From the papers of Pelagius III Septim

Chancellor:

Neglected to send this one up with the last packet. Probably for the best—it’s straight from the Loony Bin and you know what the emissions off these things are like. Given the source, I can’t promise this will be worth your time. It’s typical Pelagius dreck: prolix, eclectic, overwrought, awkward, and nonsensical as pre-Ionith Akaviri travelogues. However, the monster down the hall is pretty sure this bit’s from one of the old boy’s lucid episodes. Regardless, it’s got to be better odds than impressing every billie-buggering Hrollson and promising ha’drakes all around if they shout real nice-like. So:

Thermallélé’s Abjurement Day, CE1045

Dearest Wife,

Today, I, at long last, have concluded the quest that so occupied me these last several months! I know how you worry at my absences, but fret not! I will soon return to you in glory and triumph! So prepare! Prepare for [REMOVED BY COMMAND OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY URIEL IV SEPTIM - NO COPIES TO REMAIN - RATIFIED IN COUNCIL 14 SECOND SEED 3E204].

This morning, after breaking fast on a modest spread of quail eggs, seneschal pâté, and grummite rind, we crested the last of the many hills which had so slowed our progress. Here we waited a spell, watching the now very-near forest emerge from the mists as the suns began their dance anew. Sated that we were where we intended to be, Uncle instructed our retainers to hold position. After ensuring that the rascals were indeed immobilized, we began our descent.

By second noontide we drew up to the very fringe of the woods. Uncle smiled merrily and, affecting the accent of the Nor’Twil Heiröcers, which has always been my favorite, explained that he “Cannae coem nae further, m’laddie, fer t’wizzdom o’ da one inna wood be met b’nae save ‘is ‘ate fa me.” Though dismayed by the prospect of yet more time spent apart, I knew (and Uncle had heartily agreed) that this separation was thoroughly necessary for my ill health and the progress of my education. We therefore performed the Rite of Departure over a light lunch, then exchanged farewells, embraces, spleens, and vows to reunite when my stars were right.

Having thus departed, I ventured deeper into the forest, wandering the trackless gloom for many pleasant hours until I happened upon the glade of the Woodsman. I observed the rites of approach and was greeted by a most amusing display of his many servitors, mainly squamous beasts of the void but also a goodly number of scholars and acolytes and deep delvers. Despite my familial ties it turned out to be utterly impossible to arrange an audience with my host (he being urgently engaged in the several Elsweyrs) but I was shown all respect and ceremony rightfully due one of my illustrious rank.

After being received with all possible propriety I was ushered along meandering paths to the bough I sought. Here, dear heart, grew the tree of knowledge upon whose leaves were writ the story of our Empire. Here, at long last, were the answers I sought. I began, as is my habit, at the end, absorbing the hidden truths we all ought face—how our Tamriel is naught but the interplay of varliance within another world’s magickal engines, constructed by beings that are as gods to our gods; how foul creatures lurk in the wheels of the world, awaiting the day their prophesied high priest, a false man named “Roareck,” builds a false town that will bring down the Rim; how the core values of Dunmeri metaphysics intersect with—ah, but no doubt I bore you! Let us return to the truth I was most concerned with, the secret behind my very blood!

As you may recall, I am Dragonborn. So are my kin, so will be our many children, so was my father, and his father, and so on, until we reach my greatest ancestor, who was not, alas, Tiber Septim, but his brother, Agnorith. Yes, Agnorith! Hero of—which battles? Conquerer of—what people? Slayer of—which enemy? Author of—which laws?

Oh love of loves, you may think to ask, “Are there not records of mighty Agnorith in our own libraries?” And indeed, there are! His name appears no less than five hundred four times in the Tiberiad alone! “So, dearest, why do you seem to know nothing of him?” Why, because none of our books have anything to say about him! He is always here, always there, always hither and thither and loyal and faithful to his august brother, but what of his accomplishments? “This bothers you?” Of course it does! Who has censored my family’s glorious past? The cults? The Selectives? That joyless twit you insist was an excellent choice to head the exchequer? The Elder Council itself? Why, I’ll have you know—

And so on. You recall the discussion, I am sure. But I am vindicated! I have found what I sought! It has found me! I know the truth! Are you prepared? Is Uncle prepared? Are the conspirators and liars prepared? Is the Empire itself prepared? Hear me, dear wife! Know I speak true! Agnorith “Septim” was a brother in spirit, a brother in hardship, a brother in arms, but not a brother in blood! How can this be? How could our histories be so wrong? It is simple! Agnorith was not Dragon-Born, but a dragon in soul and skin and claw and wing!

Imagine my excitement when, after pouring over countless leaves, I finally came upon a detailed account of the life of Agnorith. The hour was drawing close to dusk, the suns caroming towards the horizon, when I chanced upon the passage. It was well-hidden, concealed in the fractals of the smallest veins, but armed with my trusty monocle, I only had to strain and squint for a few minutes before deciphering the text. The story of Agnorith is a long and complicated one that far surpasses available supplies of ink or blood, and thus I shall refrain from relaying it to you until my return, but know this! Agnorith was the largest, wisest, and most ferocious of Tiber’s dragon companions, general of the air armies, and, I think, shall be a great inspiration to my continued reign! The account of how he fathered granny Kintyra was of especial interest, for I had never considered the possibility of [REMOVED BY REQUEST OF IMPERIAL ARCHIVIST - NO COPIES TO REMAIN - RATIFIED IN COUNCIL 21 HEARTHFIRE 3E174].

Ah, but now the light fades, the air grows chill, the shadows detach themselves, and I must retire for the eve. Though I would linger here for some time, I have been admitted for merely a day and a night, and must be off by dawn tomorrow. No matter, for the siren song of our starry heart draws me to your arms! Await me, dear wife! Await the return of your husband! Await with longing the coming storm of [REMOVED BY COMMAND OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY URIEL IV SEPTIM - NO COPIES TO REMAIN - RATIFIED IN COUNCIL 14 SECOND SEED 3E204].

Your forever,

Pelly

As ever, I gladly defer to your judgement in the noxious minutiae of state—but! If we can root out any kind of confirmation (n.b. authorization to repossess certain collections from the Talos cults would make for a good starting point) then Your Excellency’ll have a non-zero amount of things to work with. Now, I’m not suggesting we think about calling up the lunatic cousins and politely grovelling until they deign to send us a liliargus, but we at least might work this into a nice bit of precedent. If the get of an honest swear-on-me-silks sack of scales can be Imperators, why can’t an admittedly dessicated and worse-for-wear but nevertheless genuine instantiation of the Dragon be one?

p.s.: Shame about your errand-runner offing that Umaril fellow. Heretic Saliache or not, he did have a solid claim.