. Perhaps he could encourage Vox Machina to begin their quest with the white dragon. He did not want to think of Thordak just yet. 

Later that day, when Gilmore had recharged a little and switched clerics, he tried to find the green dragon. But either she had anticipated such an effort, or Raishan was very good at concealing herself. He tried several more times with no result. When night drew on, he gave up. Besides, Jarett had come down from the barracks to keep Gilmore company. 

He was content to let Jarett fuss over him. And selfish enough to speak Marquesian in front of the cleric on duty, who could not understand them. They had a rather homey evening, with Jarett insisting on cooking dinner for Gilmore. In fact, they ended up cooking together, with Gilmore teaching Jarett how to make one of his favorite lamb tajines, substituting prunes for the dried mangoes he preferred. 

They even made enough for their Tal’Doreian guest, but the cleric only tried a bite before she declared that fruit was not meant to be cooked with meat. Also, they had apparently burned her palate with “too much spice.” Gilmore and Jarett rolled their eyes behind her back. Gilmore would have truly enjoyed the evening if he’d been allowed to sleep at some point. But it was only the second day; he supposed he could not complain. Yet. 

“Are you really meant to raise an army all by yourself to retake Emon?” he asked Jarett as they sat alone in the drawing room late that night. 

“There are others assisting,” Jarett admitted, “but I am in charge.” 

“Well it sounds like you’re far too important for mage babysitting duty,” Gilmore said.  

Jarett reached for Gilmore’s hand, smirking down at the floor. “The perks of command. Besides,” he looked up at Gilmore. “There is no place I would rather be.” 

“You old romantic, you,” Gilmore teased him with the hint of a smile. “I just hope you’re not giving up your sleep to be here with me.”

“What if I was?” Jarett asked, squeezing his hand. “You’ve given up your sleep.”

“For the good of the city,” Gilmore said. 

“Can I not give up a little sleep to keep him company who has given up all of his sleep to protect the city?”

“No,” Gilmore said cutely, turning to look into the fire so that he would not be tempted to kiss the tip of Jarett’s nose. But it only served to invite Jarett to slide up closer to him and put his arms around Gilmore. It felt good sitting together like this. Too good. “I’m going to fall asleep,” he warned Jarett. 

“More coffee,” Jarett said, kissing Gilmore on the jaw before getting up and walking back to the kitchen. When Gilmore glanced back at their chaperone, the cleric was pretending to read a book. Gilmore lit the lamp next to her so that she could see the words. 

* * *

Vax limped upstairs with his bag of ice to try to recuperate before the big battle tomorrow. This was the first time in three days Scanlan had been able to cast the mansion for them, and Vax suddenly realized, in all the excitement, he hadn’t spoken to or heard from Gilmore at all. Well, he’d said last time that it didn’t always have to be about sex. So, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on his ice pack, Vax decided to summon the man he loved to provide some comfort at the end of a long day. 

“Gilmore,” Vax said, settling gingerly into the comfy chair in his bedroom near the fireplace. “It looks like we’ll be fighting the cursed tree or whatever tomorrow. So far so good here, though there was a close call with the broom and the gnomes earlier today.” 

Silence. Right, he needed to get out the arcane parchment if he wanted to read Gilmore’s response. Only, when he reached into his cloak for it, it wasn’t where Vax usually kept it. He searched all of his pockets, then his bag, then his boots and his armor. It was gone. It was just gone. How could it be gone?

“Oh no.” Garmelie. That kleptomaniacal little shit must have stolen his arcane parchment. But why? He didn’t even know who--alright, wait. He had seen Gilmore. Well, either way, whether the satyr had stolen it because he’d felt compelled to, or because he had misguided designs on Gilmore, the parchment was gone. Which put quite a cramp in Vax’ildan’s plans. Well, fuck. One more miserable thing at the end of a long and miserable day. Vax would be happy when this trip was over. 

He wanted to see Gilmore again. Wait, was it possible Gilmore could see or hear him without the scroll? Vax had to try. “Gilmore? Gorgeous, can you hear me? I’ve--I can’t find the scroll. Can you come here? Are you able to?” Then Vax remembered what Gilmore had said last time about needing to stay in Whitestone once the barrier was cast. “Shit.” 

Well, with luck this whole mess would be over with after they retrieved Vex’ahlia’s bow from the tree tomorrow morning. Vax just hoped Gilmore would not be too angry with him for losing the parchment. Hopefully he could just make another one for Vax before they went away again.