A pretty sun elf sits by the fire in Degganwy, flipping through a leather-bound book. She scans the first five pages or so, the only ones used thus far, and promptly rips them out, and tosses them to the flames.
A fresh beginning. There is something encouraging, yet terrifying in those words. I don't really know where to begin, so starting with myself seems an appropriate place. My name is Kellindrea Durothil. I was born on Evermeet many decades ago. My dear sweet mother died in childbirth, leaving my father and older brother, Kandor to raise me alone. Most would say they did extremely well, others would say I might have turned out better had I been given away. Regardless, I know they did their very best with me. I have learned all manners of social graces and diplomacy from before I can remember. Before I knew the meaning of the word, my marriage was planned and sealed to the son of elves my father found to be of 'approval heritage.' A sun elf of course. I don't think I will write his name, I am trying to forget it you see. He was not a bad elf I suppose, admittedly arrogant to a fault. Aren't we all though? We would have followed duty and sworn to one another, and I know he would have protected me, however cold and distant his heart seemed. The first time we met, he spoke of his inspirations of a partnership in servitude. He does not know I saw him looking in the mirror while he spoke, instead of at me.
They said we sacrificed notions of love, of freedom, to maintain order, balance, to fight to maintain the right for others to partake in these things we lost the opportunity to experience in our cause. They don't know I know, but I have always known it is truly about power. Yet the puppet master’s tug and I follow the strings, I follow my role. Followed. Or follow. I'm not certain anymore. Is the lack of certainty itself a clear indicator of the past tense of this role, or is it simply a pause of contemplation? We sacrifice life, love, and the pursuit of freedom, of our own happiness, to maintain the privileges for the many unbound to the structure of the foundation of our fragile, perfect world. They'd never know it to look upon us. They see nothing but the joy, the ease of life within the walls of nobility. They see the festivities, the silks, all of our pleasant luxuries . . . but for all this, there is so much that remains hidden. So much that if it came to light, life as we know it now would cease to exist.
They do not see the deceit, the toying for favor. They are blind to the selfish pursuits of the ones they depend on to look out for their best interests in their actions, in their designs. They do not see my father smiling pleasantly when he sees the Queen, secretly envisioning a Durothil under the crown. They do not see my brother and father coaching me, teaching me, say this, don't say that, wear this, go here, charm him, achieve this! We speak FOR The People, we devote our lives FOR The People, we give TO them, so that they might not have to suffer, but I cannot help but wonder if it is simply words to be spoken in obligation? If we truly serve, then why do we scheme against one another, the verbal knives held gleaming behind our backs, while our silver tongues speak words of praise and affection? Treason they would say, I question, I doubt too much! I disrupt order, and threaten peace, yet how can it be treason to seek answers?
The People see only what we allow them to see. Should we show them?
Can we who take our duties seriously, in good faith place this burden on The People we are sworn to protect, to serve, to love? The Seldarine forbid they should ever have to see what truly gives them their free, beautiful unattached lives. I think the island itself would crumble in despair.