Notes:

It's been a while since I read HFAF, and I haven't managed to get ahold of it again. Er, so, apologies for any inaccuracies. Besides the whole slightly-AU thing, that is. :P

Paityr Wylsynn hunched over the vegetable bed in the St. Zhernau monastery, fingers studiously weeding around the bean plants. He wasn't really paying attention though. Sometimes he found it soothing, but mostly it left his mind active with nothing to occupy it. A dangerous state for any Wylsynn, and especially so for Paityr, since the only things he ended up thinking about were the world-shattering revelations that had landed him under house arrest at St Zhernau's in the first place. On the other hand, when he looked like he was busy, the monks left him mostly alone.

Soft voices interrupted the useless spinning of his mental wheels, and he glanced up to see Merlin Athrawes talking with two of the monks. Sitting up out of his almost defensive couch by the green beans, grimacing as he stretched his back until it cracked once, twice.

"Hello, Father Wylsynn," Merlin greeted politely, offering a hand to help Paityr up.

Giving in to a sudden urge, Paityr clasped it and pulled himself up, getting black earth all over the machine's clean hand. He wasn't sure why he'd wanted to, but then, he wasn't sure of anything these days.

"I heard you wanted to speak to me?"

"I have... a few questions, yes," Paityr admitted, walking slowly around the periphery of the garden.

Merlin fell in beside him, seemingly in no hurry. He brushed his hand off absently. "I'd like to help in whatever way I can, so please, feel free to ask anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Paityr gave two broad glances to either side, checking that they were out of earshot of the monks. Not out of any malign purpose, but because he still felt fearful and unsettled mentioning his thoughts to anyone at all. Broadcasting them to all and sundry was quite beyond him.

He turned and put his back to a stone column, needing something solid behind him. "You've given me access to.. a great deal of writings. I admit I didn't know where to start at first."

"I'm sorry-"

"No, no, letting me find my own way through it all was for the best. I think I've had enough of being treated like a mushroom."

"...kept in the dark and fed-"

"Exactly." Paityr couldn't help but smile, even if faintly. But he turned serious again quickly enough. "I need to talk to someone about what I've learned, and you were the only one in the entire world who would suit my needs."

Merlin looked a bit confused. "I suppose I should be flattered, but what makes me such a good choice? Wouldn't Father Byrkyt or Archbishop Staynair be able to help more?"

Paityr looked down. "No. You see, you're the only one who didn't grow up on Safehold. And from everything I've read, that's quite a big difference. Isn't it."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

Paityr forced himself to breathe deeply, trying to order his thoughts into a coherent shape. "All my life God has guided Safehold in accordance with His plan. Everything around me was working towards a greater purpose. Good or bad, it all meant something." Paityr paused, shoulders slumping as he sighed. "And now, that's gone. All the Testimonies from the Adams and the Eves, even the Writ itself, it's all lies."

"The Writ may not be the work of angels, but they did draw extensively from Terra's religious literature," Merlin ventured after a few moments of silence.

Paityr huffed mirthlessly. "Yes, the translated and edited transcriptions of oral history, passed down by mankind to itself for hundreds upon hundreds of years," he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. For a moment it was all he could do to breathe, gripping his arms tightly. "How do you do it? How did the people of Terra believe so many different things - so many conflicting things - without going insane?"

Merlin made a soft 'hmm' sound. "You know about the religious wars, I assume?"

Paityr shook his head in disgust. "Yes. I read about those. Charis isn't the first schism, I see."

"No," Merlin agreed ruefully. "Not by a long shot. Anyway, it wasn't quick, but in the end, I suppose... in part it was because people realized that the texts their beliefs were based on weren't directly from God. Any god. But I think what it really came down to, was that the lives of people were more important than which god they prayed to."

"How can you live like that? Without proof, without knowing?" Paityr almost wailed, but softly.

"We didn't have any choice," Merlin said gently, and shrugged apologetically.

"But then how can you know you're right? How can there be more than one truth? How did 'Catholics' and 'Protestants' and 'Buddhists' and 'Hindus' all... I mean. How can you even know if any of it is real?" Paityr managed to ask, voice thick with tears that he wouldn't let himself shed.

"You can't," Merlin admitted at last, obviously unhappy. "You just have to, well, take it on faith."

Paityr finally found his voice again. He felt bruised and battered, not physically but spiritually, but still he had to know. "So, even with all the Terrans' technology, nobody was ever able to find proof of God."

"Some people believe that the universe being here at all is proof," Merlin hedged.

"Merlin. No more lies. No more bullshit."

Merin sighed and met Paityr's agonized gaze. "No. Nobody was ever able to find conclusive proof of an intelligent higher power guiding mankind."

Paityr absorbed that in beaten silence.

"But just because it hasn't been proven yet, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. There's no way you could confirm some of the things we knew a thousand years ago, but that doesn't mean they stopped happening or existing," Merlin tried to lighten his confession, but Paityr shook his head, feeling hollowed out.

"Langhorne was no archangel, and no amount of looking for proof that he was would change that fact. Sometimes not finding proof means there's no proof to be found. Isn't that right?"

"I," Merlin looked at him unhappily, sadly, "I suppose it is."

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Paityr turned away from Merlin, unable to face the machine's pleading look anymore. "I think I need some time alone, if you would."

"Alright. But if you need me, or anyone else, we're here for you."

