A Fountain of Scarlet A year had passed. A whole year, it had been since the Red Evening, the fall of Milielle, the Mythic Dawn Cult and the crowning of Sicarius Septim, first of his name, Emperor of Tamriel. For all that time, peace had come to Cyrodiil, and the other provinces of Tamriel as well. He was a good emperor, loved by some and hated by others. It would always be that way, Sicarius had understood. However good or bad, just or injust, cruel or soft you were, there would always be people who disagreed to your actions. The Mythic Dawn was a fine example. As was High Rock. Not everyone in High Rock liked him, Sicarius knew. Quite few did, to be exact. King Gothryd had blamed Milielles death on Sicarius Septim. The King had seen a hero in the woman Sicarius had seen as a threat. A few threats of war had been made, from High Rock, but it had not escalated into anything, to Sicarius great relief. He did not intend to start a war. For the first time in quite a few years, Tamriel was at peace, and he sought to keep it that way.(With the use of the armor of Alessia, Sicarius had defeated Milielle the Breton and the entire Mythic Dawn cult. That armor was powerful. If the wrong person got their hands on it, it would not take long until graves would be dug and ruins deserted. Therefore, as the Emperor, Sicarius had taken responsibilty and sealed away that armor in a vault deep under the Imperial city Palace. He only took it out and donned it for some parades and speeches, to impress his people and give them a feeling of safety.)"My Emperor." Cyra said politely, kneeling by the foot of the stairs to the throne. She had broken her fast early this solemn autumn morining, to report her duties to Sicarius Septim as soon as possible. She was his bodyguard after all, and the commander of the White Swords. She was his sword. If it was needed, Cyra would sacrifice herself for her Emperor without hesitation.The proud Redguard woman had black hair falling down her shoulders in smooth waves and a pair of intense green eyes. She was as good with her sword as Sicarius was with words; he often claimed Cyra was the best swordfighter in Cyrodiil. Perhaps he was right.She was wearing a light but durable suit of Mithril armor, from head to toe. She carried the white helmet under her arm as she knelt before the throne."Please, Cyra. Just because I am the most powerful man in the realm doesn't mean you have to bend your knee everytime you see me." Sicarius said with a tired smile. Cyra could see it in his blue eyes; he hadn't had any sleep tonight either. She didn't think he hated his position as Emperor, no, no, she suspected it was the other way around. All his work kept him up all night long, but he didn't mind it. This was his life now."Well, I am just thinking about something." Cyra continued. "The fish production is going quite slow, and has been, for the last three months. I was thinking if we could begin importing salmon and tuna from Skyrim, aside from having our own fish hatcheries. What do you say?""I value your opinions. I have always trusted you." Sicarius said. He climbed down the stairs and stood eye-to-eye with Cyra. He patted her on her shoulder. "I think you have a valid point. I'll consider this until tomorrow. Then we'll decide further.""A good idea, Sicarius." Cyra smiled. She nodded slightly, turned around, and was just about to walk away, when she remembered something. Another matter."Oh, and also, a new Grand Champion has been crowned in the Arena, just tonight. It is a custom for the Emperor to watch his first match.""Is it so?" Sicarius scratched his chin. "I have always like Arena matches. Who is the lucky one?""A Breton man. Supposedly he's quite the fighter with a longsword. I've considered challenging him myself, to test his strength." "I am sure you have. Very well, when is this match happening?""Tonight." Cyra answered."Then tonight it is." Sicarius smiled and saluted Cyra.Cyra spent the rest of her day walking through the streets of the Imperial City. She would often do this, dressed as any townsfolk would dress; in this case simple linen trousers and shirt, on top of that a simple leather jerkin. By her belt hanged a dirk and a small coin purse. Anyone could have taken her for a simple traveller in this "disguise". She walked down the main street of the Market District, listening to sailors shouting out prizes for faraway merhcandise, fruit stands were filled to the brim with colorful apples, oranges, pears, plums and cherries. Here and there she heard someone speak of the Emperor, how everything had been so calm and peaceful since he was crowned. Some said the same, but with a negative tone. Cyra knew how they felt, itching to show off their skills in war. Peace wasn't everyones favourite.She steered her steps to the Merchants Inn. Cyra turned the handle and entered the large main area; a melting pot of cultures varying from Elsweyrish travellers by a round table in a corner, three Dunmer discussing magic by the bar, some Nords laughing at a joke, spending the money from a hard days work on mead and food.Cyra ordered a pitcher of ale and sat down by a lonely table at the far end of the Inn. There, she sat for an hour, listening, watching, almost totally unnoticed. She enjoyed doing this. Sure, she enjoyed being the Emperors bodyguard, although for the time she did not have to be at his side every second. It was peaceful enough in Cyrodiil. And she was also the commander of the White Swords, Sicarius Septims elite force of Mithril-clad warriors.Cyra was the daughter of a sailor who had travelled from the island of Stros M'Kai