Chapter Text
Soldiers are the same in any world. The bad ones. The good ones. The apathetic ones who might as well be the bad ones.
Luckily, Dominic has seen less bad ones and mostly good ones here in this world, which gives it one leg up on his homeworld. Corruption ran rampant back there, and he had a front row seat to it.
His front row seat has moved theaters, though. There’s a different play on, and the noticeable differences have actually been an overall nice experience.
Not counting the falmer den, and the wolves.
And Lovellogast.
The point is, though, that Dominic had gone into the group of imperial soldiers gathered around the campfire with certain expectations born of his experience with soldiers back home, and he has to say he’s been pleasantly surprised.
There is a distinct lack of uppity assholes!
That’s not to say there aren’t a good number of grumps, typically with bushy beards — every group has them. And beards.
Dominic absently rubs a hand over his chin.
Really, he feels a little naked, clean shaven while surrounded by all these thick and luscious beards.
Look, that man has a grand collection of gorgeous braids in his! How very on-theme of him.
Viking-Chad slaps a card down on the ‘board’ — a cheese cloth that’s been spread flat on the ground — and runs a hand underneath his beautiful braids.
“Queen!” He crows. “That’s a skip!”
The soldier sitting to his left groans, half the deck held precariously between his hands.
“Gerard, how many more of those you have? I’m gonna lose if I don’t get rid of any these lil’ bastards!”
“I think you just got a bad bout of it today, Phineas.” Vinny, who sits next to Dominic, chuckles as she shuffles through her own hand. “Ger, what’s the house?”
“Oh, lessee…. Spades.”
“Ah, damn.” Vinny’s shoulders slump. She reaches for the draw pile. “You think because I’m sittin’ next to him Phineas’ luck is rubbin’ off on me?”
“Oh, fuck you—!”
“My turn!” Dominic chimes in, bright grin affixed.
The soldiers eye him carefully. They have learned not to trust him when it comes to the game. They had started strong with ten men, and these three are the last standing.
The chatter of their fallen compatriots grows quiet, and the defeated soldiers draw in tighter to encircle the group, peering down to see what might happen next.
It’s not necessarily your regular game of uno. For starters, Uno cards don’t exist in Skyrim — but regular card decks do. The game plays easily enough with the trick cards assigned to the face cards.
Dominic did have to create a rule, though. Quite a number of soldiers were interested in playing, but they only have one deck, so there aren’t a lot of cards to go around. Dominic amended that if someone is to acquire more than twenty five cards in their hand, they’ve lost the game and are thus out of the round.
It did make it go a bit faster than your typical Uno game, so Dominic abolished that rule once the players got down to four, and the game reached the home stretch.
This is also, coincidentally, when the most bets begin to be set.
Dominic has decided he’ll forget to tell Tullius about that part, if the general is to ever ask.
“I was just thinking, Gerard,” Dominic begins thoughtfully, playing idly with the card positioned on the top of his stack. “You’re being awfully mean to poor Phineas there…”
“Oh, Divines,” Gerard with the Braids scoffs. “He deserves it, you know!”
“Fuck off.” Phineas grumbles mutinously, struggling to hold the many cards he’d been cursed with.
Dominic chuckles.
He likes to play this game with his hand in a stack, his chosen strategy organized so that his next play sits at the bottom, covered by the rest of the cards. This makes it not only easier to hold, unlike poor Phineas’ problem, and it keeps the curious soldiers that have already been defeated from peeping and whispering around.
Sliding the bottom card out from his stack, Dominic flips it over and places it on top of the pile.
“Ace!” Someone from the crowd hoots, and Gerard groans amidst the jeers it garners. “Pack ‘em in, Gerard!”
“Draw four, wild.” Dominic grins. “Let’s go with house of clubs.”
“Dammit, dammit…” Gerard grabs sullenly from the draw pile.
“Taste yer own medicine, eh?” Phineas huffs. “Sour, innit?”
Beside him, Vinny stares down at Dominic’s hand with narrow eyes.
Dominic grins.
