A/N: On the advice of a good friend of mine, the talented Leider Hosen, I have gone back through my older chapters and written numerous dramatic revisions to the character of Ludwig, which bring him much closer to resembling his game counterpart. So, if it seems as though this Ludwig has arrived from a parallel universe... that's because he has! I feel that making these revisions has been extremely beneficial to the story - and for this, I must completely credit Hosen. He is an extremely talented writer, so if you've never read any of his fictions, I give him my strongest recommendation.


Chapter Ten: Heir

The giant steel gates of Cainhurst Castle eased open, the hinges groaning deeply as the aged steel parted. A shower of splintering ice followed suit as several perching icicles were minced by the movement of the metal. A gush of cold air greeted the faces of the guards that were accompanying Maria, but neither of them so much as flinched. In fact, they seemed completely unfazed by the cold, quite unlike Maria, whose quivering flesh did not go unnoticed.

"Would you like my coat, m'lady?" one of the pair asked, offering his robe.

"I'm alright, thank you," Maria replied, somewhat timidly.

The guard beamed. "That Cainhurst blood of yours should warm you up quickly enough."

The gates opened out into a massive stone courtyard blanketed by thick snow. As their boots crunched upon the icy ground, Maria took the time to examine her surroundings. Twenty years is a long time, but there are some memories which you can never quite shift, and as Maria looked up at the towering Gothic spires of her old home, and the iron railings which bound them all together like veins, a familiarity started to set in.

"This way," one of the guards indicated, raising his wick to illuminate a winding, frost-covered path that led towards a large stone keep.

Cainhurst's main foyer was a hive of activity, drone-like servants of the royal family scrubbing at the floor so vigorously and relentlessly that it seemed like they might wear away the tiles. A few of them glanced up when Maria was escorted through the hall but were not distracted from their work for long enough to earn a scowl from the prowling noblemen that also haunted the corridors. Maria's modest dress was a stark contrast to the pompous attire adorning such nobles, and a few of them gave her disdainful looks as they passed.

Eventually, the two guards led Maria to a locked door, and gestured for her to wait.

"This will only take a second, m'lady," they insisted, before knocking gently upon the archaic wood.

The doors creaked open, absorbing the two guards. Before they were shut again, Maria heard the sound of grating metal and frantic yelling, but the two guards frustratingly blocked her vision. Once the doors closed, emptiness settled in once more, and the former hunter was left alone in the cold, dimly-lit corridor.

Queen Annalise sat up in her chair, wicked smile slowly starting to dip at the edges of her mouth as she saw two of her guards walking towards her across the throne room. The pair paused as the action at the centre of the room – two duelling Cainshurst warriors – reached a climax, with one of the pair knocking his opponent's blade away with his own. As his bested foe reeled back the victor, whose gear was identical to his opponents aside from the black crow feathers adorning his chest piece, grabbed him by the throat. The flailing knight struggled to no avail as his triumphant opponent yanked him forwards, and thrust his blade straight through his guts. Agonised, the knight let out a feeble cry, his voice muffled by the tide of blood rising to his mouth. Soon after, he fell still.

The victorious knight let his opponent fall onto the ground, before tearing off the man's ghoulish iron mask, and replacing it on his own head. As the Queen looked on at her champion, he raised his arms into the air, shuddering as though his body were overtaken with some kind of primal pleasure.

"Congratulations," Annalise called. "You have won yet again."

The knight let his arms fall to his sides, before tearing off his mask and letting his long, silver hair fall to the side.

"All for your favour, my queen," he said softly.

Annalise chuckled – a dry, icy sound that sent chills through the assembled members of the nobility. "Sometimes I wish you'd act more like a king, Victyr. But most times, I enjoy your dull obedience. Come - be seated. It seems we have matters to attend to."

Victyr nodded earnestly, like a puppy who knew that he had been good enough to earn a treat. Still soaked through with the blood of his fallen comrade, he took the seat next to Annalise. The two guards stepped forward, and gazed up at their king and queen reverently.

