Author's Note: This chapter relies a bit more directly on the segment of the game it's based on, but I'm still pretty happy with how it turned out. Alfyn's Chapter 4 is great, after all. Also, there's still one chapter left after this, but the wrap up at the end of this one gave me the chance for some more Dad Olberic, which is always fun.

Chapter Three: Recovery

Orewell was a miserable little place, Olberic thought as he looked around. Most of the buildings were dilapidated, with shoddy roof repairs and hastily-boarded windows. The bridges crossing the gorge had clearly seen better days, and the sign hanging over the inn's door creaked dangerously as the party walked by.

Of course, that was exactly why Alfyn wanted to stop by. These people were in no shape to fix their town, thanks to the illness that had swept through the area. Again, Olberic knew it was a sign that Alfyn remained willing to help, and that was a good thing. But at the same time, he couldn't help wondering if Alfyn would be able to concentrate on his task.

Olberic sighed; he knew he didn't have the same amount of experience Alfyn did, despite his recent progress. He wouldn't be much help with treating a complex sickness; Olberic would only be good for handing things to Alfyn as he worked. It was with that in mind that he joined most of the party at the small tavern in the northwestern part of town, hoping a good pint of ale would distract him.

He absently observed his other companions. Primrose and Ophilia were deep in conversation about something; Linde was growling at a man making eyes at H'aanit, who seemed oblivious to the attention; and Tressa was simply wrinkling her nose at the smell of the alcohol and digging through her bag. Olberic wasn't sure where Therion had disappeared to, but the thief always rejoined the group when needed, so he wasn't worried.

Honestly, Olberic couldn't say he worried about any of his comrades. He knew they could take care of themselves. Despite that, he certainly cared enough to help them when they needed it. Wasn't that what Olberic was here for? Helping people? It was only fair after all they'd done for him, and their defeat of Werner a few weeks ago had only solidified his desire to keep helping them.

It was then that his thoughts turned back to Alfyn. Olberic wasn't sure what the younger man needed, but perhaps something here would fully rekindle his spark. He'd keep supporting Alfyn as long as he could, but Olberic hoped it happened sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, Alfyn himself soon caught Olberic's attention. The tavern door swung open, and the apothecary was accompanied by Cyrus and Therion. Given the way Therion smugly handled his now-much-heavier coin pouch, it wasn't unreasonable to assume he'd been off on his own business and simply met up with them en route to the tavern. Alfyn wore something resembling his usual grin due to whatever Cyrus was saying, meanwhile.

"I sure hope you've got enough leaves on you, Professor," Alfyn said as he sat down next to Olberic, "because I plan on taking you up on that."

"Now, Alfyn," Cyrus replied, sitting down on his other side, "I do hope you moderate yourself well enough that you can treat everyone tomorrow. But I did say this was my treat, yes?"

"And you're not taking it back!"

Cyrus grinned sheepishly, leaning around Alfyn to address Olberic. "Would you mind taking everyone back to the inn? I'll bring Alfyn along once he's finished."

It was obvious what their agreement had been, Olberic thought with a small grin. Cyrus had clearly offered to pay for as much mead as Alfyn wanted, and Olberic found it amusing how much alcohol Alfyn could put down in one sitting. Nodding, he stood up and gestured to everyone else (bar Therion, who'd just bought his first drink).

"I'll pay for our lodging tonight, if you wish to turn in."

The women nodded; Tressa and Ophilia in particular looked ready for bed. They filed to the inn after him, and Olberic paused before entering to count his leaves. That should be enough for four rooms; he had plenty.

Olberic glanced around the lobby as they entered. Mercifully, it seemed the residents had enough supplies to keep the inn well-furnished. Some of the chairs around the lobby were threadbare, but that was the worst thing he could say about the place. He paid the weary-looking woman at the counter, and everyone shuffled off to their rooms.

After taking a few steps down the hallway, Olberic paused again. That was the man they'd met in Saintsbridge, wasn't it? So Ogen was there, too; he'd probably heard about the epidemic in Orewell as well. However, he was hunched over slightly, hands trembling and footsteps unsteady. Ogen stopped suddenly, covering his mouth and coughing rather wetly.

