Isran wants Gunmar and Sorine. Gunmar and Sorine are far away. Destra, of course, is the only person in all of Fort Dawnguard who can find them. She can't help but laugh at herself a bit. After all of her experience and honours, she is still expected to perform simple "fetch" quests, as Aela once put them. Still, despite such a task being well below her skill level, she agrees to retrieve them. Perhaps it simply appeases the canine in her.
She's always enjoyed the vitality and solitude that travel provides. The winds of Skyrim are filled with the spirits of heroes, Aela used to tell her. From Ysgramor to Talos, all of their strength and will gives breath to the land. Aela would tell her that one day, her spirit, the spirit of the mighty Dragonborn, would flow through the land too. Destra never did much believe in such things, but as she walks through the woods around Riften, she thinks she understands.
It takes her a week and a half to find Gunmar and Sorine, but she decides it is worth the effort. They each make the fortress stronger with their unique skill sets, and Destra finds them amusing in their own peculiar ways. After a few days, she's already forgotten what the castle was like without them. She's sharing a drink with Durak, Gunmar, and Celann, another new recruit, when Isran bellows her name. When she was younger, such a howl from a superior would have shaken her to her core. Now she is old, and anything would be hard-pressed to scare her. Annoyed, she goes to find him.
She's genuinely surprised to find Serana standing next to Isran in the "interrogation room." The vampire appears unharmed, but Destra still feels uneasy seeing her once companion standing next to rows of torture instruments and a rack. Isran demands to know who Serana is and why a vampire came to Fort Dawnguard looking for her specifically. Reluctantly, Destra explains the full events of Dimhollow and Castle Volkihar. This only serves to further agitate him. He asks her what in Oblivion she was thinking, letting the creatures keep an Elder Scroll. Just because she is the Dragonborn doesn't mean she can ignore his judgement.
Destra's eyes narrow at that. Isran smirks and tells her that yes, he knows who she is. While she's never tried to hide her dragon blood, she's never been very open about it either. She assumed nobody would recognize her. It's been years since Alduin and the dragon threat. Why should anyone remember her? Sometimes she wishes she didn't remember. She asks Isran who else in the castle knows. He tells her that it's just him for now, but that could easily change. Destra pretends that wouldn't bother her, but she knows Isran is smarter than that. Their eyes meet in a gridlock of will.
Serana interjects at last. She explains that she came because her father is trying to fulfil an ancient prophecy that claims vampires will no longer need to fear the sun. The Elder Scroll she possesses details part of the prophecy. It's why she was buried with it. But there are more scrolls, and Harkon will try to find them. She needs the Dawnguard's help to stop him. She needs Destra's help to stop him. Isran does not like her proposition, but faced with no alternative, he relents. The trio begins to strategise.
—
A Moth Priest. They need to find a Moth Priest. It's the only way they're going to be able to read the scroll Serana has, and it's their best chance for finding the others. Destra's heard tell of one visiting Skyrim, but she has no idea where. She decides to do what she always does when she needs information - head to the local tavern. Serana insists that she accompany her. It's her father they're up against after all. She wants to help stop him. Destra can think of no reason to deny her request. She is past the thought of enthrallment.
As they leave Fort Dawnguard for Riften, Destra can't believe she has a travelling companion once again. Aela was the only person she ever took with her on her journeys. She admits that she finds comfort in the occasional small talk she shares with Serana.
Keerava and Talen-Jei's son, now the proud owner and proprietor of the Bee and the Barb, greets Destra warmly when the pair walks through the door. The young Argonian's parents had returned to Black Marsh for their twilight years and left the tavern in his possession. Destra embraces him, and the two catch up while Serana stands rather awkwardly in the corner. When she is ready to get to the point of their visit, Destra asks him if he's heard anything about a Moth Priest from his patrons. After a moment of thought, he shares what he recalls.
Destra is glad sometimes that she's collected so many friends and favours over the years. It's certainly come in handy more than once. Aela always told her she was far too charitable, but she always knew it to be a worthwhile endeavour.
Serana asks Destra about her relationship with the Argonian on their way to Dragon Bridge. She explains that when she was much younger, around twenty-seven or so, she helped the young man's father obtain the gems he needed for the ring he planned to give the young man's mother. She became good friends with the couple and was as an aunt to their son. Serana smiles to herself when Destra falls silent. She hadn't expected this from the elven woman.
Meanwhile, Destra frowns. She regrets that her relationship with her own daughter is non-existent these days.
