Author's Note: I'm honestly not sure what inspired this, but it's a scene that's been hanging out in the back of my head for a while now. I guess I just wanted to write something involving Olberic right after Hornburg's fall and take a stab at Simeon at the same time. Not to mention I just thought it was logical for Olberic to pass through Everhold on the way to Cobbleston. I could say one or two more things, but I'll put them at the end for space purposes / mild spoilers.
Performance Arts
Olberic wasn't sure how he'd come to be in Everhold. He didn't remember much of the trip, to be honest. All he'd wanted was to get as far away from Hornburg as possible. He'd just wandered in a random direction and then needed somewhere to stop before he collapsed from exhaustion.
(Then again, maybe that would've been better. If Olberic worked himself hard enough, he'd be too tired to be alone with his thoughts of failure and self-loathing. Maybe, if he really overworked himself, he wouldn't wake up at all.)
But, regardless, here he was at the inn, staring blankly at the wall in his room. Olberic tried and failed to think about anything other than what had happened just a few short weeks ago. He'd woken up an indeterminate amount of time after Erhardt's betrayal, spent over a week burying as many of his comrades as he could, and eventually dragged himself as far from the castle ruins as he could. The images hounded him, refusing to leave his mind for even a minute.
They'd clouded his mind through his aimless wandering. Olberic couldn't be sure how long it had taken him to reach Everhold, preoccupied as he'd been. His failure to notice Erhardt's treachery had distracted him from all else, even the time and date.
…There were voices outside his door. Not aimed at him, of course, but they were audible enough to temporarily distract him. There was a new play running at the theater, something written by its owner. The young couple discussing it had just returned from a showing, but there was another performance in a few hours.
…Olberic had never really been interested in artistic endeavors before. He simply hadn't had the time to think about them much. But he needed something—anything—to occupy him.
Maybe this would help.
(It probably wouldn't, but he was desperate enough for it to be worth a try.)
Olberic somehow managed to wash up and make himself look semi-presentable. He had no clean clothes, but at least he wasn't coated in weeks' worth of blood and grime. No one would notice his tattered clothing in the darkness of the theater, he hoped.
He shelled out a few leaves for a ticket and awkwardly seated himself in the back row. Olberic still wasn't sure why he was here, but he'd spent the money, so he may as well stay. Finally, the curtains rose and the show began.
It told the story of a young prince betrayed by his illegitimate older half-brother. The play opened on the cusp of their struggle, just after their father's death; the older brother had revealed his long-held plans to seize the throne from the true heir. Olberic felt somewhat ridiculous for it, but he couldn't help being immediately drawn to the younger brother's struggle.
"Did you truly think I never noticed, Brother? How you eyed the throne when Father wasn't looking?"
"It should be mine! I'm the older and the stronger one—"
"And I am trueborn and true-hearted. The people will never stand for you as king, and neither will I!"
Olberic knew the pain of being betrayed by someone akin to a brother all too well. And he wished desperately that he'd noticed Erhardt's treachery sooner. Where would he be now if that was the case?
Swallowing, Olberic shook his head and tried to focus again. He watched the young prince's story unfold: he rallied allies, narrowly avoided multiple assassination attempts, and finally found romance with a beautiful young noblewoman. The climax drew closer, culminating in one last battle between the two brothers.
"Your fight ends here, Brother! I will be the one seated on the throne!"
"Did you think you had a chance? You are the one whose path ends here! You never stood a chance, dear Brother."
The younger brother's sword pierced his treacherous sibling's side, and their struggle came to a close. Now, the prince's tribulations were over. He was king at last, and his fiancée—who'd borne witness to the fight, weeping and praying for the prince's survival—rushed to his side, overjoyed.
