Hello, dear friends.

As you've probably seen from the summary, this is a case study of Fodlan by the Intelligence Department, an enigmatic organization dedicated to understanding and analyzing the dimensions of worlds. In this scenario, they were drawn to Fodlan because of the world's unique trait of hosting multiple, vastly different timelines within a single dimension.

In all seriousness, I got the idea for this fanfiction when I was wondering: "What would my, the player's, experience be if I had meta-knowledge and was placed within the world of Fodlan?" There are already great fanfictions of similar topics with self-inserts and "what if gamer guy/girl was in the game", so I decided to put my own original spin on it.

With that, please enjoy the first chapter of Case Study: Fodlan.

"You're… a historian?" Jeralt raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and you are the Blade Breaker, correct? The leader of this mercenary band?" The voice of the man Jeralt spoke to was cool and warm, seeming to come from all directions. Jeralt figured that this illusion derived from the fact he had no witness to the man's face, for the man had none. Instead, a large, softly domed helmet rested on the man's shoulders. There were no slits or openings; the bottom edges of the helmet melded with a thick, dark cloth to cover his neck. Two thin lines, black and glossy, reached from the edge of the helmet to where Jeralt figured the man's eyes would lie if he could see them. Weathered cavalry gloves gripped a rough, leather bound tome and his stance was set by a pair of heavy boots. The man's figure was shrouded by a worn overcoat with steel buttons the size of a child's hand. From how he stood, Jeralt could barely see dull, plate armor beneath the shadow of the coat, a shadow which nearly reached over Jeralt for the man was of a great size.

Aside from the height, Jeralt had seen mercenaries of similar fashion. He had never seen one that would refer to themself as a historian. What academic dressed in a heavier plate than the Adrestian armor corps?

Realizing that he had still yet to answer the imposed question, Jeralt grunted and folded his arms. "Just call me Jeralt. You're interested in joining?"

"If it is acceptable to you, yes, although only in a short endeavour. I heard that you were heading northeast."

"Northeast till Remire Village, about a week's trip out. I was planning on investigating rumors of bandits before continuing north," Jeralt said before sizing up the man once again, "Do you have your certification for mercenary work?"

"My what?"

"Certifications, lad. There's plenty of freelancers, but if you're rolling with me we keep things clean with the law. Besides, it helps weed out the shadier folk."

Jeralt heard chuckling and was inclined to spin his head and seek out the sound before realizing it was, once again, coming from the man.

"I would think that shadier folk are the best mercenaries, the ones most willing to get their hands dirty." The man said in amusement. Jeralt was about to retort but the man continued, "I do not have any certifications, but that should be a non-issue as I have no intention to fight. I am a historian, after all, it wouldn't do well for me to tread through combat."

Jeralt sighed, gesturing to the man's armor, "Y'know, I'm having a really hard time believing that you are as pacifistic as you say. Have you seen what you're wearing, son?"

The grin was apparent in the man's voice as it once again filled Jeralt's ears. "Ah, I never said I was a pacifist, but I'm not inclined to fight."

"So why do you want to join a band of mercs?"

"I see the confusion." the man tilted his head, "My apologies, I should've stated my motives more clearly. I have the intention to reach a certain Garreg Mach Monastery."

Jeralt frowned. It had been a while since he heard of the monastery. "I see. Would you like directions instead?"

"If my company appalls you, I am willing to take my leave."

"I never said that, I was just..." Jeralt trailed off, shaking his head. This man was confusing him. He would have been more worried if he had not met people just as peculiar in the past. From those experiences, he found that their mystery was often from the essence of being unusual and not from a hidden hostility. Besides the fact, Jeralt was quite curious about this stranger's ties to Garreg Mach. He had no wish to return to the monastery but had not heard news of the church's ilk in a while.

"Gah, whatever. You can tag along." Jeralt stuck out his hand, "What did you say your name was?"

The man shook Jeralt's hand firmly. "You may call me Rook."

