Allen and Ree - Fake

[crazymaking]

Who: Ree & "Martin"
When: after this
Where: The Black Pine
Rating & Warnings: G

Allen traced the faint cracks in the mug in front of him, hunched over a table in the far corner of the Black Pine's common room. He wore his cloak still, hood up, but if he aroused anyone's suspicions he hadn't noticed. A serving girl had brought him a mug of cider, as he'd asked for, and spoken to him for an inordinate amount of time. She kept smiling, laughing at what he said even when he was sure he'd said nothing funny, and by the end of it he'd been flustered and irritated with himself. The girl had finally been called away, and he was left to sit in silence at his table. He had little idea how to deal with people now, he realized, watching her go with relief. He regarded them all with the same wariness; did they know who he'd been? What he'd done? Things that even he, himself, didn't know? Moirine had been too vague. Would she be angry with him for asking Jones to speak with him? He'd left a note in his room in case she'd gone to visit him. Perhaps, Allen thought guiltily, frowning down at his mug, he simply wouldn't tell her about the meeting at all.

Gingerly, he lifted the mug and took a sip. The cider was warm and sweet, and he took another sip before he set it back down. What did Jones look like? A man, middling age by his guess, but beyond that... Allen drew a deep breath and then let it out, trying to calm his nerves. Jones wouldn't recognize him. There was no chance of it. He would hear his story and then go home, however little the room at the inn felt like home to him. Home was white walls, hymns, an altar. "Cita guide me," he mumbled, and sighed again.

What did Martin look like? Ree found himself unsure. How did he locate him? After walking into the inn, he'd simply gone the logical route and begun asking those men seated by themselves if they were Martin. So far, three negative answers and one Martin with the surname Cassidy. Humming a little with mild annoyance, Ree tapped the top of the bar and looked about the inn.

Finally his eye fell on another figure on their own, wearing a hood. Was that Martin? His eyebrows knitted together and he tugged on his ear thoughtfully. Martin had seemed...odd over the ledgers. A shaking hand and the wearing of a cloak indoors might denote a sufferer of colds. It might denote other things as well, when taken hand in hand with his reluctance to visit either of the larger factions in the city and his apparent lack of knowledge of anything that'd gone on in the past few months. This was a curious case indeed.

Wandering over, he placed his hand on the table and offered a small smile. "Martin?"

He looked up, startled, and gaped at Ree a long moment before he remembered that he was Martin. He swallowed and forced a strained smile. "Yes. You're-- Rhea?" Had he said it right? Allen wet his lips nervously and gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit, please." He realized suddenly that it was rude of him to have ordered only one drink; he wondered if Rhea would take offense. He had very little money as it was. Could he afford to buy one for Rhea? Or more to the point, could Moirine? She'd given him a few coins to keep himself fed while she worked. He could already imagine her expression if he told her he'd spent it on drinks for strangers. Not mad, no. Disappointed.

"Thank you for coming," he said, hoping to avoid the subject. He would simply wait to drink any more of his until Rhea was gone. He stole a glance over at the other man, looking for any recognition in his expression. "I appreciate it."

"Ree is fine," he gave him a warmer smile, which quickly dissolved back into his normal neutral expression. Seating himself opposite Martin, he rested his forearms on the table, filing away the man's appearance for future reference. He was timid looking, harmless enough. "It's no problem."

He sat for a few moments in silence, his fingers moving up to touch his lips as he watched the other man thoughtfully. So far he was a collection of riddles, a puzzle. It was rude to think of another person like that, but-- no, he couldn't help himself. Trying to push his urge to throw a thousand questions at the man before him, he smiled again, as kindly as he could. "How long have you been gone for?"

