Bernadetta disliked being outside on a good day.
If it were at all possible to mandate the kitchen deliver food like her family's servants did back home, she likely would never leave her room. Even Professor Byleth — whose near-daily knocks at her door was an unprecedented comfort — had trouble dragging her into the world for impending travel or combat.
But it was precisely because of the Blue Lion's Professor that she embarked on a journey across Monastery grounds in the dreary afternoon weather.
Her oft-disheveled appearance; everything from that messy purple bedhead to the bare-minimum uniform pieces clearly bulging over a navy blue hoodie; was comically more unruly than ever thanks to the heavy rains that were barely held back by an umbrella befitting someone three-times as big.
Yet she rebuked nature rubbing salt in the exposed wound of her outdoor odyssey by remaining outside in spite of it all.
Byleth had been locked away in his room for over a week following his father's death. It was a concerning pattern for anyone in the Academy beyond Bernadetta herself (and occasionally Marianne or Linhardt), but nobody faulted him for taking the time to grieve. Not even those students forced to temporarily return to their previous instructors.
The skittish purple-haired girl had wanted to return his daily gesture of solidarity by knocking at the door to his room at the end of the dormitories… But chickened out.
So instead she decided to pay her respects in a way that involved less social interaction: Visiting the grave Jeralt now shared with his long-deceased wife.
Yet the Goddess seemed to be conspiring against even this simple gesture.
By the time she arrived, Archbishop Rhea was already visiting the newly carved marker in the small graveyard that overlooked the chasm bisecting the Monastery, situated right beside its grand bridge.
Bernadetta stood patiently on the higher, paved walkway surrounding the graveyard. She figured it would be easy enough to brave the deluge until Rhea left, that way she could slink around to the opposite staircase and drop her singular rose off at Jeralt's grave without a single conversation impeding her return journey home; A journey that promised the distinctive comforts of sewing under a pile of comfy blankets.
Except… The Archbishop didn't leave.
That inconsiderate green-haired matriarch just stood unmoving in front of the grave for dozens of minutes on end, her head slightly ducked — and who knows how long she had been there before Bernadetta arrived!
It was baffling to the young girl, especially considering Rhea had no umbrella to speak of. She simply let the rain pour down onto her figure, at this point rolling off of her oversaturated white, black and gold ornate robes like waterfalls.
Being a recluse made Bernadetta a patient person. She was used to waiting long stretches of time to ensure she could accomplish a task with no interruptions.
But even she was starting to grow impatient, possibly to the point of doing the unthinkable: Raising her voice at the Archbishop to get her way.
… Okay, she couldn't actually bring herself to do that.
Luckily she wouldn't have the chance to deeply consider it before another figure stealthily approaches from behind, masked by the sounds of rain pounding against the pavement.
"What's up, Bernie-Bear?"
Bernadetta squeals and practically slips as she twirls around to face the new voice with bug-eyed fear.
That fear was met by the nonchalant grin of Sylvain, whose scruffy red hair was safe under the wide-brim of his own dark umbrella.
He stood close enough that their umbrellas overlapped, which normally would have sent the frightened girl scampering away if it didn't happen to protect her more from the storm.
"D-Don't call me that!" She stutters out before turning away from him again, locking her gaze on the Archbishop's back. "Why do you always insist on humiliating me, Sylvain?"
"I see it more as a difference of opinion," he remarks while literally waving her comment off with his free hand.
"There's never been a time where I've come out with the expressed intention of humiliating you. It just so happens I think your reactions are cute enough that I'm willing to risk letting you believe that's what I'm doing."
Sylvain's grin widens, but it's pointed directly at the back of Bernadetta's head.
As soon as it becomes obvious she isn't going to dignify the response by turning back to see that grin, however, he lets his lips relax.
Clearly he needed a change of pace if he wanted her to open up.
So he focuses on the same thing she was: Rhea.
"You know, I've heard through the grapevine that the Archbishop and Captain Jeralt were pretty close back in the day." Sylvain's serious subject matter briefly draws a glance out of her. "Not like 'get in a sauna together' close, but Alois says she might be more broken up about this than anyone."
"Certainly not more than the Professor," Bernadetta mumbles back.
Sylvain chuckles and shakes his head.
"No, certainly not. I'd agree with you there."
He tries to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, but that finally drives her to take a few steps away. Not enough to be out of earshot, but enough to drench his forearm in the re-opened wall of rain.
The red-haired boy quickly pulls his hand back and shakes it off under the cover of his umbrella.
"But still, I heard Jeralt saved the Archbishop's life when they were way younger." Bernadetta's eyes widen at the thought as she looks at Sylvain again. He nods, assuring that she heard right. "If you think that's crazy, supposedly she returned the favor with some crazy magic that brought him back from the brink of death!"
The girl sighs, idly spinning the handle of her umbrella so droplets of water sprinkle around her in curving patterns.
"It's too bad she couldn't have done that now," she laments. "I hate seeing the Professor so upset when all he does is make us happy…"
Sylvain scratches the back of his hair while she sniffles back a sob.
"I know what you mean," he acknowledges softly.
They both fall silent and continue to watch over the still Archbishop, her half-circle crowned headpiece glistening with drops of water even under the overcast sky.
But the original Blue Lion wasn't done yet. It was so rare to get Bernadetta talking, after all.
"You know, I bet this moment would be perfect to replicate in your book."
She squeals lightly hearing that, and then tries to duck her head.
"D-Do you really have to keep bringing that up too?!"
"Only as long as you keep letting me beta read chapters."
He chuckles, much to her groaning chagrin.
"Seriously though, it's a real poetic look don't you think?" He scoots closer to the recluse again; pointing out Rhea to draw her eyes that way. "Someone standing out at a grave, unconcerned about the raging weather around them. Their white clothes soaked through, but they don't care! All that matters is the deference they have toward the dead, personal well-being be damned."
As much as she hated to admit it, Bernadetta could feel the gears turning in her head as he set that scene. She barely nods, which was enough of an acknowledgement to warrant another one of his patented sharp-toothed grins.
"I suppose it is poetic," she mumbles.
Then her voice picks up as she looks over and lightly chides him.
"When you started that off, I figured you only cared about her outfit being soaked for… Other reasons."
Sylvain is stunned at her surprise burst of teasing confidence.
"Hey come on, I'm not that bad!"
"Sometimes you are…"
She shrugs, and he slumps his shoulders in response.
"It's okay, though." Again he looks surprised at her forwardness. "I'm pretty used to it by now, and some people must find it appealing. Mercedes certainly seems to."
Sylvain squints and leans forward, trying to glance at her downtrodden eyes.
"What's that about Mercedes?"
Realizing she's said too much, Bernadetta's eyes widen again as her entire form tenses. She rapidly shakes her head to dissuade him before turning and running off into the hallway outside of the gathering hall — back in the direction of her room.
"I-It's nothing! Nothing!" She cries out from afar.
The redhead just stands back, looking more confused than ever.
"Man, what was that all about?"