"Your highnesses," one spoke. "We have an unexpected arrival. Lady Maria, heir to the Frigid Keep, has returned to Cainhurst."

A gasp rippled through the court nobles as they heard a name lost to them by nearly-twenty years, followed swiftly by an impassioned chatter as they haplessly tried to recall the old bloodline, and its importance to the nobility today. However, one hard glare from the Queen was enough to silence the crowd almost instantaneously. Satisfied with the calm, Annalise stood up from her chair, with Victyr quickly following suit.

"I have not heard that name in many years," she whispered, hand to her cheek and eyes gazing out as though lost in memory. "But it is a name that still holds significance in this court. Bring her to me. There is much to discuss."

The two guards fell onto one knee, arms outstretched. As they rose again, Annalise called out to one of the servants scrubbing the walls.

"Get that cleaned up," she hissed, long bony finger outstretched towards the bloodied corpse in the centre of the room.


Zephyr led Gehrman through the rafters of the Grand Cathedral until they reached a gloomy, darkened chasm built into the back wall. With both hands, the Choir Master pulled the ornate lever that activated the elevator, and stood back as a deep, resonant rumble from the depths brought the machinery to life.

The old hunter had remained silent throughout the trip, hardly enthused by the prospect of what was to come. But, as the elevator drew into sight, and the Choir Master pushed him onto its stone pedestal, liquid fear started to pump through his veins, and he felt his battle-worn fingers trembling in his coat pockets.

Sensing his prisoner's unease, Zephyr grinned manically.

"Think of it like a homecoming," he smiled. "Without you, none of this would be possible. You see what we have accomplished; now remember where all of that came from!"

Gehrman bit his lip to stop coarse and vulgar insults from flying loose. The ground beneath his feet began to shift, and as the elevator began its hellish descent through the depths of the cathedral, the hunter shut his eyes, and tried to block out the world. The movement strained upon his wooden leg, and he grimaced as it started to rub against his flesh. As they travelled deeper underground, Gehrman's breaths became shorter, and the dizziness that swam in his head swarmed through the rest of his body. He felt as though taking one step would be enough to make him vomit.

Then, the elevator stopped, and Zephyr's hands were pushing him forward once more.

"This is our stop," he said, guiding the enfeebled hunter through an opening in the cavern, leading them into a room bathed in a luminous blue and white hue. In the corner, a hulk of metal tied down with multiple metal chains caught Gehrman's attention. As Zephyr forced him onto the ground, locking him with a set of handcuffs, the metal writhed, and the sinking sensation flooding the hunter's stomach finally hit the ground.

"I'll leave you two alone," Zephyr derided, heading back towards the elevator, and leaving the chained hunter – and his chained prey – alone.

A soft, low groan filled the enclosed space of the cavern. As Gehrman rose to his feet shakily, burdened by the loss of his hands, and gazed upon the monster of his own making, he realised that the sound had in fact come from his own lips.

Ebrietas was unrecognisable from the cosmic entity that Byrgenwerth had encountered all those years ago. She was akin to a prisoner of war – and, in a way, she was – with her bloodstained and bruised flesh indicating that she had been tortured multiple times. Scars dotted across almost every patch of visible skin indicated where she had been bled. Gehrman was never made completely aware of what the exsanguination process involved, but seeing how precise the incisions had been made – always deep enough to provide large amounts of blood but never so much as to kill her, and render their source barren – he was reminded of the milking process of a cow. Only, this was something out of a nightmare – a nightmare that he had contributed to bringing into being.

The chained Great One made no attempt to communicate with Gehrman. Seeing what she had been through, it was a likely possibility that the trauma had left her completely muted. That, or Ebrietas was so used to human visitors that such an occurrence was simply ignored.

In any case, Gehrman was glad. Any attention from the pitiful creature would make the experience a thousand times worse.