Allen's mouth opened, then closed. How long had all this been going on for? Six years separated him from the time he'd known up to his death; it was a safe enough number to give. He rubbed at one eyebrow. "Six years," he replied with a wince. "I do not ask that you tell me what's happened during such a length of time," he added hastily, eyes wide. "My... friend tells me most of the strange happenings have occurred over the last few months." 'Friend'. Martin, he decided, did not have a sister, or a family at all. It fit well enough with their ruses; Moirine's new surname was different than his.

He rubbed his fingertips against the grooves of the wooden table out of nervous habit, still wary of too often meeting Jones' eyes. He glanced over at the innkeeper and flinched when it seemed she was frowning back at him. Allen swallowed and quickly looked back down at his hands.

Ree observed the nervous behaviour of the other man as stealthily as possible. 'Months', he'd said before. Why was it years now? Rubbing his ear, he thought about how to begin. "You know of the false Cita, at least?"

"Briefly," Allen replied carefully. Moirine had told him only the largest facts; he suspected she'd left much of it unsaid to protect him. He hadn't been in a fit state to hear more. While he was grateful that his sister sought to keep him calm and some degree of happy, he couldn't allow himself to remain ignorant on such a subject.

"I was told that a, a demon presented itself as Cita, that it was believed to be the true God. That it killed--" Me. "-- a number of people, and then was destroyed itself." He made to lift his mug to drink, then remembered his earlier decision and curled his hand back against the edge of the table.

"A demon," Ree raised his eyebrows, then lowered them and slowly shook his head. "It was Cita made manifest through Belief. An Other called into our world, with all the traits people imagined he might have..." Ree's mouth set into a line. "The Hour and the Magus's fault for Belief, but it was not their Beliefs that informed the Other's creation. He came with a vile streak of hatred and a leaning toward violence...killed even his own clergy, and attacked the Hour. Many," he touched his lip. "Many died. Children, people full of promise..."

This was not time for brooding. "It seemed people stopped Believing the Other was their Cita during the attack and he lost his power. But not before destroying both the Citadel and a good number of people within the Hour."

Ree fell silent, briefly. What had happened next? It had been...a long year. "The Occia had run after Cita came to power. She ran again after things were restored. It seems they've not found a replacement yet. For some reason, there are few candidates." Why was that? The affairs of the Citadel would have been his to bear had the coin he'd flipped landed a different way, but he leaned toward the Hour. It was best not to bog his mind down with the mystery concerning the tiny amount of Candidates.

"Over the end of October, ghosts appeared, another product of Belief."

He paused again. "With the testimony of some of the ghosts. It turned out that some members of the Hour had cut open prisoners to view their insides whilst they'd been alive," Ree shook his head, anger and disgust revealing themselves briefly on his normally expressionless face. "They were given to the guard immediately. I am glad to say that that will never happen again."

Not whilst he drew breath.

"Be careful of the things you say, the words you believe in. That appears to be...the moral of living in Tyrol."

Done with his uncharacteristically long speech, Ree seemed to collapse into himself. "Do you have questions?" He nodded to the mug in the other man's hand. "Would you like me to buy you a drink?" He was nursing that. Money grew tight in winter, Ree understood that well enough.

Was there really a distinction between Others and demons? The way some spoke about them made Allen suspect so, but it flew in the face of what he'd been taught, what his sister had told him. The demons from the Epistles, she'd said. He listened to Ree's explanation with a growing frown; by the end his mouth was open in horror, his eyes narrowed.

That couldn't all be true. The Civitates wouldn't Believe their God into being something cruel, something hateful. Cita was a loving God, a father. That he would attack the Hour... if what Jones said about that was true, the Hour had been a wicked place. It deserved punishment... though perhaps not to that magnitude. And again came the warning, that Belief could and would affect every corner of life. Moirine had said Belief had driven him mad.

"No, thank you," he replied impatiently to Ree's offer, glancing with irritation to his mug. He should never have bought the cider. "Is it- Is it inescapable?" he asked after a short hesitation, eyes lifting to stare earnestly at the Magister. "Belief? I have heard of... of Belief driving men mad. Is it truly so powerful?" Another pause, and Allen pursed his lips. "I do not think you right on one count. The Civitates would not Believe cruelty and violence into their God. Cita is a benevolent father, not a small-minded killer. Anyone who's read the Epistles would know as much."

