A/N: A lot of the dialogue in this chapter is for the benefit of the characters more so than the reader, so sorry if it's a tad dull.
Also, Destra never joined the College, so the events of the College quest line never took place. I think it's stupid you have to join just to access the Arcanaeum in the main quest, so in this fic, Destra is just on very good terms with the wizards and comes and goes as she pleases. Also, Faralda and Nirya are gay for each other. Fight me.
They say their goodbyes to Erik and leave the next morning. Destra wants to make it at least halfway to Windhelm before the day is over, and she hopes Serana will be more comfortable riding today. They take off at a decent pace, and Destra smiles at Serana. The vampire pretends that her legs and rear don't ache with every jostle of the saddle. As the outskirts of Whiterun come into view, Destra grows quiet. Serana knows what, and who, she is thinking about. She asks Destra if she's alright, and to her credit, the elf gives her a rather convincing "of course." Still, Serana asks what's on her mind.
"You see that tower over there?" Destra says and points to the right. A partially crumbling tower sits, old scorches marring its ancient stones. "That's where I fought my first dragon. Shit, I guess twenty-five years ago now? Learned how to use my first Word of Power." Serana lets Destra lie to her.
"Word of Power?" the vampire asks.
"That's what the Greybeards call the words in the Dragon tongue that make shouts. Well, technically all Dragon words can be shouted, but the ones that produce the most obvious elemental, temporal, and cosmic effects are the Words of Power."
"So in the Soul Cairn, all of those things you shouted at Durnehviir were these Words of Power you've learned?" Destra nods. "That's incredible! How did you learn so many?"
"The Greybeards taught me several. The rest I read off of ancient walls in ruins across Skyrim," Destra says. "But in order for them to produce their effects, one must have a deep personal knowledge of the word. Accept it into their being and allow it to change them as it changes the world around. That's how Arngeir explained it anyway."
"How do you, y'know, do that, exactly?" Serana says after a few moments.
"For most people, it requires years of meditation and exposure to the essence of the word. For example, standing in gale-force winds for hours to learn what speed and force truly are. Then one might be able to eventually use the 'Whirlwind Sprint' shout. I can learn that way too, but as a dragonborn, it was far easier to learn by absorbing the soul of a dragon and focusing its sum knowledge on a single word."
"How does it feel? To use a shout, I mean," Serana says with no small amount of awe. A smile forms on Destra's face.
"Like you're a dragon. Endlessly mighty. Like the world is bound to your word, and only another dragon whose will is stronger than your own can stop you. It's intoxicating. I had forgotten what it felt like." Destra mutters the last. Serana marvels at her.
"Neat trick. You'll have to teach me sometime." Destra laughs.
"Count on it."
Their journey is remarkably smooth. Destra keeps an eye out for bandits, particularly around the old haunts she's cleared so many times before. The worst they encounter are a few Frostbite Spiders, although Serana would have preferred the bandits. The sun begins to set, and the vampire pulls down her hood. She sighs as a gust of wind blows through her hair. Destra can't help but smile at the vampire's satisfaction over such a simple pleasure. Then she frowns.
"Serana?"
"Hm?"
"Why did you become a vampire?" Serana shifts in her saddle.
"It was expected of me. I didn't have much of an option," she says after a moment.
"By your parents?" Serana nods. "Back in the Soul Cairn, Valerica said you were a 'Daughter of Coldharbour.' What does that mean?"
"Do you know where vampirism first came from?" Serana asks. Destra shakes her head. "The daedric prince Molag Bal. The first to be turned was a woman. She was… not a willing subject, but she was still the first. She arose a pure-blooded vampire, a Daughter of Coldharbour."
"Does that mean-"
"Yes. My mother and I participated in the… ritual, we'll call it. It was degrading. No. No, it was truly horrifying. I don't really want to talk about it," Serana mutters. "We too arose as Daughters of Coldharbour. My mother turned my father. He isn't technically pure-blooded, but he still considers himself to be."
