Wow, look at that. It's an FE:A Self-Insert. Because that hasn't been done before.

…

Alright, everyone listening? 'Cause let me warn you: long AN is long. Feel free to skip/skim it, this is really just going to be me trying to justify some of my style choices to you guys in an attempt to protect my fragile, fragile ego. Ye have been warned.

But sarcasm aside, this story is not going to be a "classic" (did ya see what I did there?) SI in that sense. Mainly because I don't plan on it being an SI-centric story: the SI-character is going to be present, yes, but the story won't be told from his perspective. As such it is not, strictly speaking, about the SI. Or it's at least not meant to be.

In other words: think of this as more of a FE:A novelization-type of deal, with an OC based on yours truly. There are reasons why this is so, but those are neither interesting nor really relevant right now, so they won't be listed here.

Oh, and a little btw, doubling as a shout-out of sorts: my first paragraph in this AN is supposed to refer to Gone2GroundEX's Asleep, in case you haven't heard of it (but who am I kidding), one of the more interesting SIs on this site, at least in my humble opinion. If you haven't read it yet, you definitely should. It has lots of things going for it, with one of the better interpretations of the game's meta and an actually original plot line. Also, as of the time of this writing, it's already over sixty chapters long, meaning you'll never have to wait for updates.

I don't own Fire Emblem Awakening, and I don't have enough money to my name to make suing me worthwhile. There, I've said it. Now can we please start making with the self-indulgent fan fiction?

Premonition: The Invisible Threads of Non-Destiny

The storm had been raging for hours now, with no sign of abating, ravaging the Ylissean countryside with the angry roar of the wind in the leaves and the groan of the swaying forest trees beneath them.

The seasonal summer cloudbursts of Ylisse usually lasted only minutes, warm but heavy rain showers that left both flora and fauna revitalized and cooled the stifling summer air. Usually more a relief than or an annoyance to the Ylissean farmers, they developed this amount of ferocity only rarely: while it was not unheard of to get stronger winds in the coastal regions, actual storms like this one, with thunder and lightning, were uncommon in Ylisse's temperate climate.

Without warning, a particularly huge bolt cracked apart the ravaged skies, lighting them up in a blinding flash and sending what few forest inhabitants that had not yet reached shelter scarpering for cover. Deep inside the forest it struck, hitting a hundred year old lime tree and setting it alight in a boom of thunder. Groaning, the venerable tree toppled over, crashing loudly into it's neighbor and tearing it down in the process, as if in its final moments it had pridefully decided that, rather than die on its own, it would condemn another along with it. For but a second the tree blazed like a torch, illuminating the forest around it in a burst of orange light. The heavy downpour smothered it almost as soon as it hit the earth.

Moments later, a second bolt hit, only a few hundred steps away. This time, the tree it hit positively exploded, raining bits of smoldering bark over the woods like a firework, and a heartbeat later, lightning struck a third time, about halfway between the the first two strikes, like an angry god attempting to smite a small target in growing frustration.

Lightning struck again and again, bolt after bolt striking faster and closer together. Bits of burning wood and earth filled the air, the shockwave of the explosions shredding the trees and undergrowth to splinters, until finally the mayhem seemed to reach its peak: with a flash and thunder so intense that it seemed to split the heavens in twain, a bolt hit the very epicenter of the carnage with a resounding bang. The resulting explosion dwarfed all others before it, cratering the earth around it more deeply than any past flash had.

A stunned silence spread after the last hit, crowding out even the moaning of the few remaining trees, still bowed under the storm's might. The continuous downpour was slowly turning the upturned earth into a river of mud: already, it was beginning to pool around a small mound of earth left in the center of the blast.

Something within the mound suddenly moved, destroying it and breaking the silence with a deep groan. A pale arm thrust out of the dirt, soon followed by another, sluggishly moving to free itself from its muddy grave and slowly beginning to work its way out towards the craters circumference.

