A/N: If any of you have seen the Senile Scribbles on YouTube, you'll understand why I call shenanigans on adult armoured trolls. If you haven't seen it, go do that now. I'll wait.
Warning for this chapter: little bit of gore, but not horribly graphic.
About three days later, Serana and Destra arrive at Fort Dawnguard. Destra admires the newest fortifications to the path leading to the grand building. She knows they will likely be needed if Harkon learns they have all three scrolls before they can locate the bow. He must know they have the Moth Priest at the fort by now. Images of her comrades' bloodless bodies flash across her eyes. She shakes the thought. The Dawnguard is formidable. They will not fall.
Durak greets them in the rotunda. He tells Destra that Isran is "drafting new designs" for the fort, their code for "Isran is sleeping." Destra debates waking him, but she decides to let Dexion know they've arrived first so that he can prepare for the reading. She asks Durak where he is, and he points to the cavern where Gunmar's "special project" is housed. She thanks him and tells him they'll have a drink later. She and Serana head to the cavern. From the hall, they hear a rather pathetic growl. Inside, Destra sees Gunmar crouching over a small creature. He attempts to fit a metal plate, almost like a cuirass, to its chest. It continues to growl at him until finally it bites his hand.
"Agh! You little bastard," Gunmar shouts. He stands, and the women can see the creature clearly.
"Oh, Gunmar, you didn't…" Destra says. He turns to her.
"Destra! Meet the newest member of the Dawnguard," he smiles.
"Is that… is that a baby troll?" Serana says, plainly perturbed. Destra exhales slowly and pinches the skin between her eyes.
"Don't ask me how, but I managed to capture this fellow. He needs a bit of training, but as you can see," Gunmar holds up his bleeding hand, "he's a fiery one."
"I don't - I can't deal with this right now," Destra says and leaves a confused Gunmar to search for Dexion. She finds him seated on a bench a few yards away and is surprised by the blindfold adorning his head.
"Dexion? What happened?" she asks.
"Ah, Destra. It's good to see - well, hear you. Gunmar's little devil there got me in the eyes," he says. Destra does not answer. "No?" he chuckles to himself. "Ah, well, one must amuse one's self. It seems in my excitement to read the Elder Scroll, I did not adequately prepare. My vision is gone."
"Is it permanent?" Serana says.
"Hello, Lady Serana," Dexion says in the vampire's general direction. "Unfortunately, there is no way to know but through time."
"So you won't be able to read the other scrolls for us. What do we do now?" Destra says more to Serana than to Dexion. The Moth Priest answers anyway.
"Well, there might be a way for you to read it yourself," he says. "Do you know why we are called 'Moth Priests?' The first of our order performed the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth in the Ancestor Glades, secluded caves scattered across Tamriel. The Ancestor Moths, the very voice of the Elder Scrolls, congregate there. If you can harness their augur, you may be able to use it as a conduit to read the scrolls without suffering any severe, or at least permanent, side effects." He explains how the ritual is performed.
"And these Ancestor Glades, there's one here in Skyrim?" Destra asks.
"Oh yes, in the pine forest in southern Skyrim. To the east of Falkreath, I believe. The entrance will appear as no more than a crag in the mountains that border Cyrodiil. The scrolls will guide you."
Destra and Serana thank Dexion and take their leave. Destra once more debates waking Isran and decides against it. She wants to leave for the glade as soon as possible. They leave a message with Durak for the Redguard. Destra thinks they can make it to the forest in two days if they leave now. As they turn to go, Destra notices a figure crouched nearby, facing away. Although it bears the armour of the Dawnguard, she is certain she has never seen this person before. The elven woman approaches.
"You there. What's your name?" she says. Serana and Durak flank her.
"Alvia," the figure returns without standing or turning.
"I don't know you, girl. Face me," Durak says as he steps closer. 'Alvia' turns suddenly, and Destra barely registers red eyes before the figure plunges a dagger into Durak's gut. She hisses, her fangs flashing dangerously. Serana reacts quicker than Destra. In a second, she has the other vampire by the throat, back against the wall. She is no match for Serana's superior strength. Destra catches Durak as he stumbles back.
"Where's the rest of your party?" Serana shouts. The other vampire chokes out another hiss. Serana slams her head into the wall. "My father would not send one pathetic little fledgling. Tell me!"
"Already gone," the fledgling manages. Serana searches her eyes before deciding she's telling the truth. She draws her own dagger and drives it into the woman's heart. She shrieks before disintegrating into dust.
Destra holds Durak in her lap. Blood trickles from the corners of his mouth, and he gasps for air. Destra tries to calm him. She knows that if she removes the dagger now, he will bleed out in moments. She tells Serana to get Sorine. Several other members arrive after the commotion, and soon Serana returns with the Breton. Sorine has her alchemy supplies, and she and Serana begin mixing potions and poultices. When they are ready, Sorine nods to Destra. As carefully as possible, she removes the dagger.
Durak screams as blood gushes from the exposed wound. Serana takes the dagger while Destra applies pressure and Sorine dresses the wound with a poultice. The bleeding stops some, but not as much as it should. Serana studies the blade.
"Poison," she laments.
"I - I don't have the right ingredients for the antidote," Sorine panicks.
Durak's skin is cold in Destra's arms. He mumbles something, but she can't quite understand him. His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing stops. Destra calls his name, slaps his face. She knows this will not change anything, but she can think of nothing else to do. Gunmar and Celann kneel beside her, Isran in tow. Isran curses, and a tear falls down Destra's cheek.
Destra is fifty-six years old. She knows she won't live forever. She is reminded of this as she and the rest of the Dawnguard bury a trusted friend and comrade.
A/N: RIP Durak :_(