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If you were to ask Bartholomew how he found himself in his current situation, he wouldn’t quite know how to respond.
Since his exile from Foyer, he hadn’t dared to be hopeful for his own future, he knew it could be taken away in an instant if he got comfortable again. Every feeling, every wish, every dream has been repressed and squashed and buried, never to see the light of day again. He gave up all expectations for a happy ending the moment his father told him to leave Foyer and never return, unless he wanted his head on a pike for a crime he didn’t commit, and would haunt him for eternity.
For ten years he roamed the streets of Merhsted, playing instruments on the corners trying to support him and his cousin in the big city. It took 3 years for Egbert to finally get a stable job that could keep them afloat enough for Barth to relax a little, and even then it wasn’t enough for him to get off the street corners. He continued to busk anywhere he could, collecting noise complaints in every district and has run from authorities on multiple occasions. Until it finally earned him a court date he had no intention of showing up to, knowing it would make him a fugitive and that he would once again be forced to leave everything behind and start anew.
And then came that letter, asking him to show up for a meeting at Die Goldene Gans, requesting his help. The letter changed everything he knew about himself and the world, and threw him head first into a whirlwind of action.
He wasn’t sure how he ended up in this band of misfits to begin with, made up of vastly different people from different places, all collected in that tavern for a mission. Nelly, the ice sorcerer who always has a wolf at her side, and Lumi, the human fighter who keeps licking things she shouldn’t, from the ice islands. Iris, the wood elf who keeps doing wildly out of line things, from Verde. Feyra, the high elf who once tried to seduce a villain we were about to kill, from Wasservile. There was even a rat named Julius who tagged along for a time.
And then there was Styx—The water genasi cleric, who ended up worshipping her own mother. Styx, who somehow at one point was with Egbert. Styx, who healed a guy only to kill him shortly after. Styx, who was fascinated by his hair and accidentally put it out. Styx, who once stayed up all night watching over the rest of the party because they couldn’t sleep. Styx, with whom he adopted Sif, and who didn’t hesitate to help him defend her. Styx, who never learned how to read and always asks him to read in her stead. Styx, who was in the bookstore earlier with him, asking the clerk for advice on what to do with him.
Styx, who was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, and the most devastatingly beautiful woman he has ever met.
He had changed into his new formal uniform himself just fine minutes earlier, but all functionality left his body as soon as he laid eyes on the cleric in her new gown, making it appear as though she had bathed in a sea of stars. He had wanted to greet her, but no words left his tongue as he stared dumbfoundedly at her.
Travelling with her and the rest of their party had changed him. He could get used to this new life where he didn’t play on dodgy corners, but where he prowled in the darkness, executing the enemies from the shadows, watching as his team cut down every foe who dared to stand in the way of their task.
For the first time since his exile, he was content, travelling the world with his daughter on his shoulders, his companions bickering and Styx right next to him. Taking in Sif had brought them closer in ways the remaining party members didn’t.
Bartholomew had never seen himself as a father, considering he didn’t have the best role model when it came to the matter, but everything about caring for the little half orc felt like second nature. It definitely helped that Styx was right there beside him also trying her best to be a mother when she didn’t have a great example either.
He wasn’t sure when something had changed between the two of them. He had come to appreciate all of his companions over time, but there was something different about Styx Bartholomew was unable to identify. All he knew is that he was staring into her green eyes, and he was drowning.
Drowning in a sea where only she was the air in his lungs. He was a broken man, worn down by years of searching for redemption for actions that weren't his. After all the years of nightmares about his mother and sister, screaming and begging for mercy as they were tortured, lying lifelessly in pools of their own blood. After years of gasping for air while he sobbed mourning them, he felt like he could finally breathe again.
Drowning in an emotion he couldn’t name that was swimming around in her gaze, that he suspected was mirrored in his own. It was fleeting moments, accidental touches, co-parenting a four year old, acting like a family—wanting them to be a real family.
He wanted to wake up each morning and see their faces, knowing they were his to care for. He wanted to take them on adventures until the day where neither he nor Styx could stand for more than five minutes. He wanted to go through life and all its impossible challenges that come with raising a child, knowing they could take all in stride as long as they had each other. He wanted Styx to be the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing thought on his mind before sleep. He wanted to be there until the last day the gods would grant them on this earth.
He was drowning in a life he hadn’t cared to wish for in more than a decade
But gods forgive him if it was in that moment he realised he wanted to live again.