Chapter 1: It's Always Rats

"Ow! That stings!"

The boy's cries filled the small farmhouse as he tried to pull his wound away from the burning sting of the washcloth. However, the boy's mother paid no attention to his protests and continued to clean his cut and the other injuries that covered his body. He was held in place, seated on a small wooden stool, by his mother's firm grip. To his side was a wooden table with clean bandages and potions made with the crushed aloe vera leaves in a worn mortar. His mother wrapped his wound in the bandages and quickly moved to a large gash on the boy's forearm.

"Mother, please!"

It was easy to tell from the woman's furrowed brow and the lack of concern for her son's shouts that she was quite upset with the lad. After squirming for several minutes and having his mother hold his arm firmly in place, the boy final noticed that his protests were being ignored. He held his tongue and swallowed his complaints as his mother continued to tend to his wounds.

As she leaned forward to examine the deep gash on his arm closer, the woman's brown locks fell forward. After sweeping them behind her ear, the woman gathered a bit of magicka in her hand and cast a healing spell on her son. For a few more minutes she continued the process of disinfecting each of the boy's injuries then wrapping them in bandages and closing the more serious ones with more healing spells.

"Done," the Breton woman stated as she finished with the last healing spell.

She quickly stood up and wiped her hands on her apron and began to gather up her healing supplies. Alchemy equipment and aloe vera samples were returned to a small cupboard within the small farmhouse. While his mother was busy tidying the house, the boy examined his arm. Before it was a rancid shade of purple and red, and now there was barely a scar to remind him of the battle.

"Thank you, Mother," said the boy.

Just as the words slipped from his mouth, the boy yelped in surprise as he received a sharp slap on the back of his head. Although the blow did not hurt in comparison to all the cuts and scratched from the rats that he had fought, it was very shocking that his mother would hit him.

"What was that for?" he exclaimed.

"That, Marcus," replied his mother very sternly with her arms on her hips," was for leaving a trail of food for rats to follow back to the farm from your little 'adventures' in the Great Forest!"

"I killed them all though!" Marcus replied as he rubbed the pain at the back of his head.

"Not before they ate half of my herbs!" his mother rebuked. "Now most of our harvest is gone, and I can no longer sell enough potions in Chorrol to Seed-Neeus to make it through the winter. Unless you want to skip half your meals searching the forest for plants this winter… Ugh! I can't believe you were so foolish Marcus!"

After seeing his mother's distraught face, the facts sunk in for Marcus. It was already Last Seed – far too late in the year to plant any more potatoes and flax for his mother shield potions or aloe vera to crush in to a powder for healing potions. Furthermore, they had only one hundred Septims hidden away. Marcus could only stare at his iron boots, now slightly damaged from his encounter with the rats, as he mother rubbed her temple to soothe herself.

Seeing her son's expression, the Breton woman sighed and rubbed her son's cheek with her hand as she did all throughout his childhood to comfort him. When Marcus stared up at her with his blue eyes, he immediately knew that she was more concerned with his welfare than she was angry with his "adventures."

"Now what do we do?" Marcus meekly asked. "I can start searching the forest for some plants tomorrow."

"No," his mother said. "Now… Now you must go to Chorrol."

"What? Chorrol?"

"I know you've been sneaking out instead of doing your chores to explore the Great Forest. Although you know I disapprove, you are sixteen and your 'adventures' have improved your swordplay and destruction magic. Rats and bandits shouldn't be much of a problem if you fight carefully. While you're in town, I'll be trying to salvage as much as I can from my garden."

Marcus stayed seated on the stool and watched his mother make her way to the chest at the foot of her bed. Rummaging through the extra pairs of clothes, Marcus was shocked to see his mother pull out a blood-red longsword like he had never laid eyes on before. It was of better quality than his iron longsword, which was given to him years ago after much pleading and begging. The sword did not have a straight edge like most, and the pommel was a wavy spike. Daedric, Marcus immediately knew. The sword pulsed with a red glow that signaled some sort of enchantment.

Curious, Marcus sat upright on the stool to see what else his mother had hidden within the chest. Before she closed the lid, Marcus caught a glimpse of an equally strange sword, with a curved blade in a golden sheath. Marcus knew his mother was not born a farmer, quite evident by her proficiency in alchemy and destruction magic and scars on her arms that came from blades, but the sight of the daedric sword and the unknown blade made Marcus truly wonder what life was like for his mother during her younger years.

"This sword," his mother stated, "is heavily enchanted. It should fetch at least eight hundred Septims, but I believe that you'll get more than that if you went to the Imperial City, but that's too far and the city is far too large. Seed-Neeus will let you haggle, but Rasheda might have more gold available. Compare their prices before selling to either one."

"Where did you get the sword?" Marcus asked, staring wide-eyed at the longsword.

