Vicente often lent himself to endless hours of musing during the evenings.

He would sit in his study in his favorite set of robes, surrounded by books and drying herbs and warmed by a crackling fire. Sometimes he would read through scholarly letters from his friends and contemporaries in the mages guild. Sometimes he would indulge his smoking habit- one he swore to his wife he would one day quit. And sometimes he did absolutely nothing at all. He would simply stare out of his window and watch time pass in the fields beyond.

A hobby that his wife never quite understood.

Marelle was a woman of action. She liked lists, chores and activities. She was very different from the demure girl Vicente had met twelve years ago in his old master's shop.

And he loved her all the more for it.

Even after twelve years she was still surprising him with her tenacity and willpower.

Her incessant nagging about his scholarly pursuits was a small price to pay.

"Vicente Valtieri!"

Speak of the deadra and they shall arrive…

Vicente thought wryly as Marelle stormed into his study, her umber eyes ablaze with irritation and a hand plastered to her hip.

"Yes, Dear?" He replied with a crooked grin, knowing that it was sure to send her over the edge.

It did. She threw a damp dish rag at his face, "Don't you 'yes, dear' me, Vicente Valtieri!"

She was using his full name, a sign that whatever was upsetting her was undeniably his fault- whether it was in reality or not. Regardless, she was in no mood to play games.

Vicente sighed, "Of course. I apologize."

"You'd better! Although I don't think a simple apology will be good enough, Mister Husband!"

Now, Vicente was completely lost. He quickly searched through his memories of the past few days, trying to find any instance where he had done some terrible wrong. He couldn't think of any, but Marelle was not the kind of woman to turn ant hills into mountains… normally.

Vicente pushed his chair back and stood up; closing the book his nose had been in moments earlier. It was his way of showing her that she had his undivided, if somewhat unwilling, attention.

"Marelle-" he started, but she interrupted him.

"When were you planning to tell me about this?" She pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from her apron pocket and waved it in his face.

Vicente leaned across the table to reach for it, missed twice due to the fact that his wife was still waving it like a war flag, then finally managed to snatch it from her hand on the third try.

He flattened it out on his table and read through the letter.

It was an invitation to join a group of alchemists and students on an expedition to Vvardenfell to study the plants and animals that only existed in the land of the dark elves. Vicente had received the invite nearly a week ago, and had subsequently thrown it away.

"I found that in the trash!" Marelle snapped.

"Yes, I'm quite certain you did since that was where I put it." He replied, still bewildered by her reaction to it.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" She demanded.

Vicente rolled his eyes, "Because I threw it away. I decided not to go."

"And might I ask why not?"

Vicente threw his arms up in a pleading gesture- hopelessly lost as to why she was still angry. "Marelle, please, tell my why this has you so upset! Tell me what I have done wrong."

Her expression changed from anger to sad disbelief with more than a little disappointment.

"Vicente," she said softly, "you are thirty- six years old."

Vicente shrug, "Yes, I am, but I don't see-"

"In thirty- six years what have you done?" She continued, almost pleading.

It hurt Vicente to see her like this. It hurt even more to know that he was the cause, even if he didn't understand how or why. He moved around the table and closer to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders because he didn't know what else to do. She nestled her head against the crook of his neck, one hand absently brushing through his long ponytail.

"Vicente," she said, "what happened to the young man that had dreams of becoming the best alchemist in all of Tamriel?"

Vicente didn't respond. He didn't know what to say.

"You used to tell me all about your plans to travel the world and be somebody. You were never content to just be the owner of Desele's shop. You had dreams and aspirations… This expedition could be just the adventure you need."

Vicente traced small circles on Marelle's back, "Do you want me to go?" He asked in her ear.

"Why don't you want you to go?" She pushed herself off his chest to look him in the eyes. "A few years ago this trip would have been all you ever talked about. What changed?"

Vicente struggled to find an answer, something to justify having disappointed her so deeply, but ultimately he couldn't find one. "I don't know."

