A/N: So this chapter is mostly just an arf ton of dialogue. I use Dexion's in-game dialogue for the most part because I refuse to use brain power on him, so sorry about that. The Destra/Serana dialogue could have been done more expositionally, but I wanted to establish more of their direct communication. Anyway, bear with me here.
The group arrives at Fort Dawnguard late afternoon the next day. Isran is there to receive them, and Dexion begins his preparations to read the Elder Scroll. In the meantime, Destra goes to get more bolts from Gunmar while Serana browses the Fort's library. Gunmar and Sorine are happy to see their elven comrade, and they ask her if the vampire has been behaving "itself." Destra answers their questions and pretends not to be annoyed by their phrasing. Unsurprisingly, the conversation ends with both of them asking her to retrieve various components for the projects they're working on.
After an hour, Dexion is ready, and Destra, Serana, and Isran rejoin him in the rotunda. Dexion explains the process, and again Destra can't help but feel as though something horrible is going to happen, because something always does. She once read an Elder Scroll herself after all, twenty years ago on the Throat of the World. She suffered no permanent physical consequences, but those were extraordinary circumstances. She isn't certain that she's ever overcome the psychological ramifications. But she knows this must be done, and the priest is willing and better prepared than anyone else.
Dexion opens the scroll, and his entire being is engulfed in a mystic light. His eyes glaze over as he begins muttering in an incoherent, ancient tongue. Eventually he speaks clearly.
"I see a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel's Bow! Now a voice whispers, saying, 'Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise.' In an age of strife, darkness will mingle with light, and the night and day will be as one," Dexion says in his trance. Destra and Serana exchange glances.
"The voice fades, and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here. The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls. Yes, I see them now… One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other scrolls," Dexion finishes.
He carefully re-rolls the scroll before stumbling forward. Isran catches his arm.
"Come on, old man. You should get some rest," he says with uncharacteristic concern. Isran leads Dexion to the barracks, leaving the two women alone. Destra sits on one of the nearby benches and pats the spot beside her. Serana takes it.
"Why is it always a damn Elder Scroll?" the elven woman mutters to herself more than Serana. "Can we just hide the one we have and hope Harkon doesn't find the others?" Destra tiredly attempts a smirk.
"I wish, but my father won't stop until he sees this prophecy through. He's been obsessed with it for… hundreds and hundreds of years. It tore our family apart," Serana says quietly. Destra's smile dissipates.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you met him," Serana huffs. "He isn't exactly a good person, even by vampire standards. He was never the warmest father, but when he learned of the prophecy, he just completely lost himself in it. It drove my mother away. It drove me away."
They are both silent for a few moments.
"You know, you've only mentioned your mother once. That day in the cave, you said you thought she might be the one to retrieve you," Destra carefully poses. Serana grits her teeth before she turns to the elf.
"My mother, Valerica… she's the one who locked me in there." Serana sighs. "My father knew he needed the Elder Scrolls to learn the secrets of the prophecy. He found one. My mother stole it - and me, as my father would say - and sealed me away with it so he couldn't use it. I guess she thought I could protect it. It's… not something I want to talk about more. For now, anyway."
"That's - shit, and I thought I was a bad mother," Destra mutters.
"Yeah. Wait, what?"
—
They sit atop Fort Dawnguard, a bottle of spiced wine between them. The moon is high, and a few snowflakes shimmer in its grace as they fall around the two women. Destra is silent for a time as she overlooks the valley, eyes unfocused and dark. Serana does not press her, only sips from her goblet and occasionally catches a flake before it lands in Destra's mostly untouched one. Finally, Destra turns to her.
"Aela and I adopted a child together, a daughter. We had been married a few years, and Alduin was already dead. I had more than settled in as Harbinger of the Companions. We wanted something more," she says. "One afternoon, a young girl wandered into town. Her clothes were tattered and filthy, and she looked like she hadn't eaten in days. She sat under the Gildergreen - the great tree in the centre of Whiterun - and begged for food all afternoon."
A small frown forms on Serana's lips, and Destra finally takes a sip from her goblet.
"Aela and I saw her there, only a few yards from Jorrvaskr. Aela sat next to her on the bench. I had never seen her so gentle, as though the wrong move would make the child shatter. She asked her why she was begging. The girl said that that's what Brenuin, a local beggar, said she should do. Her parents were gone, and her aunt and uncle sent her away from the family farm. She was all alone. We gave her what coin we had with us and paid for her to stay in the inn. Over the next few weeks, we spent time with her, made sure she had all she needed, and eventually, we took her in as our own. Our little Lucia. I had never been so happy."
A small tear falls down Destra's cheek and meets the smile at the corner of her lips. Serana smiles back.
"Huh. Never would have guessed," the vampire says. Destra's smile fades.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Just as well. I haven't seen or spoken to my daughter in three years," Destra says.
"Why? I imagine she adores you." Destra laughs, but there is no humour.
"She did once, I think. But I don't think she'll ever forgive me," Destra says. After a moment, Serana takes her hand.
"You don't have to talk about it, but it might make you feel better," she offers. Destra sighs. She looks out across the blue-white field below them. The snow is falling faster now. Little banks form on the ridged battlements of the fort.
"Aela was dying. She had been ill for months, and Lucia and I stayed by her side through it all. I was a wreck. I had no idea what I would do without her. Thirty years we'd been together, through dragons and wars, through loss and joy, and it was all going to end over some illness I had no ability to fight. For all my power, I was useless." Destra takes a deep drink from her goblet. The snow is cascading now. She would shiver if she were anything less than she is.
"She passed in her sleep. I never got to say a proper goodbye. But I probably wouldn't have known what to say anyway. We burned her on the Skyforge, an honour usually reserved for the Harbingers. No one had anything to say against it. When it was over, I withdrew to my quarters and did not leave for weeks. Lucia would leave meals outside my door, but I would barely touch them. Finally, she forced her way in after I had not eaten for several days straight.
"I was a drunken mess. My daughter, the one person who I should have been caring for, had to wash and clothe her mother. She forced me to eat and sober, and she led me on a walk outside the city walls. She told me she missed her mother too, more than she could ever say, but that I had to stop wallowing in my self-pity. She was right, of course, but I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to feel badly for myself. In my frustration, I… shouted at her," Destra finishes.
"You were bereft. I'm sure you didn't mean to yell at her."
"No, Serana. I mean I shouted at her."
"…oh."
"Several bones were broken. I took her to the priestess for healing. I stayed with her, day and night, but she remained unconscious. Danica told me she would awaken eventually. A week went by, and finally my Lucia woke. Before I could apologise, she told me that she loved me, but she never wanted to see me again. And so, after losing my wife, I lost my daughter too."
Serana has no words, and Destra does not need any. What Serana does have is a shoulder, and Destra does need one. The snow covers them both now.
Destra is fifty-six years old. She knows she won't live forever. She still has time to make amends for past mistakes.