Paityr managed to nod, but couldn't muster up any words as he walked slowly back to his cell.

He sat on his small, narrow cot for a long time, and when there was a knock on his door for supper, he ignored it. He'd read the journal of St. Zhernau and even skimmed shallowly the impossible amount of writings Merlin had made available to him. He'd tried praying for guidance. For days he'd tried. He'd tried talking to God. He'd brought up every defense he could think of, tried every avenue of surety that had served him so well in his years of service. Only to have it all crumble to ash in his hands.

His mind kept running in the same circles, bruising itself against the same hard facts over and over, relentlessly, and there was nothing he could do to shift it. The logic refused to change.

He hid his face in his hands and despaired. He shouted, he raged, he upended his cot and the small bedside table, destroying them against the silent stone walls with a violence he hadn't known he possessed. He hurt in a part of him he hadn't known could be hurt, and he wanted it back, that innocence, that calm knowledge that there was a purpose, if he was but wise enough to see it.

At last his well of raging anguish ran dry, and he sank down into a corner, pressing his heated forehead into cold stone as hot tears continued to well from his eyes. Feeling - for the first time in his life - truly alone, Paityr Wylsynn fell into an exhausted slumber.

A warm hand on his shoulder brought him slowly up from the dragging cling of sleep. He wasn't sure for a moment where he was, but the cold stone under and against him reminded him well enough. He shivered. The cold had seeped into his core, and the cup of hot chocolate Merlin pressed into his hands was more than welcome.

Without a word, the machine sat down beside Paityr.

It was a long time before Paityr had finished the hot drink. He still felt broken inside, his heart aching with every beat, but the storm had passed. Leaving him washed up on some foreign, unknown shore.

He sighed shakily and drained the dregs of his cup. He wasn't sure if it was worth the effort to move on, but he supposed he couldn't stay here.

"Are you okay?"

The platitudes and reassurances refused to come. "Do you have a soul? Do any of us?"

Merlin was silent, and Paityr turned to look at him.

"I believe so," Merlin said at last, looking determinedly back.

"But-" Paityr faltered, marshaled his thoughts, and started again. "Your body was created, built, like one might build a ship."

"That's true," Merlin allowed.

"And your mind was duplicated, and put into it."

Merlin's gaze flicked away, and his mouth was set in an unhappy line. Apparently Merlin didn't like to think about it. "Yes."

"Your mind, but not your soul?"

"I. I don't know," Merlin said at last, and Paityr saw pain and uncertainty there. Part of him was bleakly fascinated, that a machine could copy humanity so closely, like a parrot in human form. But was that all it was? "If you can't tell the difference, is there one?" Paityr found himself asking.

"What?"

Paityr looked down at the empty cup, toying with it. Merlin had brought him something hot to drink, as a gesture of concern. Paityr would bet that it had been Merlin's own idea.

"I can't tell the difference. If I didn't know you were a machine, I would say you were a flesh-and-blood man. An exceptional one, but a man. Your actions, your motivations, are as human as any other good person I could name. If you have no soul, then how can I be sure that any human has a soul? Does Cayleb? Does Sharleyan? Do I?"

"Paityr..." Merlin closed a hand over Paityr's shoulder, and he leaned into it, a point of warmth and connection against the cold.

"The God of Safehold doesn't exist. You say you have faith, but I never did. No," he cut Merlin off before the seijin could interrupt, "I didn't believe that God had a plan for Safehold, I knew it, like I know that the world is round, or that water runs downhill. The Writ and the Testimonies and the Church, even my own 'miraculous' relic. They were proof. I never had faith because I never needed to have faith." He laughed, short and bitter. "I was raised to seek the truth of things, Merlin. To see clearly and without prejudice. So tell me, how can I not face this truth? Merlin, do you truly believe that there is a God?"

And this was why it had to be Merlin. Even Archbishop Staynair was caught fast in the warp and weft of Safehold, in his unshakeable faith, and that was his strength, but it wasn't the kind of strength Paityr could use. But when all was said and done, Merlin was an outsider, and as much as Merlin thought he was blending in, he still had the kind of external view that Paityr needed. Merlin's answer was long in coming, but Paityr made himself wait.

"I don't know. I suppose I hope there is. But I'm a soldier, not a priest - it matters to me, but what matters more is where I am and what I do now, not why we're here. What I do know is that there's light and darkness in the world, and that I stand with the light against the dark."

"But why? What makes it worth it?"

"You do," Merlin said firmly. "You, and Cayleb, and Sharleyan, and everyone in Charis. Kua-yung and Shan-wei, who sacrificed so much for us. The soldiers who're risking their lives right now to protect their kingdom and their families."

Paityr let that answer settle. Let it sink in. Cautiously tested it, trying to steel himself lest Merlin's answer failed to stand up to scrutiny. Slowly, he made himself remember his family, both living and dead; Maikel Staynair, who truly did have faith; all the people he'd met here in Charis, who had become friends, and almost family to him. And he asked himself if he'd risk his life for them, as he knew they'd risk theirs for him.

For the first time in weeks, the answer was simple, and easy.

At the nadir of the worst time in his life, he'd found something to hold on to. There was still something there to trust in. And he knew that people weren't perfect, and that people could fail or give up. But it was something. He let the exhausted, cleansing tears come, and reached out for Merlin, who met him halfway.