Summary: Following tragedy, Marianne comforts Byleth. (Game Spoilers Start Here)

Grey skies found themselves over Fódlan, the water pelting against stone and dirt as everyone rushed indoors, their moods deflated. It was unexpected, the skies clear that morning, and yet the sudden downpour wasn't what brought everyone's spirits down. No, the clergy, the soldiers, the academy's faculty, students, and the other residents found themselves shaken from the sudden news: former captain of the Knights of Seiros, the strongest knight who ever lived, Jeralt Eisner, was dead. His body had been brought in by a stone-faced Byleth, and while he was stopped by the guards under reasonable suspicions, Alois demanded he be allowed onto the grounds, helping to carry the body to the crypt. After discovering the hidden journal and Rhea's confession of what had happened to his mother, the mercenary soon found himself in a chair next to his father's body, a thin sheet laid over from head to toe. His mind was a whirlwind in that moment: an infernal rage towards his father's killer, an overwhelming sorrow from the loss, and just… confusion… regarding his origins, all feelings he had never experienced in such magnitude before.

Regardless, he dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as the tears resumed, his hiccups and sobs echoing down the stone walls.

"My master's… dead," Leonie said absently, nursing a glass of iced water, the condensation pooling a ring around its bottom. "I didn't think it was possible."

"Everyone dies one day," Lysithea returned, tenting the mercenary's untied coat over her shoulders like a blanket. "Still, the professor doesn't deserve having his only family taken away like that."

Raphael couldn't find his appetite, his plate untouched. "I know what he's going through."

The news had left Lorenz speechless; if he had a voice, he would've called Jeralt's killer a coward, one that deserved the worst things, and perhaps incite everyone else to act; instead, he leaned against a pillar, a hand held over his chin as if to restrain himself. Hilda, too, remained uncharacteristically quiet, the bright and peppy girl seemingly losing her color as she looked at her thumbs. Ignatz had retired to his room early, his eyebrows knitted in dejection when he left.

Claude knocked at the room's door frame, leaning against the threshold as the others turned their heads to look at him. "Are you guys alright?" he asked, watching his peers look toward one another for a few long moments, as if afraid to speak.

"How is he?" Hilda finally asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Claude shook his head, pushing off to seat himself at the table. "Not well, from what I saw. He was just sitting there with some book in his lap when I started walking back. Where's Ignatz?"

"He, um, left for his room. I think it's all been too much for him," Leonie answered, taking a tentative sip. "Can I go back to my room, too? Captain Jeralt meant a lot to me, but I can't butt in while the professor's there. I just need to get away."

"Go right ahead," he returned, watching her leave the glass behind as she pulled the coat closer to her body. "Anyone else?" Everyone again exchanged looks, no words as the house leader softly sighed. "Truth be told, I'm a bit upset myself. I don't even know what to do in a situation like this."

Looking up to see how those remaining were faring, his eyebrow quirked, his eyes quickly scanning the room a few times.

"Has anyone seen Marianne?"

Her mind kept protesting against her as she continued down the steps, her hands tucked over opposite elbows as she kept herself small, unsure of her decision to see Byleth. She understood letting him mourn, but seeing the front he put up as he wandered the hallways earlier—it was an all too familiar sight. Images of his weakly-composed steely expression were brushed away as her foot pressed against the floor into the crypt, its cold air seeping through her dark uniform. Pushing herself forward, she eyed the turns until she came across a doorway, candlelight flickering from it. She silently cursed the clack of the heels of her boots as her approach into the tighter hallway echoed, the sound filling her mind unasked, forcing her to tiptoe.

Her head peeked into the chamber, watching the mercenary palm his eyes, wiping away huge streaks of tears as a few rogue hiccups wracked his shoulders. Sure, she'd seen him upset, mostly dropped eyebrows, pursed lips, or both, but to see him like this, with a defined grimace and red eyes…

Then she noticed the leather-bound tome in his lap, as Byleth peered at it, his thumb following the lines of some words, too miniscule for her to read from where she spied. She watched the finger slow down towards the end of the block of written text before he rested his arms on the table the body was laid on, pressing his face into the cloth as his shoulders shook.

Attempting to sneak in, she forgot about herself having tiptoed from the hallway as a single clack reverberated in the chamber, startling the grieving man, his face looking more fearful than she felt hers was. She raised her hands in front of her apologetically, only for him to turn his head away, closing the book in his lap and pulling it close to his chest. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered in his direction, only answered by a single hiccough followed by a silence, his mouth quivering from restraint. Backing away slowly, she waited until she was out of his sight before running, her heart ready to burst out of her chest.