After a while, his legs buckled, and he found himself sprawled on the ground, looking up at the ceiling. With the looming stalactites as his witness, Gehrman pictured the fiery embers of hell swirling around him, magma searing at his clothes until they were but tatters and then consuming his flesh and bone. Such punishment was only the threshold of what he deserved.

His actions all of those years ago had turned Yharnam into a living hell. So, in some way, perhaps his recompense had already begun.


Ludwig took a deep breath, letting the cold night air fill him up. In the sky above, the moon shone in earnest, its white rays sending down their blessings upon him and the work of his Church Hunters. Across the way, a giant hairy beast let out a wailing scream, and fell to its knees with a heavy thud. In moments, Ludwig's hunters were upon it, hacking off its limbs and eventually its head, spilling buckets of blood onto Yharnam's rain-spattered cobble streets. The creature, which had once been a man, was one of hundreds of beasts that had been put to rest that night in the name of purity.

"Good work, men," Ludwig cried, raising his sword aloft in triumph. "I feel that every night we come one step closer to bringing peace to our city, and ending this abhorrent plague."

"If you say so," one of the hunters shot back. Ludwig sighed.

"I see that some of you are still not satisfied with my leadership," he said, a heavy sadness inflecting his words. "What do I have to do to prove myself? Must I fell a Great One to earn your approval?"

His Church Hunters gave him no reply, which only agitated him more.

"Do you not believe in the old ways as I do?" he cried desperately. "We are knights in all-but name, bringing safety and security to our beloved land! Being a part of this – does it not fill you with pride?"

"…Help… me…"

Ludwig froze. The attention of his hunters was fixed upon something that he couldn't see – something in the corner of his eye. The Holy Blade pivoted, trying to ascertain the origin of their distraction.

He found it very quickly.

From one of the adjoining alleyways, a man was limping towards the party. Both of his hands, soaked in blood and green pus, were clutched to his throat, as though he were choking. To an outsider, he would have been quickly identified as a plague sufferer, and put down without mercy. Only, every one of the hunters on that darkened street corner knew what a plague victim looked like –and this man was not it. He was something else entirely – an uncertainty.

A cause for fear.

"What ails you, stranger?" Ludwig called. The man did not respond, but continued to slide across the cobbles towards the party, panting heavily all-the-while.

One of the Church Hunters stepped forward, his Kirkhammer raised against his shoulder blade. "Get back."

The hunter edged towards the oncoming man, fingers itching on his hammer. Ludwig watched, too fascinated by the situation to take any other action.

As the two came face-to-face, the hunter took his Kirkhammer in both hands, readying a swing. Just before he could take it however, the limping man opened his mouth wide, and an explosion of blackened blood burst out from his throat, as though water had broken through the walls of a dam. The sheer force of the eruption tore away at the sides of the man's flesh, leaving a gaping black hole where his face had been. The hunter, too close to the man to have evaded, was covered in the blood, and instantly recoiled, coughing and spluttering frenetically. Having passed on the infection, the man dropped lifelessly to the ground like a ragdoll, the remains of his face breaking apart on the stone cobbles.

The effect on the Church Hunters was comparable to anarchy. Most of them turned tail and ran almost immediately, and those who stayed, either opting to or because they were rooted to the ground by fear/nausea, went rigid, some retching loudly into the gutter.

Ludwig himself was too stunned to move. His eyes were fixed on the stricken hunter, who had collapsed onto his knees, and had both hands tightly pressed to his eyes, screaming. The veins in his neck were starting to burn a bright red - this was all Ludwig needed to see. With trembling hands, the Holy Blade raised his sword, and swung forwards.


"The doctors have started referring to it as ashen blood."

Laurence took a swig from his hipflask, leaving a trail of red around the corners of his mouth. If the situation at-hand was giving him any anxiety, he was not giving it away.

