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The night was cold and dark when Astarion awoke. He woke up around this time every night unless there was a nasty battle where he pulled the short end of the stick the day before. Those were the only times his hunger couldn’t wake him; the only time he didn’t have to worry about the burning at the back of his throat. It was always either that gnawing feeling, or the nightmares of getting caught again and dealing with Cazador’s wrath. He couldn’t go back to that life, it was no life at all, and it always woke him up with a start.
But, he didn’t need to worry about that now. He managed to escape and even if it was just a fluke before he turned into a beast of a mindflayer he was going to enjoy the freedom. He no longer had to eat rats.
He rolled over onto his side. Yes, he no longer had to drink from rats. Instead, he could drink from-
Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes landed on Malachite’s bedroll. The drow could blend into some surroundings, but the bedroll was clearly vacant of Astarion’s…
He didn’t know how to describe his relationship with the drow. Malachite let him take a drink from him almost every night despite the fact that Astarion got overzealous their very first time and perhaps made his heart stop. The drow turned out fine though! Shadowheart had brought him back. No harm done, but Astarion stopped just short of completely fulfilling his hunger when he fed off of Malachite now. He couldn’t lose his favorite snack’s trust.
If he was just his favorite snack, though, that he didn’t know.
After they had saved the grove and the tieflings from the goblins, Astarion had invited Malachite into the forest. The only way Astarion knew how to make alliances was by getting on his back. That was all it was: A way to keep Malachite on his side. He had slept his way through Baldur’s Gate on Cazador’s orders, so sex wasn’t anything precious to him. However, Malachite was… something different.
Malachite had practically knocked them onto the ground so Astarion could bite him. The sounds Malachite made when his fangs pierced into the soft skin of his neck…
Well, if Astarion was ever afforded a truly lonely night he wouldn’t have to wonder what to think about.
Malachite had awoken with the sun that following morning and Astarion had woken up minutes before, stood in front of him while letting the sun warm his face.
Being able to be in the sun without repercussions was something he and the drow shared. However, the sun only weakened Malachite before the tadpole. If Astarion ever went out into the sun before he would have burned. So, he took every chance he had to feel it against his skin.
Malachite had invited him down for a cuddle which made Astarion smirk, but he shook his head. “We have to get back out there.” was his excuse.
Malachite didn’t seem to mind as he got up off the ground. But, before Astarion had the chance to turn around he had asked about his scars. Astarion paused, but figured that the best way to keep Malachite on his side and maybe even help him was to slip a little bit of honesty. So, he told him about how they were a ‘gift’ from Cazador.
Malachite was the one to tell him that it was written in Infernal. He said it casually like it was something Astarion already knew. Malachite wanted to know why.
“Why does the evil bastard do anything? I’ve never seen it.” Astarion had said, turning around to face him.
Malachite hadn’t bothered to get dressed. His gray skin shone in the sun.
“What do you mean you haven’t seen it? Aren’t you curious about what it says?”
Astarion had blown him off that day. But, that question stayed in his mind until it drove him insane. Until Malachite had caught him trying to catch a glimpse of his back in the mirror. It was a fruitless endeavor to be caught in, the mirror not capturing any part of him at all.
That was when Malachite told him to allow him to be his eyes. He had taken a painstakingly long time to draw out the entirety of Astarion’s scars in the dirt below them. Astarion was taken aback that he took the time to draw out the entire monstrosity in the dirt of all things.
He didn’t know what Malachite was to him after that.
Astarion sat up and shook his head. Malachite was one to awake shortly after sunrise. He was only outrisen by Astarion who now woke up with the sun, but he knew he didn’t typically wake up in the middle of the night. Unless something was wrong.
There was something dark inside Malachite and the whole crew knew it after he had murdered that tiefling bard Alfira. He didn’t talk much about his compulsions after all their companions had blown him off initially. Said it was natural to be angry under the circumstances. But Malachite’s bloodthirst went further than the blood of their enemies… It was for everyone. Everything. Why else would he have stabbed that bard? Her songs weren’t that bad.
Astarion didn’t have much regard for life after everything and he didn’t care too much about Malachite’s urge to kill. But for him to be awake in the middle of the night? Astarion felt a tug in his chest that brought him to his feet.
Astarion just hoped that if he found Malachite bloody over a corpse that it hadn’t been useful to him when it was alive.
The leaves crunched under Astarion’s feet as he made his way into the forest near where they set up camp. Maybe Malachite hadn’t gotten far enough to decimate an entire village. But if he did, Astarion hoped there was good loot.
