A/N: So, it's been a long time since I bothered to sit down and write anything. This was mostly because I began to find writing boring. Now, I'm finding not-writing boring, so I got up and decided to actually write something that's been in my head for a while now.

This is a Fire Emblem Self-Insert, like about a thousand or so other stories on this site. It's not a traditional one, though. I tried writing one of those, and gave up after 500 words because it was uninspiring to write. Instead, you get this. Read it, enjoy it, favourite it, follow it. Or don't. It's up to you.

Things to keep in mind: anything you might reasonably expect in something rated M (language, violence/gore, etc.), plus some racism. Anyway, onto the story.

Half a Drop of Grey

Document 1

Part One of Original Draft for 'Fire Emblem: Fates, Survival and You', Anna Trading Company

Comment: I was ninety percent done with this draft, left my room to get some air and food, and when I came back, the inn's on fire. Honestly, I'm surprised even a handful of pages survived, and that the Annas still bought them.

Congratulations! Welcome to Hoshido! Or Nohr. Or wherever the hell you woke up. In any case, have a spoiler: you're probably fucked.

To elaborate further, think back to your first playthrough of any Fire Emblem game. How many of your units got fried, dismembered, or otherwise torn to pieces? Zero? I'm glad you know how to reset a game. But since you've been bodily and/or mentally transported into a different world, that means that once you're decapitated, poof. That's it. Also, people tend to less resistant to stab wounds in the flesh than in video games. I've heard enough stories of newbies charging headfirst into their first battle, thinking they can 'tank a hit', only to end up missing multiple organs and most of their blood. Here's a tip: don't do that.

Also, remember that there are more things to be worried about than sharp objects. You're in a world with broadly medieval technology: hygiene is pretty shit. Sure, there are some exceptions – you could luck out and start out in Shirasagi or Cyrkensia, where they have such glorious wonders as a working sewer system and actual toilets – but for the most part, get used to holes in the ground. Obviously, this brings a lot of disease – don't forget that most people hardly wash their hands, or bathe – so unless you thought about that beforehand, get used to a lot of cholera and dysentery in your first couple of weeks.

Let me run the numbers. Suppose a ninety-nine people get thrown into the same situation as you, for an even hundred. From what I've seen, forty-five of you will die in battle (don't fool yourself – forty-three of those will be piteous, mewling deaths), twenty-five from disease, fifteen from general lack of foresight ('being a wyvern rider would be great! Look, I can fly around and be super mobile and ambushy and oh look I'm plummeting to my death'), five of you will get assassinated, another five of you will sink into despair and commit suicide, and two of you will forget that Corrin hasn't removed the curse on Valla yet and turn into water. Will you be in the lucky three? Probably not. That's why you're probably fucked.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, why even bother? That is indeed a very good question. If, on consideration, you decided that you would very much rather prefer keeping all your bodily functions, then the best thing to do is bugger off to Izumo, hide your head when the whole Zola incident occurs, and spend the rest of your time selling apples or something. There's nothing inherently wrong with that strategy – if that's what you want to do, feel free to leave now.

Still here? That's what I'm here for. As you should have deduced from above, you're probably going to die. By listening to my rambling advice and anecdotes, your survival rate should approximately double. This means your fatality rate should only be ninety-four percent! Truly, reading this will be a great use of your time and resources.

Alright. Enough of a preamble.

On Arrival

Consider the situation. You're taking your pet dog (or cat, or whatever illegal creature you have hiding in your basement) for a walk, when a car cuts a red light and turns most of your skeleton into calcite shards. After several moments of agony, followed by a period of sweet darkness, you wake up in an unfamiliar barn, in unfamiliar clothes, with a sword strapped to your back for no good reason. What do you do?

I get it – nobody ever really expects to be dragged bodily into a video game world (well, no reasonable person, anyway) – but even so, preparing a contingency plan is an interesting mental exercise, if nothing else. In fact, make as many as possible. They're all the same – once you wake up and manage to gather up your wits, you'll quickly find that about none of the plans you came up with are actually viable.