"Serana…"
"Anyway, things went downhill from there. Giving yourselves over to a daedric lord isn't exactly wholesome family activity. My father discovered the prophecy later, and, well, you know the rest."
Destra rears her horse and dismounts. Confused, Serana does the same. In an instant, Destra has Serana in the fiercest embrace she's ever received. Serana doesn't react for a moment. Then she returns it with more fervour than she ever thought possible. They stay like this well past sunset.
—
A day and a half later, the pair arrives at Winterhold. The wind is fierce as it carries them across the frozen plains outside of the city proper, but they still take a moment to admire the sunlight that reflects off of the blanket of white. Serana is happy to leave her horse behind at the stables. As the two approach the bridge to the College of Winterhold, an Altmer woman appears.
"Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way is-"
"Gods, Faralda. Have you not come up with a better speech in twenty years?" Destra interrupts as she lowers her hood.
"Well, well, look what the dragon shat out," Faralda grins. "What can the College do for you and your lovely companion?" Faralda looks Serana up and down. The vampire pretends not to notice.
"Just here to see Urag, my dear," Destra purrs. Serana isn't certain why, but she finds her jaw clenching.
"Tsk, tsk. Never for me? I'm wounded," the Altmer says as she cocks her hips to one side. Destra gives a coquettish chuckle.
"Ahem," Serana interjects. "Destra? The scroll?"
"Right. Sorry, Fara. Business and all that," the werewolf winks.
"Naturally. Perhaps pleasure next time," she returns.
Destra follows Faralda, who exaggerates the sway of her hips, up the bridge. Serana grumbles to herself before trailing after them. The bridge is narrow and remarkably run-down. Serana can't help but wonder why no one has fixed it. She feels as though she'll slip on the ice and plummet to the sea below, which she admits might be a nice change from the sight before her. Ahead, Faralda says something Destra must find amusing, because the Bosmer laughs and touches her arm. But Serana isn't jealous.
The group passes the gates, and Serana admires the architecture of the grounds. Several large towers connect through stone hallways, and at the center of the courtyard is a well with a column of light not unlike the ones in the Soul Cairn. They head toward what Serana assumes is the main vestibule. A few students pass by, boasting to each other about the newest spell they've cast. Serana shakes her head. She remembers being young and obnoxious.
"Well, you know where to go," Faralda says after they enter the hall.
"Off to find Nirya?" Destra smirks. Faralda hums.
"We always have room for another… or two," she winks to Serana. Serana stifles the gag. Faralda waves goodbye and saunters out of the hall. Destra watches until she is gone. When she turns back, Serana's face is equal parts query and nausea.
"Never," is all Destra says before opening the door to the Arcanaeum for Serana.
The library is massive. Thousands of manuscripts line several rows of cases that touch the ceiling. Brooms sweep the corners by themselves while a few books find their places on the shelves. At the back of the room, a grouchy looking orc slumps over a tome. As Destra approaches, the orc holds up a hand. A few seconds later, he places a finger on the page.
"Destra," he says without looking up. "What do you want?"
"Hello to you too, Urag," she says. Urag grunts in return. "I need the scroll." His head bolts up.
"What in Oblivion do you need with it? Isn't that dragon dead still?" he gripes.
"He is, but that's not what this is about. I don't have time to explain. I promise I'll bring it back when I'm done. I'll even bring you a present or two."
The orc growls before muttering his assent. He turns and begins whispering and incantation. The wall in front of him turns ethereal, and after he passes through, it re-solidifies. A few moments later, he passes back through with the scroll. Destra thanks him, and the women head back to the courtyard. With all three scrolls, they decide to leave for Fort Dawnguard at daybreak. Faralda shows them to a room in the Hall of Attainment. As they settle in for the night, Destra notices Serana nestles far closer to her than necessary in their shared bed. "It's cold," is the only reason she gives. Destra falls asleep with a smile on her face.
Destra is fifty-six years old. She knows she won't live forever. She can admit privately that it's nice to be held by another person again.
A/N: By the way, let's just assume Elder Scrolls can be hidden under cloaks. Yeah, that explains that.