So many questions', Jeralt thought to himself with exasperation. In the morning when his band started their journey northeast, Rook had come up to his side wondering if he could ask Jeralt a few questions. Where the other members of the company marched at quick steps to match the pace of Jeralt's horse, the man seemed to be taking the strides of a leisurely stroll. He spoke with the same easygoing calm, and so Jeralt was willing to humor him. Besides, Jeralt was still curious about the man's connection to the monastery.

That was twelve hours ago. It was now evening. Rook had indeed asked a few questions, if a "few" was hundreds. To further befuddle Jeralt, Rook's questions were all terribly dull. Some of the topics were less dull than others. Jeralt more readily answered the questions about the mercenary certifications, the management of his company, and the various logistics he had to take care of. He was careful not to reveal anything compromising to his company's safety, but Jeralt could not lie; the eagerness displayed by the sheer quantity of Rook's questions was amusing and made the time go quickly.

There was a short break from their conversation when Jeralt fell back to monitor the company's progress. Upon returning, Jeralt saw that Rook had not fallen silent but instead redirected his questions to his daughter, Byleth. Despite her inexpressive nature, Jeralt could see in his daughter's eyes that she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of Rook's inquiries and so he very quickly re-entered the conversation and fielded the questions.

Rook was an odd man, and Jeralt voiced that to him as the company broke for camp and the night set in.

"Hah!" Rook laughed, "Unfortunately, that title belongs to someone far odder than me. I think I would prefer something such as… uncanny."

Jeralt gave a slight grin. "I thought being uncanny was a bad thing."

"Maybe, but I like the sound of it."

"Rook the Uncanny?"

"No, no," Rook waved his hand dismissively, "Uncanny Rook. In that order."

"If you insist," Jeralt said, "Well, good talk Rook, but I'm gonna go make sure the camp's taking care. There's a couple greenhorns aside from you that I want to check in on."

Rook nodded and strode away. Jeralt steered to a quieter corner of the camp and leashed his horse to a tree. The old-timers of his company did well to keep the process smooth and most of the tents were already set up. Upon reaching the center of camp, he was not surprised to see his tent and another set neatly side by side, nor was he surprised to see who was standing in front of them.

"Father."

Jeralt nodded to the young woman who stood stiffly before him. "Hey kid. How was your day?" He walked to stand beside her, facing the rest of the camp.

"It was quiet." Byleth said plainly, watching him closely as he drew up beside her. Jeralt scratched his chin. Once again, it was up to him to make a conversation. He always enjoyed spending time with his daughter, but between her subdued, emotionless personality and his lack of the gift of gab, their conversations were as dull as Rook's questions.

"Mhm, I might've preferred that. That new guy was talking my ear off."

"Yes, I'm surprised you could keep up with him. What was his name?"

"He goes by Rook...uh, just Rook I guess." Jeralt scratched at his beard, "I never got his surname. I guess it's not that big of a deal, I don't introduce myself as Eisner."

"Is he dangerous?"

Jeralt shrugged, "Maybe. He sure looks the part, but we probably won't find out. He's only staying with us until Remire."

Byleth blinked. "He's not doing any work with us?"

"According to him, he's an academic. A historian, I think."

"He doesn't look like one."

"He sure doesn't." Jeralt smiled inwardly. Although her face was blank as ever, Jeralt knew she was just as cautious about the man as he was. Unlike them, the other mercenaries in the company couldn't care less about Rook. A good number of them had greeted him, introducing themselves personally or in passing. They were paid to fight, not to care, and so a mysteriously armored man did not bother them much.

Jeralt mused silently to himself. Maybe he and his daughter were just paranoid. On the other hand, he was paranoid before about that damned archbishop, and it served him well. Before he could think more deeply, his daughter's voice cut in again.

"Father? Is everything alright?"

Jeralt snapped out of his thoughts and looked around the camp. Rook was nowhere to be seen. He then turned to face his daughter. Deep, blue eyes stared back at him.

"Yes… yes, everything's fine. I was just thinking." Jeralt said dismissively. "It's been a long day. Off to bed with you, kid."