In fact, that reminds me – waking up in an unknown place for no good reason is almost certainly going to induce some sort of panic and/or delirium. Usually, you won't be thrown into any major conflict situations right away, so you can take a few moments to get your head on straight again. Most importantly, do not do anything stupid while you're still dazed. Seriously. Don't.

John wakes up in a barn, wearing a glorified potato sack with several daggers on his belt.

John laughs. The last thing he remembers was being hit by a car. This has to be some sort of fever dream. What else could it be?

John notices the daggers. He startles – they're all unsheathed; they could have stabbed him. But wait – this is a dream, isn't it? How would be know what being stabbed feels like?

John notes that he could attempt to find that out by stabbing himself. It's a terrible idea, yes, but it's a dream – the knife might just turn into butter or something, and worst comes to worst, he has an interesting, if disturbing, anecdote for his friends.

John know has a knife sticking out of his heart. John is now dead. Rest in peace, John. You survived for eight seconds.

That was an extreme example, but it happens disturbingly often. In fact, accidental suicide is the third-most common way of early death, only behind overestimation of ability and Takumi's retainers (useful tip: don't punch Takumi in the face).

Anne wakes up in a forest, with a bow and quiver across her back.

Anne has no idea what's going on. There's no forests like this where she lives, right? She takes the bow and experimentally shoots a few arrows. They land mostly on target. The few times she tried archery, she'd never been able to hit anything. This has to be a dream.

Anne decides to go for a walk. After a short walk, she comes across a shallow river. Two people are already there: two youths, one a blue-haired girl, the other a white-haired boy with the same hairstyle. They raise their guard as Anne approaches.

Anne has played Fire Emblem: Fates. Anne also hates Takumi, for being (in her view) a closed-minded, xenophobic, unstable asshole. Anne sees this dream as a good opportunity to punch Takumi in the face.

Anne walks up to the two of them. They attempt to talk to her, but she ignores them. Anne punches Takumi in the face.

Anne feels a sudden pain in her chest region. She looks down, and sees a spear sticking out of her ribcage. Anne collapses to the ground.

Anne has suffered a fatal stab wound. Anne is now dead. Rest in peace, Anne. You survived for twelve minutes.

So, we've established that you shouldn't do anything stupid right after you wake up. With that said, what should you do? I'm afraid I can't give a definite answer here, as simply put, there are way too many ways you could wake up. No matter how much advice I give, there'll be some situation where none of it applies. In fact, my own situation was certainly unusual, to say the least.

It's one of those mornings. There's that dull, throbbing echo, ringing through your ears, shaking your head like a demented, restless bass drum. You forgot to drink any water before you went to sleep, and your throat's cracked and parched into a lump of meat. There's that sickening pit of bile just floating at the top of your stomach, not quite ready to come rushing out, but with no intention of leaving in any good time. Moving anything feels like dragging a sackful of lead, made all the worse by your brittle, fragile joints of glass. In short, the perfect hangover.

It's also worth noting that when I went to bed last night, I did so completely sober. While I have been blackout drunk before, I'm not sure it's possible to drink so much, so quickly, that you forget you even started drinking in the first place.

Regardless, everything hurts. I can always get up later. Going back to sleep will make it hurt slightly less. I shift around, looking for a more comfortable position, and settle after rolling onto my side. Goodnight, world.

And now, those are definitely footsteps, coming right towards me. Great. Let's do the standard thing and pretend to have fallen asleep already. Hopefully this… nope, whoever this is, they're shaking me now. It's not an aggressive shake in any sense, but I'm still not ready for this. I let out my best 'please go away' groan, and the hand retreats, quickly followed by the footsteps. Good. I curl up tighter in my blankets and drift off again.

I dream about mosquitoes, lizards, mosquito lizards, that sheet of algebra problems I forgot to do, and Nicholas Cage. It makes exactly as much sense as you think it would. The dream mostly peters out after Commander Shepard swoops in on a three-winged unicorn and saves mathsland from Mecha-Cage, and I find myself awake again.