Ludwig, on the other hand, could not conceal his petrification. All-the-while he talked, his fingers trembled. It had been four days, but he still could not get the horrific images out of his mind – it seemed that they were forever etched there.

"Do they know anything else about it?" Laurence asked.

Ludwig swallowed. "It doesn't seem to be related to the… beastly contagion, sire. In fact, it is more closely comparable to the old, medieval blights. The Black Plague….Influenza….Tubercolosis…Perhaps, this gives us a better hope of finding a cure for this thing…"

"We already have one," Laurence replied. "We have always had one. Have there been any reported cases in Central Yharnam or the Cathedral Ward?"

"No, sire…"

Laurence folded his hands neatly on the table. "Then there is only one solution available to the people of Old Yharnam. They must return to the Church."


Maria walked down the carpeted aisle of the throne room, eyes fixed upon the seated King and Queen that lay at the chamber's end. From a distance, their expressions were not visible, but even so, there was a frightful aura emanating from the entire room. The assembly of noble men and women that lined the walls followed her with cautious eyes. Maria could practically feel their tension, like a knot of rope straining against a large exertion of force. When she was but ten feet from the royals, she stopped, and dropped to one knee before them.

"Your graces," she said, head bowed. "I have been long away, but I return to you now, and beg for your absolution."

Quiet followed, before it was suddenly shattered by a long, drawn-out cackle. Queen Annalise seemed so tickled that she might fall off of her chair, her mouth drawn apart further than the chasm leading to hell. Finally, she stopped, and spoke.

"Absolution? My dear, you have committed no crime by leaving this place, and your return brings us nothing but joy. Please, rise. There is no need for a fellow royal to bend the knee."

Maria flushed red, clambering to her feet sheepishly. "Thank you, my queen."

Annalise nodded curtly. "You have grown so very much! You are the spitting image of your mother – is she not, Victyr?"

Victyr, who had not taken the time to clean his armour before meeting his long-lost relation, gave a slow head tilt. "Indeed. Your hair is most blonde."

Annalise snorted. "Is that all you have to say, Victyr? Why, the resemblance is uncanny! If it were not for those blue eyes, I would have mistaken you for my sister in a halfbeat."

The Queen looked her niece up and down, before narrowing her eyes slightly, noticing Maria's foreign dress.

"It seems that your time away has humbled your sense of pride," she noted. "Victyr, fetch me a set of robes. Maria is a royal – and she should be dressed like one."

The king rose heavily from his chair, heading towards the door. As he passed Maria, he stopped briefly, green-hued eyes absorbing her image with unnerving enthusiasm. He reached out with a gloved hand and grasped a lock of Maria's hair, examining it with a peculiar tenderness before dropping it, and continuing on his way. The encounter left Maria slightly uneasy, but her welcome had but nothing less than pleasant, and, at the offer of a goblet of fine red wine, was quickly forgotten.

Once the court had dispersed, leaving Maria, Annalise and her squadron of cleaners to their privacy, the Queen of Cainhurst turned to Maria, an inquisitive urge overcoming her.

"I hate to pry, but what brings you here, now of all times?" she asked.

Maria's gaze fell, as she quickly realised it was not a question that she prepared for, despite its inevitability.

"To be truthful, I am not completely certain," she confessed. "I have been missing a purpose for a long while now. A place where I could belong. Some notion... in me… persuaded me that that purpose may lie here…"

Annalise's stare intensified, the Queen's opal-hued peepers boring into Maria like a prospector looking for a trove of gold.

"That would be your Cainhurst blood, my child. It has a fascinating longing for its birthplace. By coincidence or no, it always seems to bring its people home."

Victyr returned, clutching a bundle of ornate black robes. Swathed with white tassels and pearly buttons, the garbs were distantly familiar, lighting a wick of recognition somewhere deep in Maria's mind. When she placed a hand upon their soft, silken textures, the sensation intensified, and images of snow, flame and stone castle walls rushed through her in a whirlwind, nearly overcoming her senses.

