Archive of Our Own

The double-doors of Byrgenwerth’s faculty parlor were far too rusted and jaded to be flung open so brusquely, but in a violent spurt of adrenaline and temper, Maria simply could not bring herself to care. The oak wood shrieked like a wounded beast, sending a sudden fright throughout everyone gathered in the small, fire-lit room.

Maria halted before her audience, draped in a silver fur coat, cheeks rosy-red from the winter chill of the courtyard, and ivory hair tousled and flyaway. She had evidentially rushed across the entirety of Byrgenwerth’s snow-kissed grounds only minutes before. Now she bore some semblance to a rabid wolf, ripping into every detail of the stifled lounge as though ready to pounce.

Such a quiet scene was set before her. The maple wood chairs and bookshelves were gathered around the brick-lined fireplace, the ornate wool rugs embraced tattered floorboards, the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves mingled with the aroma of burning hickory, and leather-clad books, golden candlesticks, steaming tea-cups, and elegant paperweights littered the study tables.

Amidst this comforting and serene milieu lurked the bewildered faces of Gehrman, Laurence, Micolash, Rom, Caryll, Ludwig, Damian, and Yurie; the only members of Byrgenwerth that Maria knew well enough to approach casually. The Provost himself was thankfully not present. When he was granted time to his own, he spent it in his study or locked away at his own estate near Yharnam. It was only Gehrman’s chief hunters and Laurence’s closest academic cronies that oft gathered in the parlor to rest and recuperate.

They were all conveniently assembled now, and doomed to be the unwilling victims of Maria’s ire.

“Which one of you suggested it first?”

Her voice was laced with agitation. Gehrman and Ludwig both arose at once, ready to offer their explanations, but Maria raised her fist. She glared at Laurence specifically, who was attempting to hold his composure.

“It was you, I suspect,” Maria said. “You would!”

“I did no such thing!” Laurence retorted. Maria noticed the way he awkwardly tugged at his cravat and shifted in his chair.

The girl huffed and upheld a wrinkled piece of paper that had clearly been ripped from a common diary. Scribbles of names and numbers inked the page, listing the culprits in plain view.

“A list of, in Micolash’s unmistakable penmanship, bets placed by nearly all of you. For or against me, and my ability to find…the “Yule beast” on the hunt’s twelfth day?”

The Yuletide Hunt, an annual Byrgenwerth tradition, was meant to begin that very next morning. For twelve days in sequence, Gehrman’s hunters would each seek out various game and retrieve their findings to supply the school’s Yuletide feasts. But the twelfth day was a special challenge—one reserved for Gehrman’s finest. The hunting of the rare boar-like beast that roamed the haunted recesses of the Hidden Woods was no easy task.

“Return with its corpse, and you win the competition, blessing the last feast of Yule. I reckon I’ve won every year for quite some time now, but I am certain you will be the one to surpass me…,” Gehrman had said.

The light in Maria’s eyes had swiftly flared, throwing into spirals the fire in her chest. This was her chance to prove herself to Byrgenwerth’s elite. At long last.

“I will win, Gehrman! This year! They will see…”

“I know you will, little valkyrie.”

Now Maria burned with only humiliation and a slight twinge of betrayal seeing Gehrman’s name on the paper. He had bet in her favour, but that he would participate in such a juvenile game was disheartening. She eyed him with scrutiny in her countenance after turning from Laurence. He leaned upon the neck of a crimson wing-back chair, scratching his worn nails into the fabric. His brown bangs obscured his semi-regretful eyes.

“Maria…this was done to me in my first year. I apologize if it has offended you, but it is also apart of the tradition,” Gehrman explained. “Every new hunter in the corps becomes the subject of such absurd jesting.”

“It was Micolash who first suggested it when Gehrman came around,” Laurence added, resting his chin on his hand in a spell of reminisce. “None of us ever expected the old farmer to be so formidable.”

“I was always more than a farmer,” Gehrman said with ease. “I hunted game from my earliest days. You all simply like to underestimate and tease newcomers.”

“You do!” Maria echoed.

“Oh, do lighten up, both of you!” Micolash suddenly arose from where he had sat gleefully cross-legged and grinning as though witnessing a scandal. He strode over to Maria and snatched the paper from her before erupting with cackles and croaks like some demented raven. His black curls bounced with his frivolous gestures. “Yurie, you bet against her? Damian, you as well? Now this I did not expect! Maria, darling, you have some non-believers before you.”

Maria’s faced flushed as she bore into Damian and Yurie, the two fair professors from the science division. They were cold and methodical types, always breaking every trial and event down to data. Maria upheld her head haughtily in response, preparing to defend herself, but Micolash interrupted again.

“Caryll, you are far too passive to admit your true thoughts on this, so your favor does not count.”