Thankfully, my condition's improved slightly, from completely awful to only mostly awful. This means that it's probably as good a time as any to actually open my eyes for once.

…Well. There's a girl here who I've never met before in my life, and for whatever reason, she has blue hair. Also, whoever she is, she can't be more than sixteen. And now we've made eye contact, she's burst into tears. Great. Time to start preparing my legal defence.

Meanwhile, more people have arrived. A small girl is hugging the other one, attempting to comfort her, while a less-small boy is calming looking over everything, before his eyes widen for just a moment. A taller, older boy – no, he's probably just about a young man; an older brother or something, I guess – strides over to the still-crying girl, places a firm hand onto her shoulder, and says something I can't hear. The girl points to me in response.

Four pairs of eyes focus on me. Barring another rapidly-fading sob, the room is silent. I am the complete centre of attention.

Maybe I'm not going to prison? Even so, I'm still more clueless than them. Tentatively, I wriggle out of my bedsheets slightly, and prop myself up with my elbows so I'm not lying completely flat. Turning to them again, I start talking. "Hi." Or at least, I attempt to start talking. All that comes out my throat is a broken, guttural drone, nothing like any reasonable word in any language.

And apparently, it's enough to trigger a bomb. I finished croaking, and immediately afterwards the older girl has cracked several of my ribs and dislocated several joints, my spine included. This is because she has dragged me into a mostly-seated position and is now crushing me in a hug. About a second later, the younger girl follows, clamping firmly around my waist. If my body didn't feel two steps away from imminent collapse, it might be a rather enjoyable feeling. Right now, all I get is confusion, pain, and a cacophony of (happy?) shrieks and sobs.

After all too long, the boys in the room intervene, prizing the two girls off me. I give up any pretence of strength and slump back onto the bed. The young man leans over me, and says something. My ears are still ringing from the girls. I don't hear it, so I hold eye contact and nod blankly in response. He says a few more things, which I assume are questions, and I answer them in the same way. A few more questions, a few more nods, and a look of concern appears on his face. He says something, and my ears recover just enough for me to catch the last word: " – okay?"

Am I okay? Not really. I lean up again and try to talk, but all I make is another broken groan. I gesture for water. There's some footsteps, and then the older girl is pressing a glass to my lips, pouring it in slowly. Those few sips are the greatest ambrosia I've ever drunk.

The youth starts speaking to me again. It's still hard to hear, but I can pick up a few more words. " – alright? – hear me?"

I try making sounds again, and something not-hellish comes out for once. Sentences are beyond me, but I might be able to talk. "Ears." It's recognisably a word, but I myself can barely understand it. I point for emphasis. "Pain. L-Loud." I point to the girls.

The youth flashes a brief glare at the girls in question, who shrink ever so slightly. It's gone as quickly as it arrived, and he's talking again. "Thank goodness – take your time – been through a lot – it's over now – family again."

…That last thing. 'Family again'. For a moment, I'm completely lost. Everyone else in the room is smiling, laughing around, joking with each other, and the mood feels so relaxed and joyous, as if some beautiful event has come around for the first time in forever. It's unsettling. None of these people ring any bells. They're all strangers to me. Even if I'm at the centre of it, I have no idea what they're celebrating. All I can do is continue to sit here, blindly treading water in vague hope for any additional clue or context.

There's a hand waving in front of me. The blue-haired girl leans in, wearing what looks like a reassuring smile. " – not hurt, right? You look a little dazed – "

It must have shown on my face. I briefly consider just smiling and nodding – let these people have their happy moment, and all that – but I push it away. Being clueless about this isn't going to help me, and probably not them in the long run. I'm going to have to ask it at some point. Leaving it for later would mean having to break more preconceptions later. Asking it now feels like the best choice.