The play concluded, and the actors turned to face the audience. They bowed to a thunderous standing ovation, but Olberic remained rooted to his seat. It was…hard to process. The conclusion was so simple. If only he could've won his battle with Erhardt that easily—but real life had been far more difficult and unpredictable—
Olberic longed for it nonetheless. Would he be riding off into the sunset, knighthood intact and purpose in hand? Would he have all his brothers-in-arms at his side, and his king riding in front of him? Maybe Olberic would've had everything he wanted, if only he'd been able to defeat Erhardt sooner.
He sat there brooding for long enough that he barely noticed everyone filtering out around him. Finally, Olberic realized that the seating area was almost empty when a woman apologized for jostling him on her way out. He shook his head and stood up, trying to clear his swirling thoughts.
"Excuse me, sir?"
He was stopped near the door, but the voice took a second to register on him. The man who'd caught his attention was looking at him curiously, and Olberic was suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. That was another thing he rarely thought about, but his dirty clothes and shaggy hair looked terrible next to the man's elegant suit and immaculate braid.
There's no need to call me "sir," not anymore, was Olberic's first thought. He set that aside, cleared his throat, and replied, "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Oh, it's nothing too serious. I just…" He smiled rather disarmingly as he went on. "There's something about your expression that caught my eye. I hope my story didn't bother you too much?"
Oh—this must be the theater owner. Olberic dimly recalled hearing that he'd written the play; it made sense he'd be in the audience for its showing. He cleared his throat awkwardly before going on.
"No, nothing of the sort. I…well, I'm not a very creative man—" Olberic really wasn't— "so I'm not sure how valuable my feedback is, but…"
"Don't worry; artists thrive on any feedback we can get. If you have something to say, I would gladly hear it."
Olberic paused, studying the owner as he tried to sort through his thoughts. There was…something odd about him that Olberic couldn't quite place. He looked young, but his bearing and demeanor somehow made him seem much older. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, either.
Honestly, Olberic wasn't sure how to feel about the man. He felt like he was being judged somehow, but he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was reading too far into it, but…Olberic was rarely wrong when he felt his instincts screaming at him like this.
And yet the owner was simply standing there, waiting for him to reply with that vaguely-curious expression on his face. Olberic supposed it was rude to leave him waiting either way.
"Well, I…to be honest, the ending was…something I wish—I could see people wishing for," he finally said. "I can see the appeal after a long struggle like that."
Olberic was sure the slip-up gave him away. The man raised an eyebrow, still grinning; he'd clearly picked up on it. Then, he stepped forward, took Olberic's hand, and shook it gratefully.
"Well, I appreciate the sentiment. I admit happy endings usually aren't my forte," he mused. "So I'm glad this one worked out. And…I do hope you find your own, yes?"
…Curses. So he had noticed. Olberic forced a smile as he returned the handshake.
"It's no problem. And, er…thank you."
He nodded, stepped back, and hastily made his way outside. Olberic didn't look over his shoulder, though he still had the distinct lingering feeling that he was being judged. The encounter was all over the place—he didn't know what to make of it.
When he finally returned to the inn, Olberic lied down on his bed, absently gripping the sheets with one hand. 'I do hope you find your own.' The words echoed in his head, and he couldn't make them leave.
There was no happy ending for Olberic. Not now, not after he'd failed so badly. How could he find joy again, after letting down his king and kingdom?
Olberic knew it was melodramatic, but he couldn't help it. Happiness felt so far off—it didn't seem attainable anymore. What good ending could possibly be in store for him?
His dreams that night were full of conflicting images. Olberic imagined wondrous victories and dramatic rescues—only for them to be warped into crushing defeats that grew ever harsher. The accomplishments grew higher and higher as if to counter them, only to be replaced by even crueler failures.
Olberic woke up the next morning feeling worse than ever, and he was eager to put Everhold behind him.
Author's Note x2: The play is supposed to be based on the tale of the Ventus Dynasty presented in-game. I think most players have stumbled across enough supplementary material by now to know Simeon's connection to that. Stoking his own ego by making a play out of it seems like a very Simeon-esque thing to do.
...Also, it's a Simeon play, so you know the love interest is based on Primrose. She's not there to see it, obviously, but still.