Ree watched Martin carefully, noting away his response. "Before he came, the Cancellari killed several people," he said, his voice quiet, slow and even. "The Citadel and the Civitates allowed a culture of violence against others to permeate their Beliefs. As such...it was a killer that was born. He killed his own, then led the Cancellari into the Hour, where he and they killed many more. I was there. I held a young man, no more than fourteen, in my arms as he bled from a stab wound so deep I doubted he'd live. One of the Adepts, a mother of two young boys, was nearly murdered..." Ree looked down at the table, his shoulders lifting as he sighed. "You were not there. You did not see the blood, hear the screams..." He shook his head again. "The slaughter of innocents."

"It does seem as though Belief is inescapable, at least here," he left the sentence there, his mind backtracking to a previous point. "You are a religious man?"

Allen frowned; for now he'd do what he could to avoid answering that. "The Cancellari are trained warriors. Was it for the Occia's protection that they killed?" Why else would they? He knew the Cancellari - or had. They were fearsome men and women, but there wasn't one of them he believed would kill indiscriminately, or for pleasure. After a short pause he added, "I am not a- a Civitate-" The lie hurt, and he said a silent prayer of forgiveness, "-but much of my family is. I know their beliefs."

He looked down at his hands, rotated the mug slightly as he mumbled, "Forgive me if my questions seem defensive. I only wish to understand fully what happened. These are not... easy things to hear."

"It was not." None of the Others had come close to the Occia, as far as Ree knew. He watched Martin carefully at the hesitation, then eyed the wall just over his shoulder. More puzzles. Were he less patient he'd begin to drill him on family members. "I understand," he said, eventually. "I nearly became an Initiate, as a boy."

What would have happened if he had? Had he been a member of the Citadel, would he have fallen into the arrogance that the Cancellari seemed to exhibit? Would he too believe that only the lives of Civitates matter? Would he feel that any Other, even if it had not harmed anyone, was a target to be killed? "I do not believe they acted with the best interests of the Citadel in mind, nor do I believe that there was justice in their hearts. The fact that they felt it completely natural to enter the Hour and cut down," he paused to swallow, surprised at how affected he was, "children, innocents, proves that, to me."

Allen frowned down at his cup. He could give no argument to that that wouldn't risk offending Jones, and the more he offended him, the less likely it was the man would give him a truthful, unbiased explanation. "I see," he said softly. If the false God had indeed led the Cancellari in an attack, he couldn't blame them for obeying. It was horrific that they'd killed so mercilessly, and for a monster, but what Civitate would do differently if their God told them to follow?

"Belief seems to have ruined a great many things." Himself and his sister included. "Is there no way to stop it?"

"It seems not," Ree shook his head, "though many seek to end it."

Would it end with Vance? Ree had no desire to see Godric Vance killed, but the possibility of removing him from the position of Magus and gaining a relief from Belief had sprung to mind more than once before. But who would lead the Hour should Vance be removed from it? Rayna, that was Ree's guess. "Be careful," he cautioned once more, "what you say, but more than that, be careful of what you believe in."

What did he believe in? Only Cita, Allen thought firmly, but his thoughts drifted. He believed in his sister's goodness, in the ability of mankind to repent and restore, in charity and compassion. Nothing, he felt, that was dangerous. It was the narrow-minded cruelty of others that had created the false god, that had driven him mad, driven the city into chaos. He wondered if Jones knew about the man he'd been before he'd died. It would be too suspicious for him to ask.

Allen nodded and glanced up, for once not flinching when he met Jones' eyes. "I will. Thank you." He seemed a kind man, whatever his leanings. It was regrettable that he hadn't become an Initiate. "And the demons?" Allen continued, expression earnest. "Are they contained?"