Straightening up slightly more, I take another sip of water. I force three words from my throat. They're still coarse, but I know that they'll get them. "Who… are… you?"

Silence.

"…What?"

Stone cold silence.

Half a nervous laugh, before they realise it isn't a joke.

The mood plummets. The little girl is lost, not comprehending what's going on. The boy freezes up, then buries his face in his hands in grim realisation. The older girl, already close, halves the distance again, gazing deep into my eyes, looking for any hint or trace of recognition; when she finds none, she backs off, shaking, slumping against the wall. For a moment, a sinking dread consumes the room, before the youth breaks his silence and marshals everyone else into a huddle.

For a few minutes, all I can do is look on. I hear a few strangled tears, along with a few larger flashes of emotion, but the older boy keeps them in check. Eventually, he comes over for one last question. This time, my ears hear it clearly. "Do you truly not recognise us?"

I look over them one more time. I rack my brain as best as I can in my state, but the only blue-haired girls I know aren't real. I shake my head. "Sorry."

There's another half-sob, but it quickly gets covered up. The boy lets out a sad sigh, filled with resignation. "No, we should be the ones to apologise. I can only imagine what you must have been thinking… I hope that one day, you will remember us, and all the memories we made together. Until then, let us start anew. I am your older brother, Xander, and these are your siblings, Camilla, Leo, and Elise."

…Huh.

There you have it. If you really want, you can now make a plan for what to do if you find yourself waking up in the body of a Nohrian royal who was poisoned during the concubine wars, but ended up comatose and amnesiac instead of dead. It's a good test of creativity and improvisation; do note that, in all my wanderings of the outrealms and astral planes, I never once encountered someone else who started in the same situation as me, presumably because those who would have woken up like me were simply killed to tie up the loose end.

Regardless, it should be apparent that exceptionally detailed plans are largely doomed to failure. As such, it far better to make much more broad and generic plans, filling in the gaps as you. I can't help you with the gap-filling (except by mentioning, again, that preparing detailed plans is good practice for this, even if you'll inevitably discard them), but I can give you the broad strokes to get you started.

In this chapter, I will discuss the four most common situations in which you might find yourself on arrival.

Comment: And I did, except fire. Hooray.

Document 2

Except from Journal of Prince Mikael, First Nestrian Publishing House

02/12/892

Xander asked me to start keeping a journal. He said that by writing my memories down, I might be able to remember what I lost more easily. I'm pretty sure that his hypothesis is shaky at best, and I'll forget to keep updating this within a day. With that out the way, here's an attempt at keeping a diary.

Good news:

- I'm no longer comatose. That's always a start.

- My name and face are still close enough to what I remember them to be. I think I'm still who I think I am.

- I remember how to read and write (mostly).

- My siblings are all great. See below.

Bad news:

- I've forgotten just about everything else.

- Apparently, I'm thirteen. Being asleep felt much longer.

- I immediately remembered how much people here hate Hoshido. I've already heard servants gossiping about 'that dark-haired squint'. I am seriously questioning why my mother decided to sleep with the King of Nohr.

- I've barely seen Father. Xander says that he's been weighed down by the last few years, and he'll warm up again eventually. I don't believe him.

Thoughts on my Siblings

Elise is five right now, and she has all the energy you'd expect. It can be a little tricky to keep up, but the joy she lets of just by being in a room is wonderful. Her mother (she's the only one of us who still has a mother) is kind of a dick, though. I'm pretty sure I've overheard her muttering racial slurs under her breath.

Leo is eight, and he's more reserved. We haven't talked too much, but we played a couple of games of chess together. He kept winning until I started cheating. He's cool. He's the sort of person I'd want watching my back.

Camilla is fifteen, and she's trying the hardest to bond with me. It was her birthday two days ago, and we held a get-together in her room. She fed me some of her cake, and gave me a lap pillow when I got tired. Granted, it was far more coddling than anything else, but it still felt nice.