Evening had settled over Garegg Mach when Marianne bumped into Byleth, his hair a mess, tear stains down his cheeks, and the book tucked under his arm, the opposite one crossing his chest to secure the tome in his hold. Despite this, he maintained the same neutral expression he usually held.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he simply said as he tried to make his way around her, stopping when she attempted to walk next to him. "I want to be alone, Marie—"

"I want to talk," she pleaded, her eyes locked onto his. His expression overall didn't change, although she caught onto a small nuance—the corner of his eye pulling slightly.

Byleth's eyes flicked from side to side, seeing the intersecting hallways were empty. "This way," he finally said, nudging his head in a direction.

Marianne's eyes ran over everything in the captain's quarters, formerly Jeralt's, from the large leather meeting sofas sandwiched around the low table to the armor displayed by the large oak desk. To her surprise, a pair of red hibiscus flowers sat on the desk, their underlying leaves bending ever so slightly from their size.

She turned to look at the mercenary, who was slumped against one of the armrests of the massive couch, the book—a journal, he told her—tossed onto the table. "... You're probably gonna tell me that everything will be okay like everyone else, aren't you?" he asked, his voice raspy from grieving.

"I can't tell you if anything will be okay," she returned as she approached him, her hands in front of her waist. "But, if it's alright with you, I'd like to ask how you feel."

A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he wriggled in his seat. "All I know is that I feel like a mess, Marie. Everything that my life was or I thought it was just doesn't make sense anymore." More tears began trailing down his face as his palms moved up to swipe them away. "W-why am I crying this much…?"

"Sometimes it doesn't have to make sense," she answered, sitting down next to him as she spread her arms just enough to invite him in. "Maybe you're sad, maybe you're angry, but there's nothing wrong with feeling what you're feeling."

As her hands softly patted his back, he let more of his weight rest against her as his sobs died down, though his cheeks remained wet as they stained her uniform's coat.

A soft laugh pulled him from his lull, causing him to meet her warm eyes. "You really loved your father, didn't you?" She watched him answer with a small nod. Marianne's palms moved in circles against his shoulder blades, lightly bumping over his scapulae in their motions.

Silence washed over them as they continued their embrace, and despite the wet spot where he laid his head, they were comfortable.

The skies outside of the window darkened as Byleth found his head on Marianne's lap, her fingers threading through his hair as they remained in silence, having lost track of time as they appreciated one another's company. A few times he readjusted his shoulders, pressing against the leather seats or causing her thighs to lift slightly, but he quickly settled back into rest once more.

"It's getting very late, Byleth," Marianne finally said, and yet she made no effort to move, continuing to run her hands over his sea-green locks.

"Just a bit longer," he mumbled, the result of his cheek squishing against her leg. He heard a sigh from above him, his eyes moving to peek at her from a corner only to see a serene smile appear on her face.

"I'll count five minutes in my head, then we need to leave, alright?" She felt him nod from where he lay, as silence took the room again.

'What the hell...?!'

Leonie walked briskly down the halls as her hands reflexively wrapped themselves around her body. After visiting Jeralt's body in the crypt to say some final goodbyes, she decided to visit his former quarters to get a feel of what he was like, only to walk in on Marianne comforting the professor. Sure, she'd seen folks who'd been taken down a notch needing some words or a hug, but the way he bawled against her shoulder…

Well, Byleth certainly kept privacy and intimacy together.

"She wasn't there the whole time, was she—?"

"Leonie, what are you still doing up?" Lysithea asked, her hands holding onto a textbook.

"Huh? I can ask the same for you. What, you studying up late?"

The white-haired mage peered down at the book before looking back up. "Oh, no, I left this in the mess hall… What about you?"

"Well, I went to see Captain Jeralt, say my goodbyes before they put him in the ground." Her arm reached over and tugged at the tight black. "Then, I went to visit his quarters."

"Why would you need to visit his quarters?" Lysithea queried, adjusting her hold on the book.

"Sentimental reasons, really," she answered, as she glanced off to the side. "... I ended up walking in on something else instead, though."

"Someone was already in the captain's quarters?"

"Y-yeah. The professor… and Marianne," she drawled, her lips pursing. Lysithea gave Leonie a pitiful look, as the redhead's eyebrow's quirked in confusion. 'Did… Professor Eisner have to be comforted before?'

"Oh, so you walked in on them making out, too?"

"Wait, what?!" Leonie scrambled for something to grab onto, only to end up shoving herself against a wall. "What do you mean, 'too'?!"

A sheepish grin came across Lysithea's features as she watched the panicking mercenary. "So, you didn't walk in on something like that?"

Author's Notes: Despite how predictable Jeralt's fate was, that whole scene and its follow-up was still very heart-wrenching.