"Demons?" Ree's eyebrows raised up to his hairline. He recognised the term, of course. Was that not what Civitates used to describe Others? "Call them Others, if you will call them anything. Just as a man's actions might be described as demonic, many of them have taken actions we might describe as humane."

His thoughts went to the Cosimo girl, Llewelyn, Rayna once more. "They have the same freedoms as humans, but are placed under our laws. If they perform good deeds, they are rewarded. Are they to perform evil ones, they are punished. Many have the same reasoning abilities and morals of humans," he shrugged, watching Martin's expression closely, keeping his own neutral. "It would be wrong to simply kill them all."

Allen's eyes narrowed. "But they're not human," he continued, frowning. "They're creatures. Monsters. Yes? I know only what I was told, and it was that Others were the demons and devils from the Epistles made real. They are harmless, then, in your estimation?" It didn't add up. Moirine wouldn't tell him they were monsters if they had any redeeming qualities. If they weren't human, they weren't children of Cita, and so had no place in Balfour. Why would the city allow inhuman things to walk among them? Why would the King allow it? Cita Himself?

He knew that Cita must have a plan for Balfour, that this was only a small part of it, but he couldn't make sense of what'd happened. Certainly the Civitates had been punished for believing in a false god, but at the cost of His house, their house, of so many lives and so much faith. And Moirine... He could reluctantly accept that his sister hadn't been the Final Bride, but it also seemed unfair to judge her so harshly for her actions. She'd run out of fear, and from what both of them had told him, her fear had been more than justified. She should not have broken her vows while she was away, but... Frightened, lonely, perhaps she'd sought the comfort of a man, of the sort her mad brother couldn't give her.

"That's not true, the monster part. It is how we act, not what we are, that labels us a monster." He shrugged. "Some are - or were, depending on your viewpoint - human, simply changed by circumstances out of their control. I know one who was a human child and now spends afternoons healing people from the Grounds at no cost, another who is a little girl, with all of a little girl's fears and worries...can you truly call them devils? Not all are harmless, but the same idea applies to men and women."

He smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up. "It is true that some are dangerous. But there are Others in the guard as well, willing to punish their own for transgressions. And each time I hear of an Other acting monstrously, it seems a human more than matches it. These gangs, for example, or the vivisections..." Ree's expression grew sad, nearly. "They have the same intelligence and reasoning skills as any human. We might as well treat them as equals."

"Humans have the capacity for redemption, for change," Allen murmured, keeping his voice soft to avoid outright argument. He rotated his mug again, trying to keep the scrape of it against the table quiet. "Monsters do not. They are not Cita's children. Perhaps some are harmless, innocent, as you say. But the others do not belong here." Once again, he began to feel the overwhelming exhaustion that Moirine's explanations had brought on him. So much had changed, and Allen was able to comprehend so little of it. In time he would understand, he knew that, but for now... He was weary of trying to take it all in.

"I'm sorry," he said after a short silence. "Perhaps I don't understand the full extent of what you've told me. The Hour created Belief, yes?"

"Then by your very argument, some humans are monsters and some Others are human," why would a man who was not religious stick so firmly by religious definitions? Ree watched him carefully, leaning back in order to take him in again. It seemed obvious that Martin was religious, even if just a little bit. Why would he hide it? Shame? "There are many humans who would never change their ways, many Others who attempt to keep as much of their humanity as possible."

He shrugged. "Whatever your opinion, you must agree it is for Cita to judge at the end what is wrong or right, not men." Ree did not agree with that at all; in his mind, laws were set out to help a society form and grow peacefully. Anyone could live in society, so long as ultimately they aided society's growth and their fellow citizens; anyone who broke the law or spread harm should be judged fairly by those educated enough to know what was in society's best interest and punished in a humane fashion. Gods did not come into it. This was a test, to see how Martin reacted.