She nodded and silently retreated into her tent. Jeralt scanned the camp once again before entering his with a sigh. He was probably overthinking this stranger. He knew plenty of people curious about Garreg Mach and this man was no different. He was a historian, it would be only natural that the keystone of Fodlan gained his attention.

The camp was set up to the side of a hill, on the other side of which ran the path Jeralt's mercenaries were taking. The trees that dotted the countryside grew steadily denser as they gained distance from the road, eventually coalescing into a deep forest. A familiar giant of a man rested against the trunk of a fallen tree. To a passing observer, Rook was silent, but there was anything but silence within his helmet.

"Now we're getting somewhere, Rook. Naturally, your conversations are dreadfully boring and-"

"Important, Ken," A feminine voice interrupted, "Rook's questions were important to reinforce the information our reconnaissance has gathered."

"Yes, yes, of course," The first voice, known as Ken, said dismissively, "Recon drones are good, 'magic' interfering with them is bad, field agents making conversation is necessary, whatever. Sheesh, it really is annoying that every world seems to have a different, weird 'magic' that we have to deal with… and they all end up having the same set of scientific basis!"

"Stay on topic, boss." A third, gruff voice interjected.

"Right! Big news! This speeds up our timeline considerably. I was expecting you to have to probe out a little more to get leads on where the dimensional well is, but that Eisner girl… uh, what was her name Valentine?"

"Byleth Eisner, sir." Valentine, the feminine voice, responded.

"Yes, Byleth, lovely name. She is absolutely dripping with dimensional significance Rook! We can't do any big analysis yet, but if there's something that's causing the deviance in all these Fodlans, I bet she has something to do with it!" Ken was beside himself with excitement, "What luck, I say! I was expecting this to take much longer!"

"So do you still want me to follow the lead on Garreg Mach? Or do you want me to stick with this company now?" Rook asked.

Ken hummed thoughtfully, "Ah, good point. Warden and Bottlecap are busy managing the drones… I guess Valentine could-"

"No."

"-not go into the field, I repeat could not go into the field." Ken caught himself quickly. "Urgh, how frustrating that there aren't two of you, Rook."

"I'm flattered, sir."

"I recommend that Mr. Rook continues the course with Jeralt's mercenaries until Remire, upon which we make the decision then. In the meantime, Mr. Rook gets a little closer to this girl and does some rote studying with his onboard scanners." Valentine said.

"I don't like leaving it up in the air, but I suppose we can't do any better right now. What cursed luck! Two leads going in different directions."

"Can we not have some drones track the Eisners?" Rook asked.

"No can do." Ken replied, "We weren't able to glean much, but like I said before, the Eisner girl has too much dimensional instability for the drones. No drone tracking on her or Garreg Mach unless we manage to make a dimensionally local drone."

There was a slight pause and Rook could hear the gears turning in Ken's head. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," He continued, "But it will have to be pursued another time. You have your orders."

"Be careful Mr. Rook," Valentine said cautiously, "Just because you're anchored doesn't mean you are risk-free by this girl… and make sure to eat! The food should be safe… well, dimensionally safe, don't eat anything raw… and get sleep! The inhibitors of your-"

"Valentine, you hardly need to fret, he's been here for a while now." Ken said, "But in all seriousness… Rook?"

"Yes, sir?"

"No killing."

"I would never dream of it."

Ken scoffed. "Oddman out."

"Valentine out."

"Warden out."

The comm cut with the last farewell. Rook leaned back into the log and let the sounds of a slumbering forest lullaby him to sleep.

Apologies in advance for OOC. I will try my best to replicate every character's personality properly. Also, have no fear about an overwhelming amount of OCs. I admit to being a bit hypocritical because I am not a huge fan of original characters, yet here I am with four of my own. These four will be all the OCs I plan to add and I hope that you fall in love with them as much as I did when drafting them up. The trajectory of the story will have a healthy balance between Byleth's experience and Rook's experience.

Reviews are welcomed and encouraged. Tell me what you like and don't like; I will take it into account.

And of course, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.

Go in peace,

Louproxy