He looked up, catching Olberic's gaze. A look of recognition crossed his face; Ogen must've realized Olberic was a part of Alfyn's group. They were silent for a few seconds, and Olberic awkwardly shifted, reaching for his satchel.

"I'm not as skilled as Alfyn, but if you need anything…"

Olberic trailed off as he looked at Ogen. His expression was almost haunting; there was a hint of despair in his eyes, but he simply stared at Olberic for a long while before shaking his head. He coughed again, a few distinct flecks of red landing on his hand, and he roughly cleared his throat before speaking up.

"Don't," Ogen said hoarsely. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

With that, he unlocked the door to his room and headed inside. Olberic was left blinking at the closed door. What had just happened?

Well, Olberic found out soon enough.

Alfyn returned late that night, apparently lost in thought. He didn't answer Olberic's questions, instead falling asleep almost as soon as he entered their room. The next day, however, Alfyn was lit with even more determination than Olberic had ever seen from him.

He'd found a letter from his friend back home and then figured out what was wrong with Ogen. The combination was exactly what Alfyn needed to get back on track, and he was scrambling to help the older apothecary before it was too late.

"Alfyn," Olberic said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Slow down. I'm glad you're back to your old self, but remember to be careful."

"I know; we just gotta hurry! I need to catch that ogre eagle before it's too late, and—" Alfyn paused, took a deep breath, and grinned up at him. "I'm happy you're here to calm me down, though. Really! I just…"

"I know. If you want to help Ogen, then I will help you. You have but to ask."

Alfyn nodded and beckoned for him to follow, and Olberic obligingly followed him. He would have helped anyway, but…there was something almost personal about this mission. Olberic had seen the look on Ogen's face last night, and the hollowness in his eyes reminded Olberic of himself.

He remembered what Gaston had said to him back in Cobbleston, and Olberic wondered if he'd looked the same way Ogen did. While Olberic had renewed his sense of purpose, he knew exactly what it felt like to believe one's life was worthless. If he was correct, then Ogen was the same as he'd once been, and he couldn't let a man like that go.

It was fortunate that everything worked out exactly the way it did. Alfyn returned from the Forest of Rubeh just in time to mix up a tonic for Ogen and deliver it to him. He'd strictly ordered the man to stay in bed at the inn, and Olberic did his best to help Alfyn tend to the villagers when Ogen couldn't. Despite his earlier doubts, Olberic did fine; Alfyn and Ogen had already gotten most of the harder work done.

It was on their final day at Orewell that Alfyn finally had the time to give a piece of his mind to Olberic.

"Hey," he said softly. "I just…wanted to say thank you."

Olberic raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

"For everything," Alfyn replied earnestly. "Not just for helping me heal everyone, and not just for fighting the Ogre Eagle. You've always been real good at slowing me down when I'm rushing into something, and…also picking me back up when I needed that, too."

"Oh? I thought your friend's letter—"

"Yeah, Zeph's note may've been what pushed me over the line! I ain't gonna lie about that. But…if you hadn't talked to me back in Saintsbridge…my funk probably would've been a lot worse." Alfyn sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I would've let myself sink even deeper if it weren't for that. So…thanks."

Olberic shook his head. "If anything, I should be the one thanking you. Had I let myself think more about what you were teaching me, maybe I would've had my own realizations sooner. It's thanks to you that I can help people in more ways than one."

"Aww, shucks—you ain't gotta be so nice to me, Olberic. That's just what I do!"

He really was back to his old self now, Olberic thought with a small grin. Alfyn was looking at him with an eager sort of expectancy, appreciation and relief both plain on his face.

"But I do owe you a debt. Helping you in return is the least I can do."

"Heh, listen to both of us, talking like this…" Alfyn laughed. "But I'm happy I could do something for you. If we can both help each other like this, then it all worked out in the end, didn't it?"

"Aye, it did. Now what say you to getting some drinks?"

Alfyn cheered, and Olberic was in high spirits as well when they headed to the tavern one more time.