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There was something poetic about it, in some fucked up kind of way. He should’ve known things would go sideways. The hand Bartholomew had been dealt has always been cruel, why should the fates have shown him mercy this time?
One minute he is sitting next to Styx, enjoying the event with the rest of the party with a smile on his face. The next he is fighting for his life, trying to prevent a mindflayer from stealing all the dragon eggs that were about to hatch. He was unfocused the entire battle, having taken a massive hit from the very beginning, but things truly went south when Styx boarded the ship, trying to reclaim one of the eggs.
Bartholomew could do nothing as he was forced to watch the woman he was so utterly besotted with shatter her own hand on a broken bottle, barely managing to get the egg off of the ship before taking a plunge toward the ground. He didn’t dare think what would’ve happened if he hadn’t caught her.
As if that wasn’t enough, Feyra sacrificed herself in an attempt to save the last egg and the four children the mindflayers took when they realised their mission had gone sideways. Her screams as she was dragged away still echoes inside his head, adding to the soundtrack of misery already running on repeat.
And yet hidden deep beneath the depths of his sorrow over the loss of a companion, there was a shining kernel of relief. That it hadn't been Styx.
Now he was sitting in a meeting room, holding onto his daughter for dear life like she was his only remaining grip on reality, barely registering any of the information that was being presented to him about their space mission. He’s still dressed in all his finery, his entire left sleeve and the front of his shirt all covered in blood, as well as both of his hands. He was smearing blood into Sif’s hair with every soothing stroke on top of her head, but he didn't deem it a priority to do something about it at the moment.
The mission had been pushed forward, giving them twenty four hours to prepare and get the resources needed for the trip. He was supposed to prepare himself to go out there and save the world, yet all he could think of was the half-orc girl sleeping in his arms, face stained with tears and clutching his bloody shirt in her little hands like her life depended on it.
Maybe his own did too.
When the meeting had adjourned, the faculty left to get the spaceship ready for takeoff. He noticed Styx dart out of the door after them in his peripheral, but he couldn't muster the control to get up to follow her. He was still having a staring contest with a discoloured spot on the wall, still mindlessly running his hand over his daughters head when she returned, each thought rattling through his skull more terrible than the one before.
In truth, he didn’t notice her return before she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him from the tumultuous prison of his own head. He knew he was completely at her mercy as she wordlessly pulled him to his feet and led him towards their room, but he didn’t pull away. He let her guide him down the hall, let her sit him down on the bed when she turned to draw a bath, let her softly pry their daughter from his death grip and laid her down on the bed, let her guide him to the bathing chamber and let her scrub away the blood from his hands.
He let her remove the ruined finery he was dressed in and helped him into a sweater, which he wasn’t sure where came from, before he was gently directed back to the bed. He wasted no time laying down next to his daughter, scooping her back into his arms, planting a soft kiss on the crown of her head before resting his own on hers, watching the door like a hawk. Styx had returned to the bathing chamber, presumably for a bath of her own.
When she came back, Bartholomew didn’t know how much time had passed, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off of the door even once, even as she laid down next to them and slung her arm over his to also cradle Sif. As if the monsters from his past would creep through the cracks and take his girls away if he dared to look away.
But Styx wasn’t truly his.
She was part of the adventuring party, a phenomenal cleric, the mother of his daughter, and she had become a beacon of light in the life that was otherwise haunted by darkness. She and Sif were the only thing still keeping him afloat in the untamed sea in his mind that constantly tried to drown him. It was the secret smiles and collective worry for their daughter that kept him waking each dawn to continue his journey.
But she wasn’t his.
And just like everything else had cherished in his life, they could be gone in an instant.
He didn’t know how long he spent observing the door, but he suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore. His thoughts were suffocating him, strangling the flames in his soul, and the lifeline he would usually search for had been tainted by the events of today. He carefully removed himself from the cuddle so as to not wake his daughter as he stood, levelling another kiss on her hair, and watched as Styx gathered Sif fully in her arms. She was truly a wonderful mother to that poor child they had found and took in as their own.
As he strode towards the door, she asked where he was going, stopping him in his tracks. In truth he didn’t know, but he had to leave. He had become far too attached, and today’s attack served as a cruel reminder of what would happen when he did. He couldn’t risk anything happening to either of them, but he held a responsibility towards Sif as her father figure he couldn’t neglect.
As much as he wanted to flee and never look back, he refused to subject another child to the treatment his own father had given him. He should’ve believed him and fought for him. Instead he abandoned him when he needed him the most. No child deserved to experience that, and Sif had already been through enough in her short amount of time in this world.
He didn’t turn to face Styx as he muttered a cold promise to be back. He knew if he looked at her he would crumble, and that was the last thing he could afford to do.
Everything he held dear had already been taken away from him once. He had no intention of letting it happen again.
And so he left.