A/N: So this story was born out of a desire to do NaNoWriMo (this is my sixth year. whoo. i guess.) and procrastinating on midterms and other various deadlines. Because procrastination. right.

The idea behind this story was to retell the Dawnguard expansion storyline without the Dawnguard, only focused around Serana and the theme of family. Serana is the nicest person in Skyrim (TVTropes calls her one tenth of the writing budget .) and Harkon and Valerica are the shittiest parents in Skyrim. So I wanted to do a story that worked around that dynamic. The story will have the Dragonborn, but not the Dawnguard, and will cover the major points of the normal plot but with some additions, subtractions, sidequests, and with Serana as the protagonist marching back and forth across the holds. So obviously I have a lot of ideas running around my head so I'll shut up and get along with things.

Hopefully I can do "one tenth of the writing budget" her due credit.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Elder Scrolls. Nope. And I'm not making a profit off of fanwork. Otherwise I'd be happy in life. Sometimes I quote from the game. I didn't write those quotes.

At The Throat of the World - Prologue - Vahdin

Though Serana never felt the cold of Skyrim, she was acutely aware of the weather as she set her foot on the first step of the seven thousand that wound up the Throat of the World. Above her, dark grey skies were pregnant with storms. A blizzard might trap her beneath an avalanche of ice and snow or lead her off the path to a worse fate. The pilgrimage to High Hrothgar was not undertaken lightly. But whatever savage Skyrim had in store for her, Serana couldn't afford a delay.

The call had resounded from mountain peak to mountain peak, ringing in valleys and shaking the leaves of trees. "Serana," it had said, "Serana, Serana, Serana." She'd left Volkihar Keep as soon as she'd heard it, ignoring the questions and warnings of the others.

The journey to the mountain was swift. She traveled south-east, past Solitude, over Dragon's Bridge, across the plains, along paths that had changed since she'd last traversed them not at all, until she saw the Throat of the World on the horizon, and then until the peak loomed directly above. On the way the she stopped only a few times to rest and feed.

The call still echoed in her head.

She counted the steps to keep her mind occupied – seven, eight, nine – but – ten, eleven, twelve - the memories came nevertheless.

As a child, Serana cuts her finger playing in the training yard with the soldier's knives. She cries and runs to her father, tears streaming down her cheeks. When he sees her he sets down his sword and picks up his daughter. He cradles her to his chest and hushes her like a good father should.

She shows him her bloodied finger and he smiles kindly. "Don't fret, my child," he says. "I'll make it better." A soft golden glow envelops the wound. He bends his head and licks away the blood until she can see the cut is gone. "There."

Serana laughs in amazement and her father sets her down. "Be careful!" he shouts as she skips away.

From the balcony, Valerica frowns.

When Serana's mother leaves for the ritual, the child is scared witless. She clings to her mother's leg and begs, "Don't go, don't go, there are bad things there!"

Harkon pries the girl off and holds her, kicking and screaming and biting. "Shhh," he said, "Don't fret, don't fret. Your mother is a strong woman, she'll be fine. And when she comes back, she'll be stronger than ever, and happier as well. She'll be a hunter among sheep, a god among men."

Children can spot lies, but Harkon doesn't realize he's lying.

Valerica brushes a few stray hairs from her daughter's face. "I'll be back," she says. "Everything will be alright."

Later, Valerica does come back. She's not the same. Her eyes are funny, just like Serana's father's.

When Serana's turn comes, she's still scared witless. But now an adult's knowing fear has replaced the child unknowing horror, and it's worse. Much worse. She's grown up, and no one bothered keeping those sorts of secrets anymore.

Serana, anointed crimson in the blood of the still-dying, looks back and sees Harkon and Valerica.

"You'll survive," her mother says. She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. She's lying and she knows it.

"You'll be fine," her father says. "And when this is over, you'll feel amazing. You will never die." He smiles. He doesn't understand. At all. It is utterly amazing the extent to which he does not understand.

They're behind her, so she can't go back. So the only way is forward, into the fjords.

Serana doesn't remember what happened that night, though it haunts her nightmares for the rest of her existence. She dreams of agony, terror, broken fingernails on sharp rock, a throat too raw to scream, laughter, and whispers.