The thing was as naked as a worm, completely hairless, and of an unhealthy whitish color, like an overgrown maggot. On second look, its anatomy was revealed to be human, or at least human-like: four limbs, in adequate proportion to a torso and a head. Each limb also ended in an irregularly shaped blob that, upon closer inspection, could perhaps equate to a hand or foot, respectively.

It made only very gradual progress, impeded by the loose earth and mud running in rivulets down on it. When it finally managed to pull itself up to the craters edge, it stopped. A reaction likely brought on by the vision of destruction around it, it brought up one of its front forelimbs to rub the mud out of what would have been, on a human, its face, as if to clear its vision. But while it did so, it suddenly paused, and, using the same forelimb, it began to shakily feel around on its scalp, where there would have, again on a human, been hair.

Of course in its case there was nothing but a smooth expanse of skin.

The thing's cry, nearly drowned out by the storm still heedlessly raging on around, was the first sound uttered by a living being in the general area for hours.

"What the actual fuck!?"

The air is alive with the crackle of arcane energies.

In front of him, Chrom and Validar meet in a flurry of steel and magic, and somehow the dark mage is able to keep Chrom at bay, flowing around his Falchion like water. Circling the pair and feverishly whispering arcane syllables, Robin manages to trap Validar between himself and his friend.

But before he can take advantage of the flank, Chrom finds an opening and strikes. Validar -jumps? -teleports? In the heat of combat it is impossible to know. -appears suddenly just beneath the high vaunted ceilings of the ceremonial hall, standing on thin air. Roaring, he conjures a ball of dark light in his hands, expanding it until it hangs in the gloom like a perverse moon. With a harsh movement he brings it down, Robin's vision lighting up with the explosion. A warning shout from Chrom, and they both half-dive, half-fall for cover. Robin tries to turn in midair, and the spell gathered in his hand flies, a desperate attempt to catch Validar off-guard.

"You fool!" Before the attack can hit, Validar disappears again. His next attack comes from outside Robin's periphery vision and blasts Chrom across the room, too fast for either of them to react. Crashing, Chrom hits the wall, where he slumps down, struggling to stand back up again.

Robin whirls around to face Validar, who is again gathering power, the same spell with which he just scattered his enemies' formation. Chrom, who is still on his knees, sees the danger as well, but is too slow to react. With a dark laugh, Validar hurls the spell.

Instinct takes over, and the arcane powers come to Robin suddenly: his own spell almost seems to weave itself underneath his fingers, and he pours every ounce of strength he has into it. It manifests into a gleaming bright bolt of lightning, cutting across the space between himself and Chrom like a living blade. Once again, the dark halls are shaken by a thunderous explosion as the two spells collide.

When the dust settles, Chrom is next to him and helping him up, his grip strong, supportive. Validar stands at the other side of the room. His face is a mask of contempt.

"Are you alright?" Chrom asks. Robin nods, but doesn't answer. Chrom grips his shoulder. "Hey."

Robin looks up. His friend's eyes find his. "Remember." Chrom's voice is sure, authoritative. "You are one of us. No 'destiny' will change that. You understand that, right?"

Robin hesitates for a moment, but again he nods.

"Good." Chrom's eyes hold his for another moment before he lets him go, turning to face Validar. "Then let's finish this now." He grips Falchion, primed, as if he had not just endured a direct hit by a dark and foul magic so ancient as to eclipse human memory, and for a moment, Robin sees someone else in his stead: a younger Chrom, unmarred by the the trials that destiny has burdened him with. The image doesn't disappear when Robin's focus returns to him, and he finds himself smiling despite the situation: even after everything his friend has endured, he is unbroken and unbent. "Ready?" Chrom asks.

Robin steps up behind his friend, his chest hard with resolve. "I am here." His hand finds the spell tome hanging at his hip, and brings it up, opening it with practiced ease. They fall into position, old familiarity steadying both their their hands and minds: Chrom in front, crouched low and poised to strike, with Robin only a bit behind, one hand gripping his grimoire while the other moves about in intricate gestures, weaving threads of mystic energies into rays of power. As one, they charge.

