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“Do you want to be a werewolf for the remainder of your life?”
At the question, Zaynivva put down the book she was reading to lull her to sleep- a thick annual on sewing that talks about the latest pattern trends, topics of interest in the community and promising upcoming seamstresses in the field. Clothmaking was her primary job after she put her adventuring and blacksmithing days behind her. After retiring with her husband Filranell, they spent the remainder of her youth traveling across Tamriel; taking their time enjoying popular tourist locations now that war and dangerous politicking no longer ravaged the land. Now in her twilight years, life on the road transitioned to peaceful domesticity. Zaynivva’s increasingly achy body preferring the creature comforts of home and flat roads of the town to the rough terrain of traveling.
Their bedtime routine usually involves small talk. Most nights it’s simple chatter such as local gossip, what errands need to be run, and which one of them was supposed to host crafting workshop and what time it was. This wasn’t those nights, Filranell had wanted to bring up this topic for a long time but kept putting it to the wayside because ‘ah, well, there’s always next year’ and repeated that 40 times.
“Hm? Of course. This one has never regretted her gift. Did the excitement of beast taming finally wear off?” He heard her chuckle as his face bloomed a deep shade of rosy pink and turned his face away from her. Damn him for being so easy to rile up.
“N-no! This is serious.” He choked, facing her once again with a serious expression on his face. Today they were finally going to talk about Zaynivva’s lycanthropy, and he won’t be distracted by sexually charged quips and banter. At the shift in tone her body tensed, and ice blue eyes locked on to his with equal intensity. Zaynivva gets touchy when she feels someone is being critical of her relationship to lycanthropy. Filranell needed to choose his opening words carefully; he wanted this to be a discussion, not an argument.
He reached out to her and intertwined his hand with the one currently on the book. The gesture calmed her down somewhat, but he can hear the muffled thud of her nervous tail flicking beneath the sheets against their bed. “At your current state the opportunity to remove lycanthropy from yourself grows smaller and smaller by the day. If it hasn’t passed already.” He purposefully avoided saying ‘cure’ as that would imply it was a disease. Her hand clenched slightly, and the thumping grew louder. Zaynivva’s eyes narrowed just a bit and her ears were pulled back. Already her patience was running thin, but she didn’t interrupt. He continued “I know you like being a werewolf so of course you don’t care about that. What I want to ask is if you can turn me when the time comes.”
The silence that followed lasted an entire minute. Zaynivva pulled her hand out of his, mouth slightly agape and eyes widened to an expression he’s never seen on her before- complete shock. The silence was broken when she sunk deeper into their bed and sighed as she looked towards one of the mounted trophies that lined the walls of their small bedroom. He couldn’t see her face, but he can tell that a lot was going through her mind right now. Perhaps she never put much thought into where her soul would end up after she passed. Or maybe avoided thinking about it altogether. The Worm Cult claimed many victims to power Molag Bals' Dark Anchors. The spiritual affairs of those who escaped Coldharbor during that period was an absolute mess.
“Why?” She rasped after a couple of seconds.
There was a warble in her voice when she responded. Was she crying? It was hard to tell with her back facing towards him. He shuffled closer so he could wrap his arms around her broad fame. The muscles in her arm were still firm despite not working the forge full time for years. “Well, werewolves go to the Hunting Grounds after they die right?”
“Most” She said.
“Most of them join Hircine to an eternal life of the hunt.” Filranell mumbled as he planted soft kisses along the back of her neck. “When we married, I promised to be by your side wherever you go. Can’t join you with the Prince unless they suddenly decide to extend the invitation to werewolves and their spouses.”
Wet sniffles was his only response. Zaynivva pulled away from the warmth of his embrace so she can face him in full. Damp fur marked the path where her tears traveled down her face. She avoided his gaze;focused on his hands where the Ring of Mara was visible. “This one would despair if we rejoined in such a violent place. Besides, this one’s soul has been the plaything of many entities- Aedra and Daedra both. Where this one will end up is a mystery and that scares this one.”
The revelation hit Filranell at full force- because Zaynivva was a Vestige her spirit was compromised and multiple Princes have since 'claimed' it as theirs. With little agency over her afterlife, dying as a werewolf might tip the scales in Hircine's favor and gave her the highest probability of a specific outcome.
“No need to be scared Zay. There is nothing the two of us can’t solve when we put our heads together.” He kissed her brow and wiped away the fresh tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“If I recall, you have quite friends in inter-dimensional places. Many of them who owe you a favor or a dozen for selflessly cleaning up their messes.” With a slight flair, Filranell waved his arm across the entirety of the bedroom. The space was brimming with memorabilia from their years when the Three Banner War was in full swing- memorabilia, tapestries, gifts, artifacts- all reminders of the tales they lived to tell. “I’m positive at least one of them knows how to ensure you have a path to your preferred afterlife, and that’s before we acknowledge our fellow mortals.”
That seemed to cheer her up. “Ah, of course. I just thought-“ she trailed off seemingly lost in thought before continuing “Never mind that. Thank you Fil. The Divines continue to bless this one with your love every day.” She kissed him on the lips. Her facial fur tickling his face and her purrs vibrating through his entire body. Divines he doesn’t know what he will do with himself when she’s gone.
A few minutes later she fell asleep, but Filranell didn't join her just yet. He took in his wife's' rapidly greying features while the candlelight still burned. Alone with his thoughts, he recalled the accounts of Mer who dealt with the grief of losing their short-lived partners. Some managed to move on; finding another lover to live out the remainder of their years together. Others never remarried. Fewer still sunk into depression finding no support within the cultures of Man or Mer. "Which one will I be?" Filranell yawned. Sleep wouldn't take him until the candle melted through the remaining wax blanketing the room in comfortable darkness.