Xander is nineteen, and you can immediately tell he's the sort of person who's going to change the world. The way he stands and walks just leaks authority. He's a born leader. Granted, he's usually too busy to do brotherly stuff, but he's not that type of person. You'd want him leading the charge, to inspire people to follow, rather than among the ranks.

Thoughts on Anything Else

Whoever invented the Hoshidan language should be shot. Half my ancestors spoke it as their native tongue. They were idiots.

I can't magic for my life.

My room is stupidly dark at night, and I keep missing the chamberpot. The servants are getting tired of cleaning the rugs.

There's only one chef who roasts chicken so it's not dry, and that fat duke from the northeast keeps monopolising him.

Writing diary entries is really not a particularly interesting task.

By writing this line, I've used over two-thirds of the page, which means the gap below here is small enough that stopping here doesn't feel like a waste of paper.

Document 3

Academic Progress Report, Royal Nohrian Archives

Summary: It should be noted that, following his recent chronic illness, so to speak, Prince Mikael's memory loss extended to many of his subjects; thankfully, he appears to be a faster learner than before, and as such almost all of that lost information has been recovered. Considering this, Prince Mikael's work has been of an adequate standard; while there is still certainly room for improvement, it is acceptable for the time being.

Nohrian: While there were some initial concerns in matters as simple as spelling and reading, Prince Mikael has quickly caught up on these basic issues and is now well within expected standards. While he displays no great drive for literary analysis, be it for poetry or prose, the small amount he does motivate himself to do is usually meaningful and perceptive. His main focus should be on his handwriting: comparing current samples with those from before his health issues, his script has degenerated significantly, almost to the point of illegibility.

Mathematics: I can say that mathematics is the one area where Prince Mikael has been outstanding. When asked, the prince commented that he had 'seen numbers' while he was bedridden; for whatever reason, he has taken to each concept I presented to him with a remarkable ease and vigour, so much so that, given a few more months, I would comfortably rank him above all his siblings in mathematical ability. Soon, there will be nothing more in this area for me to teach him.

Hoshidan: In contrast, Prince Mikael's Hoshidan has been disappointing. Hoshidan has been the area most affected by his memory loss: the prince has managed to forget almost everything that his late mother and I taught him. I have had to start again from the very basics; further, his progress on these basics, while not slow, has not been as quick as his progress with his other subjects. It will be some time before his Hoshidan will be at any acceptable standard.

Swordsmanship: Due to his health, Prince Mikael's body has not been in a suitable state for extended physical exertions. As such, I have instead been focussing on helping the prince restore his strength to suitable levels; in this regard he has shown good determination, and he will soon be ready for some light sparring.

Thaumaturgy: Theoretically, Prince Mikael has retained his deep curiosity into the inner workings of magic, and has reached the point of being able to analytically decompose most spells with relative ease. Practically, his work has not been as good. While he understands how spells fit together, casting them still does not come naturally to him, and while there have been some signs of progress as of late, I must say that he would not be suited for a future as a mage.

History: I find Prince Mikael's philosophy towards history to be puzzling. For the most part, he is content with only learning the general shape and flow of history, ignoring the deeper reasons for those shapes. Occasionally, however, there will be some subject that catches his interest, and he will spend several days in the library simply to satisfy his own curiosity, sometimes even forgetting to sleep. While I appreciate that he has this drive available to him, I would advise him to apply it more evenly, if not for knowledge, then for health.

Etiquette: Prince Mikael has not taken to his Etiquette lessons with any degree of enthusiasm. He has frequently expressed that he would much rather prefer to be less formal, and that he finds the content I teach in these lessons to be mostly pointless. The saving grace is that, while considering them pointless, he recognises the necessity of learning appropriate courtesies, and as such is capable of performing these matters at a sufficient level.

Further Comments: At times, Prince Mikael has extended some of his preferred lessons for far longer than necessary. While I respect academic dedication, I strongly suspect that this is caused by external boredom (since he shows no disinclination to end lessons he finds uninspiring), and as such would recommend him to find a hobby for his free time. Musicianship and the art of strategy may be valid points from which to start.