—
Dragon Bridge has seen better days, Destra is certain, although none she can recall. The shabby little hamlet has never been much more than a place to grab a bed and a mug of ale when the sun sets, but now that the bridge for which the village was named is crumbling in earnest, few travellers even realise where they are. Destra remembers the first time she ever saw the great stone dragon. It was shortly after fleeing Helgen and joining the Companions, when Aela sent her to slay a bear that had decided to move into one of the villagers' homes.
Those were simpler times. Happier times. Now Destra is travelling with a vampire to find a Moth Priest to read an Elder Scroll to stop a vampire lord who is also her companion's father from fulfilling an ancient prophecy to extinguish the sun. And Aela is gone. Life is complicated. Life is incomplete. Still, Destra is glad that she is alive, and she is glad for Serana's company. There are far worse options.
They arrive in Dragon Bridge just as the sun is beginning to set. They both sigh in relief as the last licks of light dip below the mountains, and they pause on the bridge to admire the soft glow of the torchbugs over the river. Serana lowers her hood, and Destra takes the rare opportunity to study the other woman's features. Serana's skin is pale, even for a creature of the night. Destra wonders if she was always so fair. Her cheekbones rest nobly high, just below her corrupted-amber eyes. Destra wonders what colour they would be if her heart still beat. Her lips are full and a deep shade of red, a stark contrast to the pearl-white fangs that peek out ever so slightly when she grins. Destra wonders if she could even tell if those lips were kissed with blood.
Destra takes the opportunity to study Serana's features, but what she doesn't know is that Serana takes the same liberty. The other woman's skin is darker than her own, a sun-kissed olive that wrinkles slightly around her mouth, on her forehead, and under her eyes. Serana wonders if it is from years of laughter or from years of sorrow. Above those wrinkles, her eyes glow much the same colour as her own, but with more honey than crimson. Serana wonders what colour they are when she is taken by the transformations. Her lips are thinner than Serana imagines they were in her youth, and they appear ever downturned. Serana wonders if anyone has ever seen those lips smile without restraint. She hopes to one day have that honour.
—
Nobody is able, or willing, to tell them anything about the Moth Priest. Even the normally loose-lipped patrons of Four Shields will not budge, in spite of the many flagons Destra purchases. Destra is frustrated. Destra is tired. Serana watches from her corner seat as the elven woman huffs at a Breton. The man simply shrugs, and Destra turns with surprising agility for a woman her age. Her cloak whips through the air and catches his mug, sending it crashing to the ground. The Breton baulks and shoots to his feet. Serana is on hers just as quickly.
"Knife-eared bitch," the Breton shouts as he grabs Destra's arm. She turns only slightly.
"Remove your hand unless you desire to learn just how accurate your particular choice of words is," Destra growls back.
"Feh! I'll teach you to strut into our town and poke your nose where it doesn't belong," he says before raising his other fist. The blow never connects. The Breton snaps toward the owner of the hand that grasps his wrist.
"Come now, you're not really going to strike an old woman, are you?" Serana purrs. Destra rolls her eyes, and Serana can't help the smirk that threatens the corner of her lips. "Surely you can let this little misunderstanding go?" The Breton is about to retort when he looks into Serana's eyes.
"I suppose it would be… in poor taste to harm a woman of such age. Particularly when there is a lady far more deserving of my attentions," the man says. Serana giggles, a soft, syrupy sound that makes Destra's ears twitch. The Breton releases his grip on her arm, and Serana takes his now free hand. He leads her first toward the hearth, but when she whispers in his ear, he grins and leads her toward a room on the side of the inn.
And Destra isn't certain why, but the sight of the two going off together makes her teeth grit. It shouldn't, she knows, but she feels protective of her companion.
Later, Serana slips into the room Destra rented for the evening. Destra is awake anyway, but she pretends that Serana's entry rouses her.
"You took your sweet time," she mutters.
"Longer than I would have thought. I got what I needed from him though," Serana says.
"Do I want to know what that means?"
"Dazzling conversation and a meal, of course," she lilts. "I know where the priest is. We should leave as soon as possible. He's out cold, but I don't know for how long."
Destra grins in spite of herself. Devious woman, she thinks.
"Let's go. Not sure I can sleep with those fangs so close by."
And the laugh Serana gives makes Destra's stomach tighten.
Destra is fifty-six years old. She knows she won't live forever. She is not too old to recognise a pretty face.