to Cyrodiil, selling his wares. Eventually, Cyra had proven herself a great warrior when she defended her fathers boat under a pirate attack, with the help from the sailors, but nevertheless she managed to take down four pirates on her own, which had resulted in her father granting her professonal training in Cyrodiil for as long as he stayed there. And eventually, word of her skill reached commander Baurus of the Blades, and she was accepted into their ancient order. From there, Cyra had been provided with a mission of high importance; to help defend the newly discovered heir of Martin Septim, Sicarius Tenebra. Cyra had developed a strong friendship with Sicarius, and soon they were the closest of friends. When the time was right, namely in the sewers under the Imperial City, she had told Sicarius that she was a Blade.Cyra emptied the pitcher and headed back to the palace. She walked up the stairs to her private chamber and threw herself on the bed, exhaling heavily. She was tired, she had to admit. Exhausted. Her suddenly being commander of an elite guard was quite extraordinary. But she liked it. The last thing she thought of before she fell asleep was of the White Swords, and how she'd practise with them later. But first thing's first. She had to rest for a few hours before accompanying Sicarius to the Arena."Good people of the Imperial City!" the speaker shouted loudly. "Welcome, to the Arena!"The large crowd roared and cheered."Today, we have not one, but two very special guests here! In the pit, we have the Grand Chaaaampion, The Blaaaack Arroooow!" a tall Breton man emerged from the gates to the bloodwork. He was dressed in a light arena rainment, and a black hood covering his head. He raised his hands and bowed to the place where Sicarius Septim and Cyra were sitting. Cyra was wearing her default white mithril armor, helm under her arm and her sword by her belt. Sicarius Septim had his comfortable and visually magnificent emperors robes and a simple silver crown shaped like a thin ring with small red gems around his head."And, also, another celebrity showed up today for this first match for the grand champion." the speaker said eagerly. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honor to have him here today! Of course, I am speaking of our very own Eeeeeeempeeroooor!"The crowd erupted into even more cheering and roaring. Sicarius waved politely with a smile on his face. He seemed to enjoy being a celebrity."Alright! The enemy has entered the arena. Meet Skullcrusheeeeeer!" the speaker shouted. Another, noticeably shorter man appeared in the fighting pit. He was wearing the same outfit as The Black Arrow, but without a hood. He was completely bald with a heavily tattooed head. He waved to the crowd which answered with booing loudly."Let the match..." the speaker shouted. Beeeeeeeeegin!"The crowd roared and the two fighters circled each other like cats fighting in an alley. Skullcrusher was wielding two waraxes which he spun around in his grasp. The audience cheered when he did a complicated trick with them, juggling the sharp weapons from hand to hand. He's all looks and no strength. Cyra thought. He could juggle those axes, but could he juggle his opponents head at the end of the match? Surely not, did the Grand Champions move confirm. He drew his longsword, did a vicious spin and struck the axe out of Skullcrushers right hand. The audience roared with excitement as The Black Arrow continued with a slash, barely parried by the Skullcrusher, and then..."Thump", the champion struck Skullcrusher in the temple with the pommel of his longsword. The audience got mad, clapping, stomping, chanting "Black Arrow! Black Arrow!". Skullcrusher was kneeling, massaging his temple, but after a while he stood up and went for a reckless attack. He rushed, roaring towards the Black Arrow.Of course, the Grand Champion dodged this easily, and gave Skullcrusher a hard spank on the rear end with the flat side of his sword. As Skullcrusher bit the dust, the audience roared with laughter. So did Sicarius and Cyra. They knew how this match would end. Apparently Skullcrusher did too. He knelt weakly in front of The Black Arrow, whimpering, begging for his life. The Grand Champion looked to the Emperor, and gestured with thumbs up, did so for a moment until flipping his thumbs down. It was a question. Wether a man would live or die. Sicarius did not react. Cyra knew he wouldn't. The audience booed and stomped on the wooden floor, which creaked ominously. They all held their thumbs down. The Black Arrow raised his sword. For a moment, the Arena was entirely silent. Cyra was sure that one could hear a needle falling. And then, the revolting but slightly pleasant sound of steel cutting through skin, muslces, and finally, bone, as The Black Arrow separated Skullcrushers head from his shoulders. Blood poured out as if the gaping hole in Skullcrushers body was a fountain. A fountain of scarlet.The crowd roared at the sight of their Grand Champion drawing blood. The Black Arrow raised his hands, threw his sword on the floor and walked a small walk of fame around the arena. When he had completed his walk, he returned to the middle of the pit again."My Breton ancestors turn in their graves!" he shouted. "We will remember Milielle!"The Black Arrow drew a dagger. He took a final heavy breath, then he raised the bladed weapon. Cyra knew what was going to happen."Tum voth faal Ulokuun!" the Champion roared. And then he planted the thin blade of the dagger in his own throat. With a simple gurgle, spitting blood, the Grand Champion fell lifeless to the ground.