Signed,

L. Fields, Chief Royal Tutor

Appendix 1

Brief Timeline of Key Background Events

Winter 873: Birth of Crown Prince Xander, to Queen Katerina.

Winter 877: Birth of First Princess Camilla, to Lady Ione.

Spring 878: King Garon meets a charismatic koto player at a diplomatic summit in Izumo. While some take offence at her Hoshidan heritage, king and musician quickly become smitten.

Summer 878: Lady Hibiki is presented to the Nohrian court, and immediately starts deflecting allegations of being a Hoshidan spy.

Spring 879: First recorded assassination attempt on Lady Hibiki, by extremist factions in the Nohrian Court. Two conspirators are executed for treason; the rest are fined.

Winter 879: Birth of Third Prince Mikael, to Lady Hibiki.

Winter 880: First recorded assassination attempt on Prince Mikael. An assassin infiltrates the castle as a maid and attempts to smother the baby as he sleeps, but is caught in the act by the castle guards. She successfully swallowed a poison capsule before any interrogators could acquire any information.

Spring 882: Birth of Princess Azura of Valla.

Winter 882: Birth of Prince Corrin of Valla.

Summer 884: Birth of Sixth Prince Leon, to Lady Theodora.

Autumn 885: Start of the so-called Concubine Wars. Second Prince Ryan dies after a fall from a balcony. Malice is suspected, but not proven. His mother, Lady Carline, hangs herself in grief.

Winter 886: Fall of Valla. Queen Arete and Princess Azura arrive in Windmire.

Spring 887: Birth of Fourth Princess Elise, to Lady Bethany.

Autumn 887: Lady Arete is formally introduced to the Nohrian Court, as a musician of significant talent. Though treated with some suspicion, she quickly becomes acquainted with King Garon and Queen Katerina.

Spring 888: Two Royal children die under unclear circumstances in the space of a week. Lady Hibiki claims poor health and takes Prince Mikael to Nestra, ostensibly to recover.

Summer 888: Second recorded assassination attempt on Prince Mikael. While in Cyrkensia, arsonists set fire to his lodgings. Unseasonal rain the day before slows the fire enough for mother and child to escape. Both are treated for minor burns and smoke inhalation. Conspirators are never caught.

Autumn 889: Queen Katerina passes away due to chronic illness. The entire country mourns.

Spring 890: 'Violet Tea' incident. Assassins infiltrate the castle serving staff and lace several tea stocks with moonflower extract. The resulting poisoning accounts for the lives of Lady Hibiki and two-thirds of her personal staff, as well as four counts, two barons, a marquis and a duchess. Prince Mikael barely survives, but falls into a coma. A huge investigation follows; despite evidence being largely circumstantial, Lady Ione is implicated and falls out of favour with the King. Her body is found a week later; her death is attributed to suicide.

Autumn 890: King Garon officially takes Lady Arete as his second wife. Princess Azura is adopted into the Royal Family.

Winter 890: An assassin attempts to smother Prince Mikael while comatose, but is interrupted by the Royal Physician during the act. Although the assassin escapes, the Prince's life remains intact. His guard is subsequently increased.

Summer 891: Queen Arete passes away suddenly in unclear circumstances. Her family and close associates mourn.

Autumn 891: Chevois Incident. A diplomatic summit turns unexpectedly sour, and Nohrian forces kill King Sumeragi of Hoshido and kidnap Prince Corrin. In retaliation, Hoshidan forces infiltrate Windmire and abduct Princess Azura, in hope for a prisoner exchange; such a change never materialises.

Summer 892: End of Concubine Wars. An armed contingent is let into the castle and attempts to storm the infirmary. Despite suffering significant casualties, the Royal Guard successfully repel the assault. The ensuing investigation is a messy, convoluted affair, with numerous allegations of perjury and false evidence, and concludes with Lady Theodora executed for treason.

Winter 892: Prince Mikael awakens from his coma.