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It wasn’t silence that permeated the air around the cabin, but a constant background of chittering insects and droplets falling from the cavern walls. Rhythmic and steady, comforting in its own way. Blurg and Omeluum had chosen to situate their research cabin in a fairly remote reach of the Underdark, away from large settlements but close to a wealth of fungal specimens, and this peace was their reward. Well, usually. As Omeluum stood in its herb garden, enjoying the cool air, it was disturbed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Too light to be Blurg’s and too regular to be a lost beast. Omeluum readied itself for a confrontation, then relaxed when it saw a familiar head of white hair emerge from the gloom.
“All alone this morning, my tentacled friend?” Astarion lowered a bag from his shoulder and dropped it at Omeluum’s feet. “Surface supplies, as requested.”
Books, some fresh fruit, desserts from a bakery in Baldur’s Gate that Blurg had developed a fondness for, and the latest research published by the Society of Brilliance. They’d come to an agreement with the vampire wherein he brought requested items from the surface, and they agreed to look into anything that might improve his tolerance for sunlight. Progress had been slow, but not entirely fruitless.
“How was the duration of this batch?” Omeluum asked, hauling the bag over its own shoulder with a little oof.
“Ten minutes in dazzling sunshine before even a sizzle,” Astarion replied with grin, which quickly fell as he continued. “Though it was only about enough time to queue for that damned cake.”
“Good, then we are making progress. Could you next test it on a cloudy day?”
Astarion nodded, then turned on his heel. “Anyway, can’t stay, so would you tell your hobgoblin that I will be charging in future if he makes me queue at that gods forsaken bakery each time? I’ll be back in two days to take requests.”
“Of course.” Omeluum’s tentacles blushed slightly as it waved Astarion off. Your hobgoblin. That was a new one, and yet not altogether unpleasant. Did he refer to it as your mindflayer when talking to Blurg? It hoped so.
It turned the phrase over in its mind as it brought the bag inside. Cake and fresh fruit out first, followed by the pile of books. Though they were all fiction, they were usually a fairly eclectic assortment of genres. This particular haul kept to pattern. It was Omeluum’s morning off, the research papers could wait.
The first book on the pile was a relatively hefty tome entitled The Devious Duke. Its decorative leather binding bore a carefully painted image of a long haired man with an exposed, glistening chest that was perhaps best described as heaving. Or resplendent, maybe. The man stood atop a rocky outcrop, wind causing his shirt and hair to billow out behind him against a red sky. For not the first time, Omeluum wished it had a pair of brows to raise.
Omeluum had become no stranger to romance novels during its time at the society’s lodge - there had been a rather well stocked collection, and what started as mere curiosity became something of a fascination. So much of their content seemed alien to it. Not unpleasant, but simply far removed from its own experiences.
This particular novel detailed the exploits of a Waterdhavian duke as he traversed the hells to seduce devils and demons alike. Omeluum had more of a soft spot for romance novels that included ballrooms, stolen glances and plot significant hand contact, but this was also fun in its way. Until the mindflayer character appeared, at least. It was perhaps unsurprising that it took on a villain role in the story, but the insults levied at it by the duke felt a little unnecessary. Omeluum tried to stomach it for as long as possible, until it reached one particular scene wherein the duke and the mindflayer fought for the attentions of a particularly buxom devil.
“Overdeveloped minds and underdeveloped hearts give you beasts only a simulacrum of true emotion. And yet you claim to love this woman? A cur like you could never understand love.” The duke spat upon the ground and raised his sword to the mindflayer. “You would be nothing but cruel burden to her. You would lie and convince her of the depth of your feeling, while she is left pining for a cold husk.”
Upon finishing the paragraph it closed the book and placed it at the bottom of the pile. A cold husk? It was well used to unsympathetic portrayals in books that held supposed studies on its kind, but this one was only meant to be a bit of fun. And was all the more hurtful for it. Its thoughts whirled with enough force that it missed Blurg’s return. Only once he approached the table, eyeing the latest haul, did Omeluum became aware of his presence.
“Astarion dropped by?” he asked, despite the answer being quite evident. Omeluum nodded, and watched as he cut himself a slice of the cake and took the opposite chair at their small table. Did Blurg think of it as the duke in the story did? That it was a cold husk incapable of love? Love. A word Omeluum tended to avoid. Blurg had never pressed the matter, and he used the word freely enough himself, but now Omeluum couldn’t shift its concerns from its mind.
Something must have given its slightly troubled train of thought away, for Blurg paused and placed his fork down. “What’s the matter?”
“Hm? Why do you ask?”
“It’s just you’re doing that thing you do when you’re preoccupied.” He motioned toward Omeluum’s tentacles, which were now curling in on themselves at the ends.
“Oh. So I am,” it replied. It reached forward to touch one of Blurg’s hands before continuing. A small gesture it had found to be a source of comfort to them both. “I do not burden you, do I?”
