The Imperial Library

Brandyl,
I hope this text of your father's last words finds its way to your hands. I served House Telvanni as a wet nurse during your first months of life and wanted to repay your father's kindness. I've done all I can to locate you, but I regret that we'll never meet face-to-face.
Hidrya Olen
 

4E 6 Second Seed, Middas
Is this the end of all things? Are we to die by the cruel barbed blades of the Argonian invasion force? After surviving the Red Year, struggling to dig from the ash and the rubble, and burying the thousands that died, is this to be our epitaph? The irony of our demise glows brighter than Masser on the summer solstice. We brought this upon ourselves; the Argonians simply answering a rallying cry incited by a millennia of suffrage imposed by my kind. And so here I sit, in the crumbling basement of our family home while a thousand thousand booted feet echo above me and the screams of the dying find their way to my ears. So falls House Telvanni.

But then I look into the eyes of this child, this blessing given to us the very year that Vvardenfell spouted its fiery death across the land; this gift I hold my grasp. Is it too much to wish he be given the chance to survive and keep our memories alive? This small boy born in the midst of chaos and destruction must carry on. If nothing else, as a reminder to other dunmer that the Telvanni were once a proud and noble people.

Since the death of my wife, I haven't been able to bring myself to give my son a proper name. It never felt right without her. But my own life reaches its final hours as the luxury of time is escapes my embrace. I name him now: Brandyl, son of Lymdrenn and sole living heir to House Telvanni. I will wrap him in his t'lonya, his birthing swaddle and leave his fate to Azura's will.

Live with virtue and pride, sera.