When she emerged, shaken but enlightened, she noticed Annalise smiling knowingly.

"Cainhurst never forgets its children," she said, soft but direct.

"Come, I will take you to your quarters," Victyr said. "They have been unoccupied since the day you left, but our servants have kept it pristine, for the day that you would return."

Maria looked over at Annalise. As if possessing some kind of sixth sense of her family, the Queen nodded.

"No need, Victyr. I will accompany our niece. You should see to your knights. The arrival of Lady Maria is a cause for celebration – I feel that a tournament is in order."

Victyr's gaze shifted, darkening slightly and fleetingly, as though a shadow had crossed the sun. "Of course, my queen," he cooed.

Annalise, accompanied by a set of guards not unlike the two who had greeted Maria hours before, led their new arrival through a set of winding corridors, and then up a contorted tower staircase. The spiralling walkway seemed to persist for eternity, but when the dizziness was more than Maria could bare, she suddenly emerged onto an empty landing, characterised only by a small wooden door, and a fearsome bat motif fixed upon the adjoining wall.

"This was once your mothers," Annalise explained. "I am quite certain that seeing the room will stir some memories."

The old wooden door creaked open at the touch. The guard detail bowed their heads at Annalise, taking positions on either side of the entrance, and going so still as to resemble statues not unlike those that littered the grounds outside.

"Come," Annalise gestured, offering a thin, pale hand to Maria. The fingers were cold to the touch, but the Queen's impassioned energy quickly soothed the former hunter, nullifying the queasy anxiety that had bubbled up inside of her with every step.

The room was grandiose, with regal, wooden furniture so polished and clean that they seemed to actually glimmer. A carpet made of elk hide lay in the centre of the room, illuminated by a trio of flaming sconces that hung upon the wall, grasped by aged stone fists bearing into the wall. The four-poster bed sat against the back wall was blindingly red, gold-rimmed pillows and mattress providing the only contrast of colour in the entire corner. A pair of crimson curtains hung over a snow-coated window overlooking the entire castle, including a turret running parallel to Maria's own, a giant, spear-like structure that jutted upwards defiantly, as though attempting to pierce the very sky.

Maria froze, her breath caught in her throat.

The room was a living, breathing memory. A childhood of joyous playing by the oak-wrought fireplace rushed back in an instant. Fond memories of bouncing on top of the ornate bed flittered through her vision like the dazzling orange tips of bustling fireflies. Overcome, Maria found herself falling to her knees, the velvety carpet cushioning her fall, and Annalise rushed to her side, bony fingers coming gently to rest upon her shoulder.

"Welcome home," she whispered.


Ludwig watched, a numbness setting in through his moonlight-enhanced body as the great wooden gates leading into the province of Old Yharnam were closed and bound up with metal chains. Even from behind the towering behemoths, Ludwig could hear the coughing and wheezing of townspeople infected with the odious ashen blood desperately lurching towards their only means of escape - to no avail. Just the very thought of such a wretched image was nauseating - the Holy Blade tried hard to burn away such corrupting visages.

"Old Yharnam is now under strict quarantine," Laurence announced, standing close by with his face a blank, unreadable slate. "Until further notice, no representative of the Church is to enter these walls - hunt, or nay."

The gathering of Church acolytes nodded their approval and understanding, some of them even casting handfuls of lumenflower petals against the closed doors as a declaration of their sympathies. Ludwig's eyes traced the flower petals as they drifted through the air, coming to rest on the damp stone floor.

"This has to end soon," he whispered, eyes closing as the cacophony of suffering across the wall grew to an unbearable climax.

"It will," Laurence replied. "One way or another."