"Never you mind," she chastised as she began wrapping the sword in cloth. "It's not important. What is important is that you travel to Chorrol and sell this."

"Mother, why do you never speak about your past?" the boy timidly asked. "Baurus always jokes that he still can't imagine you settling down on a farm, which means you were something else, especially considering that sword."

Marcus's mother knotted the ends of the cloth tightly at her son's words. She placed the sword on her bed and faced her son.

"Hush," she chided. "Baurus is nothing more than an old friend whose lips blabber with outrageous stories when he is much too full of ale. Have I not told you before to pay no heed to his stories? Now ready yourself for the trip. You'll leave at first light, and I'll give you some Septims to stay at the Grey Mare and for a meal. You'll return home at first light. Be sure to use the roads. No detours or side-trips Marcus. It is absolutely forbidden for you to use the Daedric sword. We need it in the best condition to get the best price."

Marcus hopped off the stool and pouted, blowing air through his nostrils. His mother always avoided questions of her past, especially the few years prior to his birth. She even kept Baurus's flappy lips sealed if she was around. Marcus could only assume that the reasons for her refusal were because all questions of her past were bound to lead to his father.

His father was a mysterious figure, as little was spoken about him. Marcus only knew bits and pieces of information when Baurus visited and his mother was too engrossed in her work of brewing potions. His father died when Cyrodill was being invaded by daedra years ago. The subject was so sensitive that even a drunk Baurus and a few charm scrolls wouldn't yield complete answers. It didn't help that his mother had moved to the Great Forest after the Oblivion gates had been sealed, so no one in Chorrol knew anything about his father.

The boy gathered extra undergarments and a tunic into a small pack and threw it to the base of his bed beside his iron longsword and light iron shield. Marcus scowled as he noticed the nicks and dents in his shield from the rats. An iron shield would have taken more damage without showing it, but it was more expensive and far too heavy for Marcus. Maybe in a few years he would be able to handle its weight.

He would need to repair his sword before venturing through the Great Forest to Chorrol. Bandits and highwaymen were always a problem on the road to Chorrol, especially around Fort Ash. Hopefully the Nine would spare him from encountering them or wolves for that matter. However, once he reached Odill Farm, he would be safe.

"Marcus," his mother called. "Come here."

Obediently, Marcus walked over to his mother, who promptly placed a jeweled amulet around his neck. Marcus wrapped his fingers around the amulet, feeling the magicka embedded within it. A magic sword, and now an enchanted amulet. Marcus looked at his mother with curious eyes. What else had she been hiding from him all these years?

"It's enchanted with a shield spell," his mother explained. "Since you don't have a full set of armor, this will help to compensate without adding much weight. The daedric sword is quite heavy by itself."

"Mother, I don't want to leave you here alone."

"Don't worry. Baurus will be coming later in the day tomorrow. Besides, who taught you how to wield a sword and cast a fireball?"

Even though his mother tried to soothe his worries, Marcus knew that she wasn't as young as she acted and was out of practice of swordplay. They had stopped sparring years ago. It was a bit of a comforting thought that she would not be alone, but Baurus was only a few years younger than his mother.

While stuck in his thoughts, his mother had made her way to the window, gazing at the sky outside.

"The sun had set quite a while ago," she mumbled. "I had not realized that it was so late."

"Mother…"

With a large sigh, she turned to her son. "You should rest. You leave at first light."

Marcus stared into his mother's eyes, and she softly stroked his brown hair. She tilted her head to point to his bed, telling him to sleep.

"You've grown so much," she said. "You are already growing taller than me. You're growing to look so much like him."

After speaking those words, she walked over to her alchemy cupboard to make a note of her ingredients. Marcus was about to ask who his mother was referring to, but he realized who it was. Not wanting to cause his mother to recall painful memories, he held back his tongue. Marcus settled into his bed after kicking off his boots, but sleep couldn't come to him. He lay under the covers for at least an hour, feigning sleep as not to worry his mother. With his eyes shut, he heard his mother step over to check on him. Her hand stroking his hair brought sleep closer to him. Before he drifted off, Marcus imagined what his father looked like if they had similar faces.

Rose looked down on her sleeping son. Maybe if she hadn't donated more than half the gold that she had gained in her younger years to the rebuilding of Cyrodill, she might not have had to sell her Longsword of the Inferno that she claimed in the Deadlands. It was too late to change the past. Hopefully she would not have to resort to sell her Akaviri Katana as well.

It pained her to withhold information about her beloved from her son, but she had promised herself to reveal everything only when he had turned eighteen. Hopefully then, Marcus would be mature enough handle the information well.

"Oh my love," she said. "He's growing to look more and more like you. I just wish that you were here to see it for yourself."

Author's Note: 7.1.14

Slight revisions, mainly grammar and spelling. Let's get this story rolling again.