Astarion ran his hand over tree trunks as he passed them, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of life. The only thing he came across was a squirrel. It reminded him of the squirrel they had found at the grove. The one Malachite had kicked to death. Astarion had thought it was amusing, but after the fact Malachite looked… rabid. Sick. He was shaking.
The squirrel bolted past Astarion and ran deeper into the forest like it read his mind.
Astarion moved deeper into the forest, the trees thinning out until he was in a clearing near a creek. There were smooth rocks poking out of the water throughout the water’s path. The gentle current of the water slipped over the rocks before continuing on its course.
Malachite was sitting at the edge of the water. He put his hands into the water of the creek, bringing the water to his face before leaning his head back. His shoulder length white hair contained streaks of purple and, with his hair falling back, Malachite’s tall and pointed drow ear was exposed.
Malachite had bright purple lines that swirled around his jaws and down his throat, almost looking like they were glowing against his otherwise gray skin. He remembered kissing the bright skin around his adam’s apple their night together. He had left a bloody kiss mark behind.
When Astarion stepped forward, Malachite’s head snapped over in his direction. Damn drow and their good hearing. With Malachite looking at him, Astarion could see his favorite part of him: his eyes. His left eye held a deep red coloring, but his right shone a lighter pink. The edges of his iris were slowly turning purple to match the markings on his skin and the streaks in his hair.
Malachite had no answers when anyone questioned his changing appearance. The purple in his hair got stronger daily, the pink color in his right eye shifting more towards purple over time. It was an interesting infliction and was something Astarion had tried to learn about through books on their travels, but he had come up short.
“Why are you awake?” Malachite asked, voice low for the distance between them, “It’s late.”
Astarion couldn’t be sure, but he got the feeling something was amiss. Sure he hadn’t walked in on Malachite killing another innocent bard nor was he killing animals for sport, but he had that look on his face. His eyes looked through Astarion instead of truly at him. Like he was looking for something, anything else.
Malachite could be one for dramatics. He did call himself a monster after killing that tiefling and was untalkative for a while after that, but Astarion knew that he wanted to be a good guy. He helped everyone and only sometimes asked for gold in return. He was the reason Wyll didn’t kill Karlach, he was nice to the annoying tiefling children, and he hung out with Gale for god’s sake! Maybe this was all part of the show.
“I’m always awake now. You, on the other hand, not so much. This is when I usually come over to you for a snack.” Astarion said, taking one step forward. When Malachite looked away from him, Astarion decided it was safe to walk the whole way over to him. “You’re one of those people who can sleep through anything.” He continued, sitting down next to him by the water.
Astarion carefully put his hands in the creek. There was hardly a current, but it was still there. If he was a normal vampire spawn this probably would have hurt him. But he wasn’t normal and it was shit like this that made him wonder if the tadpole in his head was truly his enemy.
“I wish I could sleep through anything.” Malachite said, moving his hair off of his shoulder and neck. He tilted his head slightly. “Have at it.”
Astarion looked at the curve of his neck. He noticed that Malachite’s shirt looked to have been tugged at. A rip went from the collar of his shirt to the shoulder closest to Astarion.
Astarion breathed out a huff. “I didn’t come all the way out here to bite you, darling. Even if this is one of my favorite positions to find you in…” He smirked a little before letting it fall, “I came to see if you were alright.”
“Right.” Malachite muttered, an air of disbelief to his voice. He righted his neck and bent his knees, bringing them up to his chest, “I… didn’t leave camp to do some unspeakable horror while everyone was asleep. For once. So, go back to camp and go to sleep.”
Astarion pursed his lips, looking out across the creek to the rest of the forest beyond. A mossy log adorned a large part of the other side of the clearing before the trees started becoming denser again. If Astarion looked up, he could see the stars and the moon.
“Even if you had, you know I’m the one who doesn’t mind.” Astarion said, “God forgive a man for having hobbies. Am I right?”
Malachite rolled his eyes, but Astarion caught the edge of his small smirk. If he could make him smile without the promise of a massacre then he wasn’t too far gone. He was still cognizant of his actions. Whatever darkness inside of him was leaving him alone for now.
He lost track of how long they sat there in silence with the water gently going by and the soft thumping of Malachite’s heart that only Astarion could hear. It was good that he had arranged a different dinner. Astarion looked over at him when Malachite spoke up again.