Validar's answer is a dark chuckle, and with a whoosh like fire catching tinder, a wave of dark magic bursts from his body, cloaking him in purplish light and roaring towards the ceiling like a lion challenging its foe. Unflinching, Chrom surges forward. Falchion becomes a single bright flash of light as he strikes, almost too fast for the eye to see. But just before he can connect, Validar raises an arm and catches the weapon in his empty hand, dark light pooling around the blade.

"Foolish little king." he smirks. "Why do you struggle against fate? No mortal is capable of unwriting what is already written. You, too, will have to accept this." Validar leans down to his adversary, a sharkish smile on his face. "In the end, destiny will be your master."

Energy crackles in his free hand as Chrom struggles against him, and laughing, Validar turns his open palm towards him, it's center lighting up in menacing radiance. Desperate, Chrom pushes harder against the hand holding his sword, but whatever eldritch forces are empowering the dark mage prove to be relentless against the holy blade.

But before the dark mage can act, a flash of yellow-white light fills the space between them, and the smell of ozone pervades the air. Validar stumbles backwards, thrown off by Robin's attack, and Chrom wastes no time in pressing his advantage: jumping forward, he moves back in sword-range of his opponent, bringing Falchion around in a tight half-circle. Dark light gathers in front of Validar as if to form a shield, but this time it's not enoug to protect him and Chrom scores his chest deeply, carving a long gash from his collarbone all the way down to his stomach.

Validar roars again, and the cloak of magic around him flares as foul energies gather around his hand once more. Robin reacts immediately, and before the dark mage can unleash his vengeance on the two warriors, a bright arc of lightning booms across the room at Validar and forces him abandon his spell to protect himself. Chrom rushes forward, not intending to let his enemy reclaim any ground. This time he strikes upwards, and the force of the blow is powerful enough to lift his opponent off his feet.

Mid-air, Validar flashes out of existence again, only to reappear on the other side of the hall. In his right he is now holding a black grimoire, while his left is raised and pointing towards Robin and Chrom, blazing with power. Without thinking, their formation breaks, the two of them jumping in opposite directions, Chrom left and Robin right: the space they have occupied only moments before suddenly implodes in a globe of purple light. Robin drops his spell tome, the old grimoire slapping heavily against his side, and his hand closes around the hilt of his sword. It leaves its scabbard in a quiet scraping sound, a sound that follows him as he and Chrom surge forward, clearing the space between them and Validar in an instant.

It is almost a kind of deadly dance for them by now, a dance they have honed together through years of fighting next to each other. Chrom strikes high, against Validar's throat, and it opens like a grinning mouth when he hits, spewing dark blood like a foul curse. Robin comes in low, running his sword across the dark mage's stomach to disembowel him, splitting the skin there like a ripe fruit.

Their momentum carries them, and they let it, quickly separating from their enemy and moving out of the range of any potential counter attack. Robin whirls around again, sword ready, just in time to see Validar's form fold and fall to the ground. Somehow the body is still in one piece, no doubt owed to some remnant of the dark magic Validar used to embolden his flesh and turn away sword strikes bare handed - the maneuver Robin and Chrom have just used has in the past trisected broader men than the skinny dark mage. For a moment, Robin is fully expecting him to get up again, too high on hate and foul magic to succumb to his injuries.

But nothing happens, and Validar's lanky form remains prone and broken. A rapidly growing puddle of blood is forming around him, looking black as ink in the half-light of the sparsely lit halls.

Robin slowly lowers his sword. His hands feel cramped, fingers wound too tight around his weapon, and he has to make a conscious effort to relax them. Chrom turns to him, and there is relief in the smile that he gives him, relief that Robin can't yet bring himself to feel.

"That's the end of him." The exertion of the battle, however brief, are clear on Chrom's face. There is sweat on his brow, mingled with stone dust from the ancient masonry fallen victim to Validar's magic. "Thanks to you we carried the day, my friend. We can rest easy now."

