Chapter Text
“Are you sure you have everything?”
“Yes, Dad,” Greka rolls her eyes. “And it’s not like there aren’t shops in the city if I need something.”
“You have the scrolls I made for you?”
“I know how to cast Disguise Self, Dad, I’m not a baby.”
Her father reaches up and sets his hands on her shoulders, looking towards her face with eyes mostly blind with age. “You know how important it is, darling. What if you get tired and cannot control your magic?”
Greka inherited her begetter’s wild magic sorcery, but her parents have had her studying wizardry since she could pick up a tome, and she’s nearly sixteen. She can handle herself. “I’ll be fine. But yeah, the scrolls are in my bag. And you know Tate won’t let anything happen to us.”
“I know.” He pulls her down into a proper hug, and she wraps her arms tightly around him. He’s been slowing down, these last few years, and she’s mostly worried about going to the city for a few months because she doesn’t know what state he’ll be in when she returns. “I can’t believe I’m letting my little girl go off on her own.”
“This was your idea,” she points out. “You wanted me to go see the world. You and your friends arranged for all us kids to do this trip.”
“That doesn’t mean I cannot worry,” her father says, letting go and patting her arm. “Make sure to write. You know your begetter will fret if you don’t check in twice a tenday.”
“It frets any time it cannot see me,” Greka grumbles. “But yes, I’ll write. And you be sure to write too. I want to know how those new hybrids grow.”
“Of course I will.” He squeezes her arm again. “Alright, go. Your begetter is waiting for you outside.”
“Bye, Daddy.” Greka leans down and embraces her father quickly one more time. “I promise I’ll be safe.”
She floats away before she has to see him getting too sentimental on her, heading out into the garden where her begetter is waiting. In contrast to her father, it looks just the same as she’s always remembered it, blue skin still smooth and taut and eyes still bright and clear. Its mental presence softens when it feels her approach as it always does, welcoming her into its mind.
“Have you said your goodbyes?” it asks. “He is letting you leave?”
“With some conditions,” Greka confirms. “You know you don’t have to come with me. I know the way.”
Her begetter smiles. “This is also one of your father’s conditions,” it says fondly. “He is frustrated that he cannot see you off himself.”
Her father doesn’t really leave their garden anymore, with his vision failing and his stiff joints, and he never ventures beyond the sanctuary of the myconid grotto that surrounds their home. She knows that he used to, often—he loves to share stories—but she can’t remember seeing him do so more than once, when she was very young, when he came back hurt and there were a lot of tense conversations she was shut out of. Their friends come to visit them, or her begetter takes her to visit people.
“Yeah. Well, let’s go. I don’t want to leave everyone waiting.”
Her begetter does not argue, floating away down the path. It’s coming with her as far as the surface, where she’s meeting up with a bunch of her parents’ friend’s kids to go on a tour of the Sword Coast. It should be fun—these are people who know her, and won’t be freaked out by her actual face—but she’s never spent more than a tenday on the surface before, and it is a little bit scary. Her begetter has taught her a lot about illithids, and even though she isn’t one (and in her opinion, doesn’t really look like one), people are violent and ignorant and pretty reasonably afraid. They see face tentacles and they assume monster.
“You are anxious,” her begetter says gently. “What is wrong, [Dandelion]?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Your feelings are not stupid,” it says. “But it is true that you have nothing to fear. On what do you need reassurance?”
“How do you do it?” Greka asks. “How do you go up there, knowing how much they hate you? And you’re so much better and kinder and older than me. I’m just… a freak.”
“Oh, my dandelion, no, you are not a freak. You are different, yes; your father and I are both different, and it was different that we had you. But you are a beautiful miracle of nature, a being deliberately created from raw love and magic, not a mistake. You are kind and loving and generous, but it is time for you to determine your place in the world. It may be here in the Underdark, as it is for your father and I, but we both suspect that it is not. Our garden has been a good place for you to put down your roots and to sprout, but your father has been telling me since the first time we took you to see the night sky that we were going to have to let you go someday, and I have seen that he is right. I cannot tell you that your road will be smooth or easy. But you will find people who will see the good in you, as I have. And you cannot do that if we keep you locked away here forever.”
“But what if no one does? What if I just have to hide who I am, forever?”
“You won’t.” Her begetter wraps its arm around her waist, pulling her to a stop and then into a hug. They haven’t even gotten out of the Grotto yet. “You are a bright and lovable young woman, and you will take the surface world by storm.”
“But what if, Beeg?”
It sighs. “I meant to keep this as a surprise for your birthday,” it says. “But I have been in communication with the wizard Rolan, owner of Sorcerous Sundries in Baldur’s Gate, and he has offered you an apprenticeship next summer. He will teach you advanced wizardry, and you will work in his shop, giving you a controlled and protected opportunity to interact with the public.”
“Really?” Greka can’t control her tentacles, flailing around and tangling with her begetter’s. “Really, Beeg? You did that for me?”
“I love you,” her begetter says. “And your father is right. Your father is right. You were built for cities and for sunlight. We are happy here, alone with each other, but you have always needed people. You need the sea breeze, and flowers in your hair.” It tucks her hair behind her ear. “You will always have a place with us here, if you want to come home. You will always be our miracle. But we want you to be happy, and you have outgrown the opportunities we can offer you.”
Greka throws her arms around it, eyes watering. “I love you so much, Beegy.”
“I love you, my little dandelion,” her begetter says, squeezing her back. It straightens up and strokes a hand through her hair one last time. “Go on,” it says, gesturing her forward and stepping back. “You know the way.”
Greka floats forward, love at her back and adventure ahead.