“Also!” He says, grin crawling into a smirk and everyone turns toward him once again.
He holds up his last card. “Uno.”
“Godsdammit.”
“Aw, fuck, we’re never gonna win at this rate…”
“What’s this, the fourth game? It’s rigged, it’s gotta be.”
“Ay, get off. You're just bitter because you were the first to go in game one and game two.”
“Shut up —!”
Dominic laughs.
They go around again, and Vinny catches him with a queen of hearts, causing Dominic’s near victory to grow to a hand of three. That gets her a lot of slaps on the back and a promise of mead later from someone Dominic had beaten out of the round early with a little bit too much enthusiasm. Whoops.
It’s a few more rounds before the game ends, Dominic conceding victory to Vinny while Gerard and Phineas bemoan their crushing defeat. The soldiers are all tearing to go another round, but Dominic begs off this one — it’s been a long fucking day, and he’s exhausted.
He’d probably be less tired if it weren’t for Lovellogast, really — less sore, no doubt. Dominic did a lot more walking than he was anticipating today and now he is paying for it.
Dominic leaves the soldiers to their fun, waving away a few offers of mead and one offer of someone’s tent — and he’s not entirely sure it was innocent. They weren’t bad-looking, either. If only he weren’t so tired…
He’s halfway back to the general’s tent to let Tullius know that Dominic was headed back inside the city when his chest got a little too tight.
Dominic’s steps slow to a stop. He frowns, and presses his hand lightly over his diaphragm. He’s been having some tightness since they’d gotten to Whiterun, but it was never this bad.
At first he had figured it was the leftover adrenaline from the dragon battle. In reality, it started before that. He hypothesized that it must have been strained muscles from the entire debacle with Kograthuc. He had gotten squeezed pretty tightly; any more and Dominic was sure the giant would have broken some ribs. He got off lucky.
Except….
Dominic presses tightly against his chest, and is surprised by the rough cough that is forced out of him in doing so. He swallows thickly and rubs at his throat, becoming nervous when the oxygen won’t come in as easily as was before.
Dominic blinks spots out of his vision, and he realizes he has fallen into a crouch against a stack of horse feed. He digs his fingers into the scratchy burlap of the bags, and hauls himself up to his feet.
Too fast. Dominic’s vision flares white. The world shifts under his feet, like a rug has been pulled out from under him. He can feel the tug of gravity dragging him toward the ground.
He’s about to eat dirt — he can almost already taste it — when a hand grabs him by the back of his shirt and hauls him up to prop against something not unlike a brick wall.
A warm brick wall.
Dominic tilts his head back and squints. “Uhm… Tyson?”
The newly-appointed corporal grunts. Dominic can see through bleary vision the hard stare he’s being treated to from under those thick eyebrows.
“Every time I see you, something’s wrong.” Tyson mutters. His eyes narrow. “Are you cursed?”
“With good looks, yes.” Dominic replies immediately, a little breathlessly. “And a… charming personality. Keen intelligence, as well. Oh! And —“
Tyson shakes him a bit, still holding him by the back of the tunic like one would hold a misbehaving kitten. Dominic’s head spins.
“And, uh,” he gasps, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “A lack of.. breath…”
There’s a pause, barely more than a second, before Dominic feels the world shift again — Tyson is sitting him down against the feed bags.
Hmm, they’re oddly comfortable.
“Are you injured?” Tyson asks, a little demandingly. He looks rather unimpressed. “I thought you saw a healer after the battle?”
Dominic blinks, and frowns. “For what? I didn’t get hurt during the battle, Tyson. I was fine.”
Tyson stares at him.
“You should still see a healer after a battle.” The soldier lectures, eyebrows at a sharp incline down to meet in the middle. “Did you —?”
“No.” Dominic shakes his head.
He shifts against the feed bags and winces slightly. There’s a building pressure against his lungs, and it’s very uncomfortable. It’s like he’s being buried under a massive weight. Dominic doesn’t like it.
“No, I mean —“ Tyson taps Dominic’s shoulder to get his attention. His expression looks severe. “What about after the giant? Did you?”