Hearing his friend's words, Robin makes himself relax, and all strength immediately drains from: he is exhausted, he realizes, more from anxiety than the actual fighting, and for moment he has to struggle just to remain upright and on his feet. He wants to sit down and rest, or better yet sleep, and not wake up again until-

Behind Chrom, Validar explodes.

Again, with a sound like burning tinder, his body suddenly bursts into dark purple flames and shoots upright.

"This isn't over." Validar's voice echoes throughout the hall, crackling like fire and only barely recognizable as human anymore. His body is blackening and trailing ash. "Damn you BOTH!"

Validar flies at them like a vengeful wraith, the dark corona around him igniting into a white-hot ball of fire. Chrom, only half-turned, stares at it with wide eyes, too shocked to react, and, unthinking, Robin shoves him away and jumps forward. Pouring out all his considerable magic power, he projects it before him, hoping against hope that his own remaining strength can countervail his enemy's last ditch effort at vengeance, or at least buy his friend's life…

He doesn't even hear the blast, only the pain that suddenly fills his world, blinding and piercing at once. Pain, as Validar's last attack slams through his magical defenses as if they weren't even there, bathing his chest and face in burning light. Pain, as he feels the pure concussive force of the blow carry him backwards off his feet and through the air, and pain, as he crashes to the ground in a heap of limbs and burnt fabric.

Then blackness, for what feels like an eternity.

Except when Robin raises his head again, Chrom is there, sliding to a stop next to him, and they are still in the dark and gloomy hall's of Validar's sanctum.

"Are you alright?" There is concern in Chrom's voice, and Robin chooses to think of it as concern because he has never heard his friend speak in blind panic. "I…" His own voice sounds hollow, distant, as if he is speaking through a long copper pipe. Robin's hands find his face, his chest, both miraculously untouched by the flames, the searing pain from only seconds before now but a memory. Even the hole in the front of his robe is only the size of his palm.

Robin tries to stand and stumbles. Chrom catches him before he can fall and attempts to steady him, and somehow Robin regains a precarious balance. He feels strange, off, and he finds that he can't move without running the risk of sprawling to the floor again.

It's as if he is inside someone else's body.

Something is wrong. The realization washes over Robin with ice cold clarity, but before he can call out to Chrom, a sudden stabbing pain explodes behind his eyes, and Chrom's name dies on his lips. For a moment he thinks he is going to faint, and a red mist descends on his vision. Chrom says something, but it is drowned by the rush of blood in Robin's ears. His face appears before Robin's, and his mouth is forming words, but none of it gets through: Robin feels something twisting angrily inside his head, and the mist grows thicker.

A sound like tearing silk rips through the rumbling in his ears, something wrenches in his head, and suddenly Robin can see again.

Abruptly, Chrom flinches and stumbles back. There is a bright wedge of yellow light sticking out of his chest, like a bolt of lightning frozen in mid-flight. It's sitting directly above his heart.

Robin looks down at his hand, and, with a strangely numb surge of horror, sees the last sparks of a spell's energy dancing across his palm.

"This is not your-" Chrom's voice is strained, and there is blood on his lips when he coughs. His breath rattles in his lungs. "-your fault. Promise me -aah- that you'll escape from here…" He tries to take a step forwards but falters, and for a moment, it seems as if he might fall. Robin tries reflexively to extend an arm to catch him, but his body doesn't move.

"Please," Chrom presses out, his voice already so faint that it almost disappears in the high ceilings of the hall "go…" He collapses, first to his knees and then on his chest. He doesn't get up. From where he stands, Robin can't see his friend's face, but he sees the small trickle of blood pooling slowly underneath him. Distantly, he feels something break within him, within his chest. He doesn't know what it is, only that it is something immeasurably precious, something that he needs in order to still… be, and that it is lost to him forever, irretrievably, perhaps even beyond his own death.

He raises his hands to his face, maybe to cry, maybe to scream, but his eyes are dry, and all he can hear is Validar's manic, insane laughter.

A mere heartbeat before the person named Robin disappears forever he realizes that he is the one laughing.

