"I don't want to. I must. The risk that...they pose is too great. Something must be done. Believe me, I'd much rather keep the land the way she is. I do so love the rainforests: the tigers, the durians, etc. etc. Especially beautiful this time of year.
"But a greater a risk than drought or famine, [Renard]? What of sericulture? Bombyces require very specific conditions. Have you considered that?"
"I have, 'Rin. We've nothing to lose there. A reduction in the number and size of Niben's magnaneries will make the Mothnastics easier to control. We'll also make a killing on the necessary tax hikes."
"Still though. It seems dreadfully invasive, and all for the sake of a few Minotaurs who only may wake to their lineage if they can be bothered to put aside the bottle for just a moment. You're certain we couldn't just, I don't know, invent another history? Perhaps our men in Alinor found documentation of a secret, treacherous alliance between the Thalmor and Duke Belharzulu. Then we could have them rounded up and purged to the cheers of the rabble."
"Trust me when I tell you it wouldn't work, not with anything approaching acceptable certainty. Their claim to sunder-seat is so strong, so pure, that nothing short of a full erratum to Mother Cyrod's aka-shic record will ensure that they cannot contest me. Like I said, 'Rin, I must."
"Fine, [Renard], I defer. Shall I fetch Choir-Eight now? They've been left waiting for over an hour."
"Yes, yes...Oh, and 'Rin, If I'm to be Imperator Actual, we would all do well to address me by my proper name."
"Why, of course, m'lord Tiber Septim."