“That is not fair, Mico,” Caryll retorted in his small voice. “I have seen Maria hunt. She is most impressive.”

“Hmph. Still does not count,” Micolash said with a dismissive scoff. “Rom, you better not have bet according to another premonition of yours or I will not let you cast anymore votes next year…”

Rom’s only response was to playfully tilt her head to one end and reveal a sly grin to her elder brother before dropping her eyes back down to the green beetle she had cradled in her palm. She rarely spoke, but Micolash could elicit physical cues from the odd girl when her mood was favorable.

“At least she is on my side…,” Maria muttered. Her anger was subsiding with the realization that this bet was apart of the school tradition, vexing as it was.

“Ludwig’s vote does not count either. He praises everything Maria does.” Micolash continued.

“I do not!” Ludwig, always so sturdy and knightly, was now wilting with embarrassment. “Caryll speaks the truth. Maria is an extraordinary warrior.”

Maria graced the stammering Ludwig with a grateful smile, but Micolash ignored the protest and cleared his throat.

“So then, Caryll, Rom, Ludwig, Gehrman; you bet decent sums in favor of our silver huntress, and myself, Damian, Yurie; we are not so certain of your prowess, Maria!” he announced with a far too blissful tone. “Alas, we are only missing one! Laurence!”

With an overdramatic sweep of his hand, Micolash summoned Laurence’s irked attention. The latter rushed his bejeweled fingers through his unkempt auburn hair and hesitated. Maria arched a brow at him, finally playing into the mischief. A smirk crossed her face.

“Oh gods,” Laurence sighed. His melodramatic air matched Micolash’s own. “Must I?”

“You must,” Micolash said with a wink. “Preferably even it out, my dear.”

“Do share your thoughts, Laurence,” Maria’s voice became honeyed with mockery. “I am waiting.”

“Children. All of you.”

Laurence stood and took the paper from Micolash with another woefully exhausted sigh. He studied it, humming to himself, and pacing towards the window. His lithe figure darkened against the grey haze of snowfall beyond the glass. Maria watched him intently, waiting for his inevitable decision; the vote that would tip the scale into balance and birth a stalemate between parties.

But then he surprised her.

“Twelve days of this hunt…eleven days to decide…hmmm…,” Laurence squinted and marked something upon the paper before whirling to face Maria again. His amber eyes were set aglow as he grinned, visibly all too pleased with himself.

“On the eleventh day, I shall cast my vote,” Laurence said. “It will depend purely on your performance until that point, Maria. After all, the hunt is what you make it, and it is not just about the grand prize. It is about your endurance and your display of skill. With that in mind, do attempt to impress me if you wish for my verdict.”

Maria chuckled and challenged him with her gaze.

“Oh, you bastard,” she sneered. “You’re on.”

The others could only sigh in resignation.

❄️

Maria had always been smitten with the way snow crunched and crackled beneath her boots, the way the woods held their breath in the wintry air, and the manner in which frost painted the pine needles and curling thistles. The white-cloaked forest was her home, and the domain of her wild hunt. She stalked past the icy trees, clutching the hind legs of an absurdly large grey hare in her fist, thoroughly thrilled with the success of her ambitions.

Down, down the hill she trekked in her excitement. It was the sixth day. The halfway point. She had outdone every one of her peers and each of Gehrman’s prime students. She had supplied the Yule feasts with wild boar, red and fallow deer, chamois, red stag, rabbit, and mouflon for six days in sequence. The students and faculty had dined like lords and ladies of Cainhurst.

Micolash and the others had been rendered silent in acceptance of Maria’s victories. Laurence himself had tilted his head, taking notes curiously and diligently. Gehrman only ever nodded and smiled in his mentor’s pride, in doubtless approval, but oddly, there was something else embedded in the caverns of his face. An unspoken tension that Maria could only discern to be expectation, almost as if he were awaiting a change in the winds.

Yet there was no such look radiating from him now as Maria returned to his ken, approaching the central grounds of Byrgenwerth once more after stumbling down the fir-crested hills of the north. She failed to smother a fit of childlike laughter when raising her slaughtered prey for Gehrman to see. He met her joy with equal zeal.

“Well done, Maria. Well done.” His voice swallowed her heart in warmth. “You have outdone yourself. Look at that prize!”

Maria practically danced up to Gehrman, the gravel of Byrgenwerth’s courtyard crackling like firewood beneath her boots. She let him grasp the limp hare that hung nearly as tall as himself. The creature was unnatural—mutated and overgrown, but a worthy trophy nonetheless.

“He led me on quite the chase!” Maria said merrily.