He bowed his head, ashamed. Marelle put her hand to his cheek, her eyes brimming with tears, "And that, Vicente, is what breaks my heart."

She gave him a soft peck on his other cheek, hesitated for a moment with her head bowed, and then went to bed, leaving Vicente alone and feeling incredibly small.

He didn't sleep that night. He couldn't.

His wife's words had struck him hard and they stung all the more because they were true.

Instead, he sat slumped in his study with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped. Through the open window the sounds of a summer night trickled into the room, but the once playful songs of frogs and insects had turned melancholy. Even the fire's dancing flames had steadied to a low and rhythmic pulse.

And while he sat there, he thought about the past twelve years, trying to find where he had gone wrong; when he had lost his spirit.

Twelve years ago, Desele had grown too ill to run the shop- a chronic disease of the lungs. His hacking and wheezing made interactions with customers impossible. So, the shop fell in Vicente's hands and it couldn't have been in worse shape. Repairs that had been needed since before Vicente was even apprenticed to Desele were suddenly critical and the winter storms had only made them worse. It seemed every spare cent Vicente made went back into shop's walls and ceiling.

But, during that time he somehow managed to keep enough coin in his own pocket to court Marelle like a lady should be courted. Those casual spring time strolls through the city parks and shared dinners were some of the best days of his life, bested only by the day he married her.

For a short time things seemed to be as they should be. He had a store of his own, a wife, a home in the country side near Wayrest's city walls…

Then everything had gone wrong all at once.

The shop's repair costs reached an all time high- to the point that it was cheaper to have the store rebuilt than patched. And the economy made finding certain herbs and ingredients nearly impossible. Potion costs increased and sales plummeted.

But, the financial hardships were not crippling. Vicente made enough as a part time Mage's Guild instructor to keep Marelle's small farm- thus keeping her busy and happy.

The one thing that money could not give her, however, was a family of her own. Children. The mark of any successful marriage. Marelle wanted dozens of kids and Vicente was equally eager to be a father.

Children never came, though, and it wasn't for lack of trying. They had gone- discretely, of course- to mages specializing in fertility. They tried every potion and salve available to them. They tested old wives tales and urban legends for accuracy. Marelle even prayed to Divines such as Mara and Dibella for aide in her quest to become pregnant.

But after years of failing even to conceive, they had to face the truth. Whether it was him or her, they could not have children together.

Marelle was devastated and Vicente could do nothing to ease that pain.

So, he had thrown himself into trying to make everything else work. He rebuilt the shop bigger and better than before. He became a full member of the Mage's Guild and taught his trade to the incoming students that dreamed of being famous for their art. He even gave Marelle everything she needed to make her farm as lovely and productive as her parent's farm had been.

And after years of mastering schedules, budgets, and plans he finally turned the chaos into a smooth mechanism. And he had thought everything was as perfect as it could have been. He was able to settle into a comfortable routine.

And he did nothing to upset it.

For six years.

And that was what had happened to him.

After an entire night of painful contemplation and self-examination he could sum up his failures in one word.

Apathy.

"Vicente," Marelle said drowsily as she entered the kitchen the next morning, her eyes still gummed together with sleep and her hair tousled, "you never came to bed- what are you doing?"

She had just noticed the traveling pack sitting opened on the kitchen table while Vicente put various articles of clothing and several books inside it.

"I'm packing." Vicente said simply as he tried to shove yet another book on top of the wrinkled clothes in the pack.

"In the kitchen?" Marelle asked disbelievingly.

"You were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You're disturbing me now! Why are you packing?" She demanded noticing instantly, as women do, that the pack was pitifully organized and cramped.

Vicente paused, resting his hands on the edge of the table. "I'm going on the expedition."

Marelle stared at him blankly. "Why?"

"Because," Vicente said with a deep breath, "You were right- are right. I've changed, and not necessarily for the better."

Marelle pushed a few stray hairs from her cheek and tossed her head, a familiar determination filling her features. "Well, Dear Husband, you can't go anywhere with your pack looking like that."

Vicente smiled.