The Greatest Showman #1281 - God's Darling

The atmosphere in the Royal Theatre was thick with tension. The flow of the award ceremony had been calm and unhurried, with no forced drama. The awards were given out without excessive buildup, allowing the audience to feel the ease of a professional event. The ceremony embodied a serious tone that emphasized the recognition of outstanding actors, lacking in theatrical suspense but rich in academic gravitas.

But tonight, there was a palpable shift.

No need to exaggerate, nor create unnecessary anticipation—the moment Matthew Warchus took the stage with an envelope in hand, the audience fell into a heavy silence. The air grew thick with an invisible restlessness, each person's nerves on edge. Even the slightest motion of a fingertip betrayed the nervousness that simmered below the surface.

Matthew Warchus, a seasoned theater director with a 25-year career, was no stranger to the industry. Known for his direction of classic works like Henry V, Hamlet, Lord of the Rings, Ghosts, and God of God, he had worked with some of the biggest names in the field. His success with Matilda the previous year, earning nine Oliver nominations and seven awards, solidified his place among the top theater directors in the industry. Now, he was tasked with presenting the prestigious Best Actor in a Musical Award.

Tom Holland, sitting nearby, fidgeted restlessly in his seat, shifting from side to side as if a flea had crawled up his back. He glanced at Renly beside him and opened his mouth as though to speak. He hesitated, then closed his mouth, only to try again moments later. Finally, unable to suppress it any longer, he leaned toward Renly and whispered, "Are you nervous?"

When the Best Supporting Actor in a Musical award was announced, Tom had been a ball of nerves—shifting, fidgeting, his palms slick with sweat. He couldn't even manage to turn his head without awkwardly twisting his whole torso. It was a sight to behold, and Renly couldn't help but smile at the spectacle.

The momentary nerves that had been creeping in faded as Renly replied, with a teasing glint in his eyes, "I'm very nervous. What should I do?"

Tom blinked in confusion, his expression shifting into one of innocence. He hadn't expected that answer. Now, caught off guard, he could only respond with a sheepish, "I'm also very nervous."

His genuine, wide-eyed expression elicited a laugh from anyone who saw it.

Tom stammered again, "If... if I don't win the prize... what if..." His voice quivered with uncertainty, eyes brimming with the hint of tears. It was as though he had already envisioned the worst outcome, his bright eyes clouded with a faint mist of sadness.

Renly fought to contain his laughter, his own nerves mixing with amusement. The tension in the air was so thick it felt suffocating. Everyone, it seemed, was struggling to find some way to alleviate the nervousness that hung like a weight in the room.

This wasn't just about an award; it was about witnessing something extraordinary. The mere idea that tonight might be a historic moment filled the air with tension. Would they see a breakthrough? Could this be the moment that would live on in stories for years to come?

But amid the mounting pressure, Renly remained calm, even amused by Tom's concern. "Then we just wait," he said, lowering his voice with an air of mock regret. "I don't know when the next time will be."

Tom's expression softened as he wiped at his eyes, giving Renly a weak but encouraging smile. He straightened his back, attempting to project confidence, but the tears lingered in his eyes, reflecting the shimmering lights of the theater.

Renly, momentarily unable to hold back his playful mood, was about to reassure Tom—telling him that the award didn't matter as much as people thought—when Matthew Warchus's voice broke through the tension.

Everyone turned their attention to the stage, the moment of truth upon them. Matthew Warchus, smiling through his own nerves, opened the envelope. The air in the theater seemed to freeze as he struggled to open it, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Alright, I might have had a little too much whisky tonight," Matthew said into the microphone, breaking the tension with a joke that earned laughter from the crowd.

Still, the tension remained. It was palpable. Each nominee sat in silence, the weight of their years of work and ambition crashing down in a single moment. Tom Chambers seemed to carry the weight of it the most; for him, this was the culmination of more than a decade of hard work. Michael Ball, seasoned and calm, exuded composure, but even he couldn't deny the stakes tonight.

Renly, too, felt the pressure of the moment. He tried to remain composed, but the nerves crept in. Still, there was a flicker of amusement as Matthew's playful teasing lightened the mood.

Matthew finally opened the envelope with exaggerated care, taking a long, relieved breath as he revealed the winner.

"The winner of the 2013 Oliver Award for Best Actor in a Musical is... Renly Hall, Les Misérables."

Boom. The sound of the announcement reverberated throughout the theater.

History was made.

The applause was deafening, the energy in the room unmistakable. Though this was the Oliver Award, not the Tony, the moment was still monumental. Renly's dominance across fields—from film to theater to television—was undeniable. With his groundbreaking performances, he had conquered every frontier.

And yet, despite his accomplishments, he was still only twenty-four years old. It was a record, a feat, and a miracle, all wrapped into one. The audience couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and disbelief.

This was a moment they would never forget.

Tom sat frozen, his mouth agape, as he stared at Matthew on stage. Slowly, he turned to look at Renly. The look in his eyes was a mixture of awe and joy, and then, unable to hold it back, he broke down in tears.

Renly, stunned, didn't know how to react at first. He watched Tom, feeling a swell of emotion himself. His heart ached at the sight of Tom's tears, knowing just how much the moment meant to him.

Still, Renly held back his own tears. He pulled Tom into a warm embrace, patting him on the back, offering silent reassurance. Then, through the quiet murmur of Tom's sobs, Renly heard the soft words: "You won the award. You really did."

It was true. Renly had won. But in that moment, it felt as though they had all won—together. They had fought side by side, struggled through the hardships of their work, and now, at long last, they had the recognition they deserved.

And so, Renly's smile bloomed, his joy complete as he held his award high, a symbol of history and achievement.