“Oh, I can only picture it,” Gehrman chuckled. “Come now, they are burning the main Log this way! You need to see it…”

The Yule Log of Byrgenwerth was a towering, crux-like post upon which was strung the hides and pelts of unnatural beasts. It all burned in glory and brilliance towards the heart of the school grounds. Students and professors alike amassed around the blazing spectacle, huddling in fur coats, chipping away at peppermint sticks, and sipping hot spiced wine. Maria and Gehrman approached the scene with their catch as the dim of evening began to soak the heavens in a melancholy blue.

Snowflakes flurried through the air and mingled with the embers of the Yule Log’s fire. Glittering bits of silver and gold like thousands of stars coiled and flew with the wind, encircling the flames. Maria and Gehrman stopped to admire the beauty of the vision with the others. Nobody spoke. Nobody whispered. A few people hummed carols and ballads while others simply stood enraptured. The light drew out the spark and glow in its’ audience’s eyes.

Cosmically beautiful, all of it.

”Oh my…” Maria finally breathed in a low voice. Gehrman’s deep hum of agreement followed.

“It’s lovely…,” he said.

Another voice greeted them as they turned, and at once they knew it to be Willem’s. The Provost meandered through the crowd and came up to Maria, bowing respectfully. He was suited in his usual academic uniform, but with a heavy long-coat upon his shoulders. His black hair was neatly combed and arranged beneath his top-hat, suggesting he was prepped to attend a formal service of some sort. Maria nodded to the older man and held aloft her prey for him to ogle.

“Magnificent! Another triumph for you, and a bound-to-be glorious centerpiece for our table this evening. Bravo, Lady Maria!” Willem said with a hearty clap of his hands. “And I can only envision the devastation of your less-faithful peers when they see you have endured until the sixth day!”

“Yes,” Maria replied with satisfaction. “Micolash most of all, I would wager.”

“Ah, I have been told the young man can be far too jovial and teasing around newcomers. A shame, really. Such frivolity is not needed,” Willem lamented in a light-hearted tone. Maria withheld an awkward simper and nodded to Willem’s address.

“Indeed, but I must say that I have grown used to the game by this point…I am simply certain I shall win!” Maria’s enthusiasm drew out a familiar laugh from Gehrman, though not malicious. “I do not think the Yule beasts can be so elusive if Gehrman has managed to find them every year…”

“Mm, perhaps you are right! If you do win, I would also be more than willing to grant you a prize beyond the sweet inebriation of victory and peer approval,” Willem said.

Maria gasped and Gehrman cocked his head like a bewildered pup.

“Provost? What do you mean by this?” Gehrman did not sound anything other than mildly curious.

“I believe the honor of a favored and ambitious student’s succession to the place of their mentor ought to be met with equal fervor and reward,” Willem began. “As such…,”

The man offered his hand to Maria, the glittering wisps of ember and snow surrounding him in the raging firelight. He endowed his student with his clear approval. The pride shone in his beady eyes.

“…how would you like to be granted permission and funding to visit your home before winter’s end?”

Maria felt her face warp and twist with a myriad of varied emotions as she began inhaling sharply and bringing her fist to her chest. It was…a complicated offer. She did not harbor any love for Cainhurst—least of all during winter, but the Provost did not know this. Yet, Maria could not help but ponder if the man was attempting to be rid of her for a time.

Irrational. Foolish.

But no, then why such a specific offer from someone that had never bothered to speak to her beyond small formalities? Why did Willem suddenly care for Maria’s desires and wishes? Did he secretly long for her removal to ease the tensions of his older students?

Paranoia. Absurdity.

And yet Maria doubted.

She did not answer Willem at once, but stood with her lips parted in silent apprehension. His hand remained extended, providing a chance to seal the agreement. But Maria did not want to return to Cainhurst. She wanted to hunt throughout the winter with Gehrman, to stand by his side in the evergreen woodlands amidst the bitter-blue snowfall of evening, to feel the frost nipping at her face in the fresh wind, to continue to bond and prove her loyalty to her academic peers. She did not want to return to the stifling and arctic halls of Cainhurst.

No. She would deny Willem’s proposal.

But then…

My brother…

Maria’s posture withered slightly in guilt as she remembered her truer heart. Her younger brother still resided in Cainhurst, always awaiting his sister’s clandestine visits. He craved her presence. He needed her, and she needed him. The cruelty of winter’s shadow had already kept them apart for too long. The wistful-eyed girl looked to Gehrman once to read what his thoughts might be.

He was stoic. As to be expected.

Maria took Willem’s hand and shook it, the iced fabric of their gloves crackling in unison.

“I would gladly accept, Provost,” Maria said solemnly. “Thank you for your generosity.”

❄️

A slip of yellowed paper. There were no numbers or bets carved into its face, but only words of love and nostalgia. Maria read and re-read what she had written as she grasped the letter with shaky hands. Her desire to win the competition had only been strengthened by the crucible of her burning emotions. She was going to see her brother. She would spend the season of festivity with him, even if it fell past the assigned time. None of that mattered. All that mattered was seeing the docile hazel eyes and meek face of her dearest again.