The first thing he became aware of was the warmth of the sun on his face. He knew it was the sun because he had felt it before. Of that he was sure.

Something fluttered frantically in the back of his head for a moment, like a butterfly whose wings had caught fire. An image, white sands, a golden disk hanging in the sky, as hot and glaring as an angry eye…

But then the butterfly burned up and the image disappeared.

The next thing he noticed was the smell of grass. That was familiar, too. Unconsciously, his hands pressed down, fingers digging into the soft earth, and again something inside him twitched.

A thousand heavy boots, pounding the ground in nearly perfect unison, their soles tearing up the turf and spreading the smell of earth and crushed plantlife, so rich and so alive that-

"Can't we at least make him more comfortable or something?"

The voice - not his own voice, he knew what he sounded like and that had not been him… right? - broke through the haze of jumbled images in his head like a battering ram, and with a gasp he opened his eyes. Immediately his vision was flooded with blinding light, making him squint in pain. Behind his eyelids, the images danced like raindrops on a water's surface and he tried desperately to hold onto them, but they escaped him so quickly that he might as well have tried catching them with a sieve.

Somewhere beyond the searing fire on his retinas he had managed to make out two dark shapes hanging above his face, mere silhouettes against the startlingly bright blue sky.

"I don't really think that a pillow is what he needs right now." another voice said. Not the one he had heard before: this one was deeper than the first one, and more calm, assured. Strangely familiar too, although he found himself unable to remember where he might have heard it. But it was enough that he stilled in surprise when he did.

"That's not what I meant!" The first voice again. He was pretty sure by now that it was female. "It's just-"

"Forgive me, milady, but I believe he has come to."

Upon hearing this, he slowly tried to open his eyes again and to his relief the sunlight did not pierce his skull with the same intensity as before. For the first time since he had regained consciousness he was able to properly take in his surroundings.

The first things he saw where their faces.

A man and a woman, both quite young as far as he could tell, and standing rather closely bend over him. For a moment, his mind projected a different picture over the one he was seeing: the both of them, the same faces, but older, drawn. The woman with a scar on her lower jaw, and the man with an air of exhaustion to him that would not be cured with simply a few days of rest.

But then he blinked, and the image was gone.

"Hey there."

It was the woman speaking. He recognized her as the first voice, the female one. Upon closer inspection, he found that the term "woman" might perhaps have been a bit too generous: "girl" would be more appropriate, as she seemed much more juvenescent than he had at first thought, with a small round face framed by two perky pigtails of straw blonde hair and an open, friendly smile.

He felt himself open his mouth to try and answer something, but found his throat tight and unable to pass a sound.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know." the girl's companion interjected, grinning just cheekily enough to be insufferable. His own answer was almost a snarky reply, something along the lines of "Then perhaps I should compile a list of appropriate localities for the occasion next time I'm feeling a bit slow during the day," but he stopped himself in time. Such a familiar response to a group of strangers, especially to a group of strangers that had just saved his life for all he knew, was… wrong. Wasn't it?

The man, misunderstanding his hesitation, held out a hand. "Don't worry about it. Here, give me your hand." His voice was calm, reassuring, gentle. He recognized it as the one he had thought familiar, earlier.

"T-thank you." His own voice sounded gravely and hoarse, and his throat felt as rough as leather. He tried ineffectually to clear it a few times, then remembered the offered hand and made to grasp it.

But as his hand found the strangely familiar man's one, he stopped. Raising his arm had caused his sleeve to slide back, and had revealed a strange symbol on his hand. Light pink, like a scar or superficial mark, two lines wrapped around each other to form a helix, opening to six eyes…

No, he realized, not lines, not simply lines. Horns.

Dragon horns.

Grima

Meanwhile…

"What're ya lookin' at, baldie?"

"Go fuck yourself."

Aaaand that's it, for now. We'll hopefully get into the meat of the story in the next chapter. To those potential non-existent ghost people out there who could actually imagine reading more of this... Thank you. To the rest... Thank you, too. It wasn't that long of a read, right? You haven't wasted that much of your time, right?

Right?