The warm glow of the fire was a great consolation to Maria, who was yet to acclimatise to the frigid temperatures Cainhurst had to offer. It had been difficult to relax in a room that held so many memories of her past, but once Annalise had stoked the flames in the hearth, she had slowly settled into her chair, letting the waves of heat radiate across the room and over her body. With another glass of wine now resting peacefully in her belly, with the promise of a hearty feast to follow come evening, the former hunter was starting to fall into the throes of comfort – a comfort she had not felt in many years, since the plague and the hunts had begun.

Annalise was pleased that she had settled into her old home so quickly. The Queen was rarely pictured with a smile that did not come from the shedding of blood in a gladiatorial arena, but this was one of those few occasions. For a long while, she just sat in the chair opposite Maria, enjoying the silence that hung between them. The source of the grin that clung to her face like cement was a mystery, and it seemed that she was lost in a haze of excited thoughts, none of which she was tempted to share – at least, not until the appropriate time.

But, that time did come. Day turned to night outside of Maria's frost-encased window pane, and the flurries of snow dancing about grew invisible in the absence of light. Annalise leant forwards in her chair, gazed at the grandfather clock that stood sturdily against the wall, and glanced over at Maria.

"I had a feeling when you arrived that you would bring with you a great prosperity to my people. Your absence has left us cold, but your return could light us up again. Do you feel the same way?"

Light-headed and euphoric, Annalise's words mostly washed over Maria – nevertheless, she could recognise praise, and receiving it now put a smile on her lips.

"Yes," she replied. "I do."

"Good," Annalise said, rocking in her chair. "You may repay the kindness of our people with a kindness of your own. I need you to do something for me."

"What's that?" Maria asked dreamily.

"Your old home, Yharnam, is home to a miracle of the modern age. A gift from the Gods. I want you to bring it to me."

Suddenly, Maria's daze dissipated, and, startled, she flung herself out of her seat.

"How do you know about me?" she cried. "I just got here, after being away for twenty years!"

Annalise smiled. "You are a member of the Cainhurst Royal Family. Of course we were keeping watch over you."

Maria started to back away from the warmth of the fire, feeling its comforting touch fade away, and a cold dread in its place.

"I can't do that," she whispered. "The Church are my allies. I have friends there."

"If you truly believed that, you wouldn't be here," Annalise jabbed. The amiability in her tone was now completely gone, replaced by a chilling, clinical efficiency. "You feel isolated from them; from your friend, Gehrman."

Maria felt the blow land straight in her gut, the red wine in her belly freezing over. "Don't say his name…."

"They hurt you, Maria," Annalise said calmly. "They made you feel cold inside. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Having emotions is a fatal flaw – I can show you just how better off you are without them… If you do as I ask."

Maria felt her body sag. The door to the corridor outside, which she had pulled half-open, slipped from her fingers, closing with a gust of cold air.

Annalise beamed, seeing the resistance leaving her young niece. "Gehrman has cast you out, but I can show you how to get him back on your side. Make him your plaything. Just like Victyr."

Maria swallowed hard, remembering how the King had fondled her hair, almost dumbstruck by it. "What's wrong with him?"

Annalise's startling gaze deepened, her slouched figure stiffening like a body of ice. "After your father died, your mother became lonely. Victyr, unhappy in his own marriage, and smitten with your mother, used this as a means to his own loathsome ends."

A shudder ran down Maria's spine.

"Of course, once I found out I made sure to punish him," Annalise smirked. "I never loved the fool, but seeing his loyalty falter like that was… discouraging. Now the old dog fights for my favour at every turn. Such is the proper place of all men."

Standing up from her chair, Annalise approached Maria tentatively, taking her hands and squeezing them fondly. The former hunter gazed up at her aunt, confliction in her big blue eyes.

"Together, we can bring ruin to this world, and rule over the remains. Everything you ever wanted can be yours. And the price is so very low. Think about, won't you my dear? I will see you at dinner tonight."

And with that, the Queen was gone, a trail of cold air in her wake. Maria stood by the open door for a long while, as the snowfall outside accelerated into a great blizzard, pellets of ice crashing against her window.