“I don’t think I’m alright.” Malachite said, face pinching that way that it did when his mind was taking him somewhere else, “I’m losing control. I’ve lost myself. Everything I do… it’s wrong.” Malachite scooted back far enough to stretch out his legs without getting them in the creek before laying down.
Astarion sighed, sliding back as well. He put his arm behind himself, looking down at Malachite from above. He moved his other hand to hold Malachite’s hip.
Just this once, he allowed himself.
The drow looked up at him and Astarion drank him in. He attempted to count the freckles adorning Malachite’s face and quickly got lost amongst all the spots of darkened skin. There was a splash of dots across his nose in varying intensities and they spread across his cheeks. The lightest ones were near the swirling purple lines of his jawline.
He knew and allowed himself to acknowledge that Malachite was stunning. He would be a fool to deny it. But, like Nettle or whatever the hell her name was from the grove had said: he was a bit tired around the eyes. And, in this moment he was more than just a bit. The creases under his eyes were dark where they carved into his skin. The whites of his eyes were ever so slightly bloodshot. But, he was still beautiful.
“I think you’re doing well considering the circumstances.” Astarion said, giving his hip a squeeze, “You’ve done a lot of nauseatingly good deeds that no one would consider wrong besides me. And maybe Lae’zel, she does have a bloodthirst…”
“Alfira. That damned squirrel. Minthara…” Malachite listed off, closing his eyes.
“Um, no, no. I don’t think Minthara fits in that list. She was going to lead a raid against that damn grove.” Astarion began, recalling how Malachite had looked at her. That female drow with the blonde hair and deep voice almost had them agreeing to slaughtering that grove before Malachite suddenly turned around and knocked her out cold.
“And the squirrel? They’re overpopulating this damn place. Disgusting vermin.” Astarion shook his head.
Malachite opened his eyes slightly to peer up at Astarion. He could see just slivers of pink and red and purple.
“I’m going to be fighting against myself for my whole life. However much longer that is.” Malachite began, “One day I’m going to black out and get myself killed. Or, kill the wrong person and be… burned at the stake or something by our friends.”
Astarion grimaced. “We won’t be burning you at the stake. They’d much rather take one and drive it through my heart anyway…” He muttered, shaking his head.
The weight of balancing himself on his arm became too much and he slid it back towards himself before laying down beside Malachite. He slid his hand that was holding Malachite’s hip slowly across his stomach. He was letting himself indulge too much, but Malachite fascinated him. He was allowed to have a distraction.
Malachite grabbed his hand before he could stop touching him completely. Astarion flinched slightly, a spark radiating from inside his fingertips. Malachite turned onto his side to look at him with Astarion’s hand between both of his. He held their hands to his chest and their eyes locked.
“Promise me that if I do something that even you find morally reprehensible that you’ll drive that stake they want to use against you through my heart instead.” Malachite’s voice was deep. Serious. Pretty damn intimidating.
His hand felt small in between Malachite’s larger, warmer hands. The warmth radiated up to his wrists.
“If you do something that I find ‘morally reprehensible’ wouldn’t that just be the right thing to do?” Astarion whispered, an almost laugh dying at the end of his sentence.
He was never good at grave conversations. Especially with someone that he appreciated a lot more alive than dead. But, the look in Malachite’s eyes felt like it was pressing him to say yes. Yes to killing him, yes to burying him, yes to living out the rest of this without him.
He felt himself gain some strength in his resolve. He frowned, sliding his free hand into Malachite’s hair. The vast majority of his hair felt dry and rough around his fingers, but the strands full of color were softer. New growth.
He met his rose and lavender eyes with his blood red ones and said,
“I do not humor my friends’ suicide wishes.”
Malachite’s hold on Astarion’s other hand loosened and Astarion took the opportunity to take it back just to wrap his entire arm around the drow and drag him close to him. Astarion’s face met Malachite’s shoulder, his newly free hand creeping into the back of his hair.
“I am on your side.” Astarion’s voice was more vehement than intended.
Malachite was still against him for a moment before regaining use of his arms and wrapping one around Astarion. His hand rested heavily against the middle of his back, pulling Astarion even closer.
“And I’m on yours.”
Astarion momentarily tightened his grip on him at that before he found it in himself to pull away. Malachite wasn’t going to kill himself or get himself killed for the ‘greater good’. What had the greater good done for them lately, anyway?
“It’s settled then. We have each other.” Astarion got up, extending his hand to help Malachite off the ground, “I like our odds.”
Malachite slid his hand into his.
And he smiled.