The period of the Second Era known as the Interregnum, which marked the end of the Second Empire with its beginning and heralded the coming of the Third Empire with its end, was one marked by near-constant conflicts across the entirety of Tamriel. Little is known of the finer details of the period save crucial events like Tiber Septim’s conquest of the warring nations and the name of a few of the major alliances that surfaced during the Interregnum itself, such as the Daggerfall Covenant, the First Aldmeri Dominion, and the Ebonheart Pact.

Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I’m a Saxhleel myself, or perhaps it could be because I’ve lived most of my life in Skyrim, but the Ebonheart Pact has always seemed to me the most fascinating of these three groups. Imagine it, an alliance between Nords, Dunmer, and Argonians! Such an alliance seems impossible, and yet it happened during the chaotic times of the Interregnum when the three races united to repel an invasion from Akaviri.

Of the many figures prominent in the Pact, the one that has always drawn my attention the most has been Jorunn the Skald-King. One would think that in an alliance such as the Pact, where the nations that composed it had a long story of animosity towards each other for various motives, the existence of a single leader would be implausible, as none of the three nations would have enough faith in one another to support a leader that didn’t came from their own people.

This is why Jorunn’s figure fascinates me, for here we have a Nord who, seemingly, had the trust of the leaders of both Morrowind and Black Marsh. I often wonder what it is that allowed the Skald-King to win the trust of both the Dunmer and the Argonians and to secure his position as High King of the Great Moot that governed the Ebonheart Pact. Was he a shrewd manipulator, presenting himself as a champion of Nords, Dunmers, and Argonians while only caring about the first of the three? Or did he genuinely believe that each race that formed the Pact were equally important? Did he dream of a future in which the Nords were the supreme leaders of the Pact, where the Dunmers and Saxhleel toiled for the benefit of the people of Skyrim? Or did he dreamt of a future in which the three races stood side by side as equals?

I don’t know the answer to these questions but I can’t help to think about them, especially in light of what happened at Dawnstar but a few days ago. What would Jorunn the Skald-King think about his people butchering the Argonian refugees for a crime they hadn’t committed? I...I like to think that he’d be appalled at the fate of my people, furious that his own kind would stoop to such a low level as to massacre refugees. What would he think of the fact that Morrowind has allied with the Akaviri invaders that they once helped banish from Tamriel? What would he say if he heard that we Saxhleel are retreating to Black Marsh to defend ourselves due to the Hist’s call, forsaking those who long ago were once our allies?

Questions like this buzz incessantly within my mind, trying to find an answer which could explain to me what happened to lead us up to this point. Our people were allies once, even if it was an alliance of convenience we could still work together and as one, what happened to us that these bonds shared between our three nations, tenuous as they might have been, have been so irrevocably broken? Could a figure like Jorunn unite Argonians, Dunmers, and Nords again? I’d like to say that this doubts, these incessant questions, of mine come as merely the result of trying to find a way in which Skyrim, Morrowind, and Black Marsh could once again be at peace. Yet I fear that these thoughts come as a by-product of a much more selfish thought….for I can’t help but wonder if I could have truly called Skyrim my homeland if things hadn’t come to this? Would the leadership of Jorunn the Skald-King, would his work, have allowed me to call myself a true son of Skyrim?

I suppose these questions don’t matter in the end, Jorunn has been dead for hundreds of years and whatever links existed between the members of the Ebonheart Pact seem to have been irrevocably broken. Whatever dreams and thoughts I had of Skyrim being my homeland where dashed on Dawnstar that terrible night, thinking about the Skald-King and what could have been won’t help me quell the doubts in my mind.

...Amongst these travels, I should say that I met Dunmer fighting against the Nerevarine's forces too; while most of them were unscrupulous mercenaries in it for the coin, there were those with personal stakes as well. One particular example that I had the luxury of interviewing had in fact started off as a mercenary, although by the time of our conversation, he had become a full-on partisan. This maimed mer, named Sadri Beleth (I do not shy away from using his name, for the war has ended long since, and to my limited knowledge, so has his life) struck me as a cutthroat to stay away from at first glance. Later on I would find him a fine fellow to engage in conversation with, although, as usual with most Dunmer, he was prone to giving strangers a cold shoulder unless amused with a gift, which was, in his case, wine.