The question caused Blurg to let out a small laugh and give Omeluum’s outstretched hand a squeeze. “Hm? Of course not! You’re the better researcher than I am, if anything. I often worry I’m the burden!”
“No, not with our work. With…us,” it hesitated just a fraction, forming its words carefully. “Do you think it is possible that I am incapable of love?”
Blurg’s brows knitted together. “Where’s all this coming from?”
“Just something I read.”
“Well most of what I’ve read on mindflayers I’ve since learnt is nonsense, thanks to you. But love’s complicated enough when your thoughts have been your own since birth, I wouldn’t like to think how it must be if you started life in a hive mind.” Blurg’s features softened as he traced his thumbs across Omeluum’s knuckles. “But, if it’s really bothering you, take some time to think on it. Approach it like you would one of our research questions.”
Think of it as research. Yes, it could do that. Their library held a myriad of tomes to consult on the subject of love. Novels, scientific studies, poems and treatises. Every possible angle could be addressed by its reading. Omeluum pulled a particular favourite from the shelf first - a romantic novel in which the heroine regularly experienced all sorts of flutters and palpitations when she looked upon the object of her desire. Her breath caught and her heart raced as she looked on Egbert. The next book it reached for was a study of the mind that claimed love could be reduced merely to a series of chemical processes. By the time it had worked its way through every text, the list of definitions, explanations and symptoms were so varied and contradictory that it lent no clarity to the situation.
To alleviate its frustration it sought out Blurg, and found him observing a colony of fungal spores. Keen not to interrupt, Omeluum seated itself and waited. Lips pursed, eyes slightly narrowed, Blurg’s face wore a look of deep concentration. Despite his bulk, he had such a delicacy and a grace in his movements, each one meticulous and careful. Omeluum could watch him working for hours. But, as it was, Blurg made a few final observation notes, then placed his tools down.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“The opposite, if anything,” Omeluum let out a sigh. “Do you mind if I ask how you knew you felt love?”
Blurg shrugged, a slight blush forming across his already ruddy cheeks. “I don’t mind, but I also won’t have a satisfying answer. It just sort of became obvious to me. You were where my thoughts wandered when left to their own devices. When we were parted I felt less myself.”
Omeluum felt a blush of its own rising in the tips of its tentacles and spreading upward. “I see. I do not find that answer unsatisfying.”
For the remainder of the evening, Omeluum tried to put its anxieties out of its thoughts. But when they retired to bed it found itself staring at the ceiling with a racing mind. Something it had often read of its kind, and had once again come across that afternoon, was the assertion that they could not experience emotion. Or when they did it was of the negative variety only. It was unsure whether the authors of those works were mistaken, or whether it was simply an outlier in that too, but it had found neither of those applied to it personally. When it thought of Blurg’s answer - simple, and yet the most clear explanation it had received all day, it felt a joy that eclipsed such a notion entirely.
It could remember the sensation of being part of a hive mind, and the connection between so many beings. It had felt lesser in the presence of the others. Small. As if its own being was unimportant, a mere cog. It had never felt incomplete since breaking free, necessarily, but it had found something in Blurg that it found with no other. A connection now so integral it couldn’t imagine its life without him. As if it was an extension of Blurg, and Blurg was an extension of itself. A sort of deep understanding of one another’s being. It thought back to Blurg’s words. When we were parted I felt less myself.
Omeluum let out a little sigh as it shifted in their bed to look on Blurg’s face. When it watched the hobgoblin’s features, slightly restless in their sleep, its feelings were soft. Tender. A deep happiness that welled deep in its bones and spread throughout its body until it felt at peace. If this was all that there was - itself, Blurg, and their cabin in the gloom, Omeluum would be content. Again, Blurg’s answer returned to its thoughts. It just sort of became obvious to me.
“Yes, I think it must be love,” it whispered to itself, as it reached a tentacle out toward Blurg’s face, and lightly traced the line of his nose. Then instantly pulled it back as he shifted and opened an eye.
“Hm? Did you say something?” Blurg asked, voice still groggy with sleep.
“Nothing of importance,” it answered, slightly too quickly.
A teasing smile spread across Blurg’s lips. “Well really? Because I could’ve sworn you said something about love.”
“Perhaps I did.” Omeluum attempted to return the teasing smile with a teasing tone in its own voice.
Blurg pulled the mindflayer close until their foreheads were resting against one another. They lay in silence for a moment, the only sound their heartbeats, until Blurg let out a little contented sigh. “Well, while you might’ve been intent on searching for answers, I never questioned it for a minute.”
“Things would have been far easier if you had told me that at the beginning.”
“And deprive myself of butterflies when you came to the conclusion yourself? Say it again though, would you? Now that I’m properly awake.” Blurg’s voice was soft, and Omeluum couldn’t find it within itself to refuse.
“I love you.” It spoke slowly, deliberately. Savouring the pleasant weight of the words. They felt so natural to say, and in an instant it wondered what it had ever doubted in the first place.