Dominic blinks dots away. “Kograthuc didn’t hurt me, Tyson. I mean, almost, but I took a health potion, so I’m fine.”
“You took—?” Tyson rears back, and for some reason he looks aghast. “You can’t just take a health potion when you’re injured and call it good, Dominic! They’re aids for healing, not an immediate cure!”
Dominic frowns. “Oh.”
His head tilts back to rest against the burlap and he gazes up at the sky. Skyrim has a gorgeous night sky. You’d never be able to see anything like this back home.
Tyson makes an impatient noise.
“Divines… ” The man sighs. “Here, get up. I’m taking you to the temple.”
“I don’t wanna get up, Tyson.” Dominic says. “I’m tired.”
The soldier’s frown softens. “I know. Sorry, Dominic, but you really need to get seen by a healer.”
And with that, Tyson bodily hauls Dominic up and hooks one of his arms around his shoulders.
So Dominic does make it to Tullius’ tent, finally, but it’s not all by his own power.
Well, the ends justify the means, right?
“I left him alone for five minutes.” The general flatly voices when he sees them.
“Sir.” Tyson nods his head somewhat formally. “It’s come to my attention that Dominic has not seen a healer.”
Tullius raises an eyebrow.
“Since Riverwood.”
Dominic curls into Tyson’s shoulder a bit at The Look Tullius aims at him after hearing that. He feels like a kid who's been caught skipping class.
What is with this man and making Dominic feel like he’s some kid?
Tullius pushes away from the desk. He leans forward in his chair and plants his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and a tired-looking expression of gravity on his face.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly.” The general says. “You are barely half a month healed from being roughed up by a dragon — the dragon, if I’m to believe the legends — and you not only fight off a giant —“
“I didn’t fight Kog—“
Tullius holds up a hand. Dominic quiets, bottom lip jutting out mulishly.
“You were manhandled by a giant, and then near immediately went to fight another dragon.”
“Which I won, by the way.” Dominic points out. “If anyone is keeping track. Peacefully resolved, not injured, no healer needed.”
“Oh, trust me. There are plenty of people ‘keeping track’.” Tullius says ominously.
Dominic squints at him. That’s suspicious! Why would he say it like that?!
Dominic hopes he hasn’t just made himself a bed, here. He’d hate to lie in it.
“The point is,” Tullius says, “you have been through hell, young man, and you haven’t seen a single healer? Riverwood does not count.” He ads before Dominic can even open his mouth. “Melanie was not certified, she was a washerwoman!”
Dominic closes his mouth again. He thinks about it all, and then shrugs lightly.
He… doesn’t really have anything to say? He hasn’t realized.
He did not think he needed it.
Dominic holds a hand to his ribs, and considers the reality — that his lungs are unable to contract fully, and breathing is hard. It didn’t necessarily hurt , but it was… concerning.
Maybe he did need a healer. Something more than just potions.
Maybe that was his issue, too. Dominic is still — still — thinking of this place as the video game he knows it from. Despite everything he has already experienced, Dominic lacks one thing everyone else he’s met here already has — the common sense of the world.
He isn’t from here. He doesn’t know how it works.
He keeps making assumptions, and it’s going to end up getting him in serious trouble, soon .
Dominic’s teeth press down into his bottom lip as he glances thoughtfully down at his midsection.
Maybe it already has.
Dominic reaches out and tugs at Tyson’s sleeve.
The man leans down, expression attentive. “Dominic?”
“You said you were taking me to the temple.” Dominic says. He tries to not sound like he’s pouting as he pointedly avoids Tullius’s stare. “Why are we here? Just for him to yell at me? You’re mean, Tyson.”
Tyson looks wholly unimpressed — like usual. Man, it’s hard to get under this guy’s skin.
“There is a hierarchy of command here that most of us try to respect.” Tyson patiently explains. “I need permission to leave the camp.”
“I could be dying .” Dominic argues plaintively, eyes wide and glossy. “Would you still take time to get permission, if I was at death’s door?”
