Oliver is a really silly character in the game. He is silly in the creepiest ways. But even the silliest and creepiest of people were children once. This story is about Oliver, but is not silly at all.
Feedback is always welcome.
His mother always taught him to be beautiful.
"Above all else," She would say to him, as they walked through the lush and well-groomed gardens of the Father's manse, "one must be beautiful."
He wasn't fully paying attention. He had stalled to examine some new bug or beetle, or possibly even one of the many flowers. It didn't matter; she would tug on the boy's small pudgy hand and his head would snap to look back at her, and they would continue walking.
Looking down at him to make sure he was taking everything in, she would continue, "It does not matter the station at which one is born, whether it be one of power or one of servitude; Beauty transcends all else in matters of importance. Power means nothing without beauty."
He didn't quite understand, but he would nod anyway as if he did, and he would receive a nod of approval in return. This, the boy knew, was good. If beauty was good, then he would be beautiful, just like his mother wanted him to. Then, she would be happy, and the Father would come home.
His mother often talked to him of such things, and he was confused every time.
He would look up at his mother sometimes when they walked or sat or dined. He would look up at her and see her sharp features; her aquiline nose and her sunken cheeks. He would look into her dark and tired eyes. He would look at her face, and he was always struck with the realization.
She wasn't beautiful.
Later, as they walked the halls of the manse, and the Father was home but not in the room, she would say to him stiffly: "Beauty is something to be observed, not touched. To be beautiful, one must be surrounded by beauty. It is the responsibility of the wealthy to be beautiful and to surround themselves with beautiful things."
He thought he understood this one, and something clicked in his innocent mind. "Like how Father is always with those boys?"
An emotion he did not understand flashed across her face, and she slapped him. As he rubbed his cheek he dared to glance upwards at her face. He saw her lips pressed into a thin, flat line, her eyebrows creased in anger and an uncharacteristic wetness in her eyes. She covered her face with her large, gloved hands and said "No, nothing like that."
She left the room without another word.
Later, she would pull him aside after dinner and tell him to be weary of his father's attention. He didn't understand why. Sometimes he would imagine a world where he were prettier, and his father would spend time with him rather than with those other boys. The Father would be home more often, and his mother would be happy. The boy didn't understand why anyone wouldn't want to be happy.
He would when he was older.
It's pretty obvious in the games that Oliver is more than a little out of touch. In this story, I'm not really giving a reason for his insanity. Its more like I'm providing the origin of the framework he uses to view the world, that beautiful things are to be observed and protected but not touched. Although he comes off as a disgusting creep in PoR with his obsession over Reyson, I don't recall Oliver ever actually touching him, save for when Reyson punched Oliver in the face. In fact, he was pretty adamant that nobody touch Reyson, although this comes off more as a offshoot of his creepy obsession than of anything else.
In RD, this obsession with beauty is taken a bit further, as he joins Ike's army specifically to protect those he deems beautiful. He proclaims himself a 'protector of beauty,' so to speak. And while he still puts out a creepy vibe towards nearly every 'beautiful' character, he still never actually touches any of them.
Oliver frames the world with a maxim that 'what is right is whichever is most beautiful,' and that 'beauty is something to be observed and protected, but never touched.'
In the ending, I am not implying anything other than that a young Oliver came to the realization that caused him to so fervently adopt these maxims. How he comes to this realization is up to the reader to decide.