42nd of Frost, Year 119
"Tell me, Taelian — what do you know of the Entente’s modesty traditions?” she asked.
“I know of them; that they exist,” he said. To him, that was enough.
“Good. They are rather simplistic restrictions, not difficult to understand. But they are despised by the Entente, and yet they remain. This is one of the most prominent examples of the common man collectively enforcing their will upon the elite; the Entente must wear masques behind closed doors in order to fraternize in this way, and they gladly keep one another’s secrets. Otherwise, the guillotine comes.” It was ominous, but true. Taelian lived, or had lived, in such a place himself — Sil-Elaine, a place where revolution had reigned for twenty years.
There came a breaking point. He imagined it was never as far as the elite would wish it to be.
“Of course, they could attempt to fight this… to shift the culture. Even with bloodshed as a necessity. But why? If they raise their sneering skulls too high above the soil, the commoners will begin to notice other things about them that they despise. Their cruelty, arbitration of the law, their constant warring, their disregard for their own young — the vast inequality of wealth. Their conspiracy with darkly entities. The fact that they line their courts with Elven lovers in order to strengthen their arcane genealogy.”
Which made sense, especially for the Entente. They were less vulnerable to arcane corruption; less likely to die from initiation. The Sundering had somehow endowed them a blessing. “All of these practices, to the average Daravain, are rather objectionable; allow the circulation of these truths on too wide a scale, and with a lens of discontent, and you have revolution. Civil war. Besides; they can use their customs of modesty in their favor, at times. Though these schemes may eventually return to them through collective ire, a confident and ambitious Lord may still use them to acquire momentary power, knocking down their rivals. Even the mere suggestion of a shift in culture breeds the opportunity of another Noble’s schemes through the public proliferation of information. And so they stay silent, and falsely complacent.”
“Not Cailan, though,” Taelian interjected.
“No… you are right. His errant lusts became very public, and rather than deny, he embraced them. And… do you remember what I said? When one thing emerges from the soil, people begin to notice others deeply inlaid. The rising public sentiment against Cailan led other Entente to let other hidden truths fester, like targeted volleys; Louen’s aversion for war with Lorien became public, and his nationalism was questioned. In Daravin, this whisper alone is often one‘s political death. Conjoined with other forms of discontent, physical retribution may follow.”