Tyson doesn’t bother answering, which Dominic thinks is quite rude. It’s a legitimate question!
“Consider that permission granted, Corporal.” Tullius says, sounding exhausted. “Get him examined. Let us hope this fool hasn’t spelled himself crippled due to his own stubbornness.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tyson nods his head in place of a salute, arms full as they are.
Dominic really does pout this time, as he is hauled back out of the tent and into the crisp night air.
Tyson drags him all the way through Whiterun’s walls and bundles him onto a trolley bound for the Temple of Kynareth. With seven other stops before theirs, the ride takes half an hour, but it’s a much shorter journey than it would have been on foot.
Less jostling for Dominic’s poor lungs, as well. They’re getting heavier and heavier.
He’s also feeling incredibly cold. Dominic tugs despondently as the too-light material of his tunic and wishes he had a coat or something.
“What’s wrong now?” Tyson asks.
Dominic tosses him a sour look.
“I’m cold. This shirt is too thin.”
“It’s a warm night.” Tyson frowns. He reaches out a hand to press to Dominic’s brow. “And you should be more grateful. That tunic was donated by one of the Helgen townspeople. They were worried about the burns on your chest, so they found the lightest tunic they could find that would not aggravate your wounds.”
Dominic blinks. He looks down at the shirt he’s wearing. He rubs the material of his sleeve between his fingers and purses his lips.
He hadn’t really thought about where the clothes had come from. He’d just woken up in them, and carried on. They had been his only set for the journey to Whiterun, and even now — which isn’t all that uncommon, especially among travelers. You pack light for the journey and wash in rivers along the way, it’s more efficient. Changes of clothes were for the wardrobes at home, which Dominic doesn’t have.
Dominic didn’t have clothes, either. It’s only reasonable, that the ones he is wearing didn’t just spawn from the ether.
It’s not a fucking video game , Dominic.
“Oh.” He says quietly. “That was… very nice of them.”
Tyson smiles slightly. “That’s what I said. They were happy to be able to help.”
Dominic nods slowly. He presses a fist to his mouth and coughs into it.
A splatter of bright red paints his knuckles and thumb. It feels hot, like fire.
Dominic stares. “Um…?”
Tyson’s expression tightens. He presses a hand to Dominic’s shoulder and helps him stand up.
“Come on, this is our stop.”
Dominic allows the soldier to lead him off the trolley and across the stone path to the temple. He doesn’t even look where he’s walking, too busy staring dumbly at the blood covering his hand. His blood. From inside of him.
Not injured , my ass! What the hell is this?! When the fuck did this happen?
Did Dominic contract some sort of disease? He doesn’t exactly have any vaccinations for Skyrim’s plethora of illnesses. Well, neither does anyone else, probably — who knows, maybe the mysterious MIT has a medicine course and they’ve solved that issue — but Dominic wasn’t even born here! He doesn’t have the natural immunity.
Oh god, he had the Dawnguard DLC installed. What if he gets vampirism?
“Of course. Right this way.”
Dominic blinks out of his panic and finds that they are already inside the temple.
It’s bigger than he remembers — like everything else in this godforsaken world — and the decor is understatedly grand but still somehow humble. Rows of stone beds like the main room that they stand in now, and tall pillars hold up the vaulted ceiling.
The front opens up to the courtyard, and Dominic can just see the leaves of the Gildergreen moving in the wind and glittering faintly in the moonlight.
Definitely befitting of the strongest of the sky deities.
“Hello, dear.” An older woman dressed in the priestess robes of the temple is smiling at him. “With us now, are you? Why don’t you take a rest on this bed here while I have a look at you.”
Truthfully, Dominic has never handled doctors or hospitals particularly well. He was in and out of them as a kid, overly rambunctious and… disobedient.
As a teen, he was completely reckless. The motorcycle he had now is not exactly his first — he barely came away in one piece from the first.
As an adult, he never trusted the staff. There are too many memories of a time where a child was sitting on an examination table while his father loomed over him, talking with the doctor.
They never listen to the kid.