It was in one of those days during which I accompanied this rather diverse mercenary company that I learned that Mister Beleth had in fact served in the Nerevarine's army during the Reclamation War; there were other veterans in the Company, although sadly, I did not get to know them all too well, and thus, unsure as to whether they would like to see our conversations exposed for all to see here, I shall include solely the conversation that I had with this world-weary fellow, who more than welcomed the possibility of his words being published, for posterity. For the reader's discretion, I should mention that while I refrained from rewording Mister Beleth's sentences, the fellow, being not only a Dunmer but also a past sailor and a drunkard, had a tendency to curse as frequently as an Orc thinks of murder and a Khajiit thinks of theft. Therefore, for ladies and the more proper gentlemen amongst our readers, I took the liberty of merely omitting the variety of curses he had in his repertoir, and replacing them with '*EXPLETIVE*'.

The conversation is as follows:

YOURS TRULY- Sir, I could not help but notice that you've mentioned your regrets about serving in, ahem, 'that pompous, patronizing *EXPLETIVE*'s army. Were you an Armiger, perchance?

BELETH- Nae, those *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE*s were recruited from amongst native Dunmer only during that time. For all the good it did them. *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE*s.

Mister Beleth takes a sip of his wine.

YOURS TRULY- But you did serve during the Reclamation War?

BELETH- Yes, I did. I was broke out of my *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE*, had no clue what to *EXPLETIVE* do with my *EXPLETIVE* life, and thought I could get myself a *EXPLETIVE* reward or something. And I did, admittedly. Then I *EXPLETIVE* lost it.

Mister Beleth refills his glass. I notice at this point that he empties his glass with every sip.

YOURS TRULY- And what was the reward, sir?

BELETH- A copious amount of gold. Although I did also get a *EXPLETIVE* handshake and a compliment, from the *EXPLETIVE* Nerevarine himself.

I gasp with excitement. This lowly Dunmer has met the Nerevarine? How incredible!

YOURS TRULY- You've met the Nerevarine? By Auriel, please tell me about it! Was he... charming? Majestic?

Mister Beleth glares at me. I put on a more solemn and acceptable expression. I often forget that these primitives are at war.

BELETH- *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE*, that's what he was. He was this taller than I, (he raises his arm completely) and had a *EXPLETIVE* halo of fire burning bright behind him, like he was some sort of *EXPLETIVE* saint. Clad head to toe in *EXPLETIVE* pitch black armor, save from above his royal *EXPLETIVE* neck. I still remember a bright red magic crown of... *EXPLETIVE* something floating atop his *EXPLETIVE* head. We were all standing in this line, and he came and shook our hands one by one, although I'm not sure if he was walking or *EXPLETIVE* floating.

"Thank you for your service," that's what he said to me when he shook my hand. I was afraid that his armor was some sort of *EXPLETIVE* Daedra out to suck my soul dry, it looked like regal *EXPLETIVE* terror with its smooth *EXPLETIVE* curves and puffed cloth, and yet looking into his eyes was somehow even more *EXPLETIVE* terrifying. He had a *EXPLETIVE* weight to his actions, yet it felt as if he was doing *EXPLETIVE* nothing. He was expressionless when he shook my hand. Stone *EXPLETIVE* cold. As if he were looking at some sort of *EXPLETIVE* rodent. Dagon knows, that's probably what he thought of me, if he actually did bother with thinking about my lowly *EXPLETIVE*.

YOURS TRULY- You sound impressed, sir.

BELETH- You bet your *EXPLETIVE* I was impressed. Not even his *EXPLETIVE* shadow moved without his will. *EXPLETIVE* was like a damn God.

YOURS TRULY- Do you think that he was, or is, a God? You did mention some knowledge about the concept of mantling, however disputed it may be.

BELETH- Maybe. Maybe. I've yet to see a God who can beat Want, though.

YOURS TRULY- And what is it that you want, sir?

Mister Beleth downs his glass quite resolutely.

BELETH- Murder the Gods and Topple their Thrones, sir. That is the mantra. I want his *EXPLETIVE* *EXPLETIVE* dead.