When she returns home, limping, broken, naked but for her own blood, no one is waiting. Harkon and Valerica have already gone to sleep in their beds. Though a day ago she might have been angered that they didn't wait, now she is only relieved.

Day by day she relearns herself while she pieces who she is back together. She's not sure all the pieces are there, and what pieces there are certainly do not fit. Harkon keeps his distance because she tells him to. Valerica need not be told. Every day is a little bit better – except for the days that are worse.

But years pass and then a century. She can't stay shattered forever.

After a while, time loses all meaning. Immortality is boring.

Serana often leaves the castle to travel around Skyrim, passing the time. She dances with the drauger, watches dragons wheel across the night sky, laughs at lords fighting for kingship, listens to bards begin ancient tales, eats whom she pleases and follows where her wants lead her. It's not a bad life.

Sometimes she goes home.

Harkon and Valerica too have found ways to amuse themselves. He spends his nights pouring over scrolls in his study and every morning at dawn he leaves his apartments to watch the sun rise over the sea. She rarely graces the castle proper with her presence, preferring instead to play with spells and potions in some hidden part of the estate.

It's not like Serana actually wanted to see them, she tells herself.

One night she enters the castle, home from a brief meal in Solitude, and finds them both standing in the great hall, arguing. She's so surprised to see them together that she almost doesn't even notice what they're arguing about. Almost. It's hard not to notice Harkon bragging about his genius and Valerica screaming that he'll kill them all.

Later, she hears from one of Harkon's minions exactly what he's planning. It's ridiculous. Impossible. A flight of Harkon's previously unknown overactive imagination. She says as much to both of them. It doesn't go well, so she leaves for a few years.

When she returns, it's become miserable. Each night at the banquet tables Harkon and Valerica argue. At first Serana doesn't listen. Their misguided lives are their own. She leaves for another few years. And then she returns and they're still fighting so she leaves and again and again and again, every time a little worse.

Eventually Serana stops leaving. She doesn't tell anyone, but she's scared one day she'll come back and someone will be dead. Or everyone. But as long as she's there, she can keep the peace. She's the only child, the beloved daughter. They won't shy away from the fight for her sake, but when she intervenes they both storm away from one another, Harkon to his study and Valerica to her garden. She doesn't follow them when they leave. It's pointless.

For a time, the situation remains static.

Then one night Serana steps in front of her father just as he's about to lash out, just like always, but this time he's too angry and he doesn't stop himself. Instead of striking his wife, he sends his daughter flying across the room. Serana crashes into one of the tables, sending cutlery flying with a deafening crash which is followed by dead silence. No one speaks and no one moves. When Harkon realizes what he's done, he apologizes on bended knee, begging forgiveness. Serana gives it to him because there's nothing else to be done. And maybe this time he'll change. But she's terrified he won't.

He's not normally good at sensing moods, but this time he realizes she's still upset. He tries to hug her, but she flinches from his embrace and slips away. As she heads to her room, she silently curses her preternatural hearing because she has to listen to every word they say behind her. Everyone else in the castle can hear too.

"You know she hates being touched," says Valerica.

"You say that like it's my fault."

"It's not?"

"I didn't know!"

"How could you not know?"

"I knew what would happen, I didn't know what it would do to her."

"How could you not know? Your own daughter."

"You're her mother. You knew and you didn't say anything."

"It wouldn't have changed anything. I can never go against you."

"Isn't that what you're doing now?"

"Of course! You're going to kills us all!"

"I'm doing this for her, so she'll-"

"You're ending our world for her? You-

Serana closes her door, cutting off their voices. She lies down on her bed and cries herself to sleep.

That morning, Serana wakes to Valerica shaking her. "Come with me," Valerica says. "I have a plan. Everything will go back to how it was before." Valerica grabs Serana's wrist and pulls her daughter along to the waiting boat.

The last thing Serana remembers before the stones slide shut around her is her mother's face. "This is only temporary. When this is over, things will be good again," Valerica lies. "I'll come get you when it's safe. Until then, just sleep. And when you wake…"

Serana smiles for her mother and closes her eyes. She smells briar heart and canis root and she's tired. Sleep will be good.

She was only a hundred steps up and already the wind was trying to knock her off her feet. She glanced up at the sky. There were still dark storm clouds blotting out the sun and the blizzard hadn't yet descended. Small blessings. It would be a long climb.

A/N: So yeah. Tell me what you think?