Dominic rubs a hand over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes.
Fuck, he’s tired.
He lies down on the bed.
Actually, for stone, it’s very comfortable? It’s not cold to the touch like he expected, and there’s a strange, invisible cushion padding his back from the hard surface.
Dominic closes his eyes. If he ignores the quiet murmuring coming from other parts of the hall, he can almost imagine he’s in his bed at home.
It just feels cozy, for some reason. Safe.
“M-My goodness! ”
Dominic withholds a sigh. He peels his eyes back and glances over to the priestess, who was staring down at him with an astonished look, one hand held over her mouth.
Oh, fuck. It’s true, isn’t it. He’s caught the vampire plague.
Catching his eye, the priestess smooths out her expression and calmly lowers her hand.
“Young man,” she says. “Might I ask a question?”
“Uh, sure?”
“Right this moment, are you in any pain?”
Tyson is right there so immediately the man may as well have teleported. There’s a scowl on his face, and it’s directed at Dominic.
It’s not like Dominic asked to become a vampire, Tyson! He’s innocent!
“What do you mean?”
The priestess shakes her head silently, looking at Dominic.
“Well… no, actually? It’s a little uncomfortable, like a pressure bearing down on me. It’s hard to breathe — that’s why he dragged me here, actually. I guess my legs are sore, but I did a lot of walking today. Other than that… I wouldn’t actually say it hurts at all?”
Dominic can’t quite name the expression on the priestess’s face. There’s definitely some confusion there, and a thin line of horror. He can even see morbid fascination.
“But, there’s something wrong?” Tyson presses. “He’s actually injured?”
The priestess frowns, looking between them worriedly.
Dominic tilts his head back to peer up at them.
“Am I dying?” He asks.
“Oh, heavens no!” The priestess hurriedly waves her hands, as if to physically dispel the idea. “No, I just… there’s quite a bit of damage, dear, and you… You have just shown no sign of feeling any of it?”
Dominic stares at her.
“What kind of damage?” He asks slowly.
The priestess presses her lips together. Not quite nervousness — that’s just befuddlement. She isn’t sure what to make of him.
Nonetheless, she dutifully lists out all his ailments.
And it’s quite the list.
Minute fractures spider along the bones of both his legs — no doubt from tussling with a giant toddler — and three of Dominic’s ribs are broken. One has managed to pierce both lungs, somehow, which explains the difficulty breathing and the coughing up blood.
“Then, there is a horrid burn that has not quite had the chance to heal completely, it is…” the priestess continues, hand hovering over Dominic’s chest, “..here. There is some inflammation, it could be on its way to being infected.”
Dominic’s eyebrows shot up, whilst Tyson glared at him. “I thought that was basically done healing, though?”
“Hm, the top layer perhaps.” The priestess touches a finger to Dominic’s chest. There’s a brief pulse of — something , energy? Magic ? — and then she smiles. “The skin has many layers. There are some underneath that still require care. May I?”
Dominic has absolutely no idea what she is asking to do , but given the circumstance he is willing to go out on a limb and say it’s to help him. He gestures to himself, lying on the stone bed.
“I’m all yours, ma’am.”
The priestess blinks, and then chuckles lightly. “Quite the charmer, are you? Now, allow me to ease some of the… discomfort that you are feeling, and then perhaps we can see if we can’t find the reason you are not feeling this pain, hm?”
Dominic lays back against the stone and allows the priestess to do her thing. His attention is captivated entirely by the sensation of — it must be her magic — as it runs along his limbs. It’s almost a soothing balm slowly encompassing his body like a blanket. Not stifling, but definitely there . And moving .
It’s kind of freaky. Dominic hasn’t decided if he likes it or not, but he doesn’t hate it.
He closes his eyes to focus more on the sensation. Maybe if he can figure out how he feels in relation to someone else’s magic, he can figure out how to tap into his own? That he apparently has?
Learning via observation, and all that.
If closing his eyes also blocks out the unhappy look that Tyson is directing at him, then… well.
Dominic has always been the type of person to kill two birds with one stone.