"Godric Vance discovered Belief," Ree rested his hands on the table, folding them over each other, his voice growing cool. "For good or ill, he is the Magus of the Hour now."

Allen frowned. "No. That is not my argument. Only humans are the sons and daughters of Cita. Others were born of the evils of man. Men can be monstrous, yes, but Others cannot be human. By their very definition they're unnatural." Had he explained himself poorly? He felt his age acutely, arguing with a man much older than he was, but he couldn't back down in matters of faith.

"Cita..." He wet his lips. "If you believe in such things, yes, He is the final judge, but in the Epistles themselves He names men as His children, where demons and monsters are not. He tells his children to be wary of them, to cast them out. To do nothing, to leave judgement to Him, would be ignoring His commands. The King himself is a Civitate. It is... surprising," disappointing "That he has done nothing to remove them from the city." He hadn't noticed that he'd thrown off the timidity he'd had earlier; as soon as the conversation had turned to the Citadel, he'd unconsciously begun to lean forward, and he met Jones' stare with his own, earnest one. He kept his hands loosely around the mug, and they tightened whenever there was an edge to his voice.

"And the Magus has not been punished for this?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Ree couldn't help but smile briefly. Caught. The man was religious. Why then, did he avoid the Citadel? "I think 'born from the evils of man' is but one interpretation of their origin. If they seek not to bring us harm, then perhaps we should look for other reasons. Standing by a single unprovable viewpoint when there are others to explore does not seem right to me."

Perhaps he was throwing his net too early. Still, Ree tugged on his ear. "You speak far more confidently when you speak of faith. It seems obvious to me that you believe in such things. Why refuse to enter the Citadel?"

"Not yet," was his only, grim faced answer.

Allen straightened up quickly, his guilt plain on his face. "I don't," he protested weakly. "I've simply been raised to. I've no interest in joining the Citadel." A bald-faced lie, and he'd never been good at hiding the truth. He looked away and swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to rejoin the Citadel; it seemed to him the best place to draw comfort and understanding from everything that'd happened. Cita dwelled in His house, even if it stood in ruins, but his sister warned him that to go there meant his death. Would they truly kill him if they knew his story? Allen found it hard to believe, but his sister had seemed stricken at the idea of him returning there.

"Perhaps we should agree to disagree," he mumbled. "I cannot believe in the goodness of monsters as easily as you."

Ree did not need to be psychic to know the man was lying. His evasive behaviour grew more and more suspicious. Ree tugged on his ear, face still impassive. Finally, he leaned forwards. "You are not a very good actor."

Leaning back, he kept his voice low, so that other patrons would not hear. "You have something to hide, this much seems obvious. Be thankful that I do not wish to know what it is. I cannot say the same for others, though. Continue like this and you will get into trouble."

If the past year had taught him anything, it was that people could believe the worst on the slightest shred of evidence. He stood, adjusting his coat. "Remember my name, if you are in need of help," he added, almost as though it was a stray thought, like 'remember to pick up bread for dinner'. "And be more careful with what you say and how you say it in future."

With that, he turned to leave, his hand still rubbing his earlobe thoughtfully.

Allen coloured, his eyes going round. He knew he was a poor liar, but he hadn't expected to be caught so quickly. At least, he consoled himself hastily, his heart beating quickly, Jones didn't know who he was. Not Allen Burrell. Just a liar. For one terrified, impulsive moment, Allen considered catching Jones' sleeve and telling him everything... but the idea withered under the thought of his sister. He couldn't put her in danger.

Instead he sat in silence as the man left, eyes wide and fixed on the tabletop, his mouth pressed into a thin, nervous line. He wondered if anyone else had overheard Jones' warning. Once he heard the door shut and glanced up to confirm that the other man was gone, Allen took a shaky sip of his cider and waited. Two minutes, four, seven, and then when he was sure it wouldn't look suspicious and he wouldn't run into Jones in the street, Allen tugged his hood further over his face, stood, and left the inn with a wince.