Luther. Her little crow.

The floorboards of the parlor creaked.

“Maria! I heard you found another false skin in the woods and fed it to us last night at the feast! You know, I was wondering why the meat was dry as shoe leather…”

That teasing, overly-flamboyant voice affronted Maria’s ears once more. She looked up to greet Micolash with a snide grin and rebuttal in her stare.

“No, I found a beautiful grey hare of exquisite size in the northern woods and flayed my quarry with ease. Gehrman will tell you.” Maria’s smile grew in mischief. “But you see, yestereve I simply bribed the cooks to serve you duck meat that was over a fortnight old. I was told it was meant to be thrown to the dogs, but alas, how could I allow such perfectly good viand go to waste?”

“You did what?!!?”

Micolash’s shrill wheeze send waves of violent laughter through Maria’s chest. Her giggling traveled throughout the fire-scented room as a hoard of the other students entered through the double-doors. Laurence was at the forefront, and he scoffed when he spied his featherbrained accomplices. With a toss of his auburn head, he marched up to the table where Maria and Micolash were leaning against the oaken rim.

“There we have it!” Laurence’s hand slammed down upon the table’s surface with a cut of paper beneath. Maria noted that it was the betting sheet, and that new tallies had been marked.

Among the others with Laurence were Rom, Caryll, Yurie, and Damian, who hovered over the table once they realized where the discussion was leading.

“In my defense,” Yurie, the sharp-tongued astrophysicist began, “I have based my calculations on probability…strictly so, and the evidence points to Gehrman. He has not lost for a single year since he joined us.”

Maria couldn’t help but see the reasoning in that, but it was still something she was certain would not hold any weight in the end.

“I….I made the same conclusion,” Damian said, running his hands over his fine hair. “But…Yurie…perhaps we were…?”

“It’s too late to change your mind, you know!” Micolash interjected. Maria huffed proudly, folding her arms with aplomb. She softened when little red-haired Caryll nudged her arm gently.

“Maria? Come over to the lounge, will you? Gehrman has a surprise for us!” Caryll whispered excitedly.

Maria surveyed the fire-pit space and noticed Gehrman and Ludwig had also entered the room. They were side by side, arranging a slew of boxes upon the central table. Every box was topped and tied with silver ribbons and elegantly printed with floral brocade patterns. The group with Maria and Micolash encircled Gehrman and Ludwig’s display curiously. Their scintillating eyes danced in the welcoming radiance as they drew nearer.

Gehrman himself then stood tall and faced them, clearing the obstruction from his throat. He appeared like an unsure teacher arriving before his class on the first day.

“Gifts. For all of you,” He said it as though it were an order he would give to his troops. “The Yuletide Hunt and celebration lasts twelve days for us hunters, but there are those of you from various regions in Yharnam and Cainhurst that celebrate this season differently.”

“Oh gods, you’ve gone sentimental, Gehrman!” Laurence teased.

“He’s discovered diplomacy!” Micolash cried.

“He’s gone mad…” Yurie sighed as though all was lost.

“Hush!” Maria and Ludwig both breathed the word at the same moment and proceeded to laugh in time. Caryll and Damian were tittering like schoolchildren. Rom rolled her head back and forth in response to the commotion.

“I have not…” Gehrman shook his head. “But the Provost did remind me that we ought to share all traditions of this season. As such, I have coordinated with Ludwig to find you all decent….gifts.” Gehrman skittishly fiddled with his pinned cravat and then stepped to the side. Ludwig followed and bowed to them as though presenting a picturesque exhibit. 

The floodgates of Maria’s affection were flung wide, filling her to the utmost with beatitude. She had not expected such a gesture from her often-strict mentor, but like always, he could surprise her when she did not expect it, revealing sides to his elusive self that one never could predict.

Now Gehrman watched Maria and his colleagues, no, friends, with delight as they each found their respective gifts and marvelled when they understood that the older man was serious. That moment could not have been more perfect. Maria found a glimmering silver dagger lying upon maroon velvet in her box—a dagger that also functioned as a hair pin. She could not understand how Gehrman had procured such a lovely gift, but she thanked him repeatedly with a song in her voice.

Afterwards, she reclined serenely in her seat with a glass of cherry cordial and observed the others. Laurence had received a ruddy leather tome of Loranite myths, Micolash had been given a new dissection kit, and Damian had gladly accepted his fresh terrarium with mushrooms and lichen.

Caryll rejoiced over his hand-carved music box that would play to whatever notes it was given, Rom squealed like a hyperactive kitten when she unveiled a framed, petrified beetle with red wings, and Yurie smiled contently with her endearing pocket telescope.

Maria was more than amused and satisfied with the exuberance on display. These peculiar people had become her friends as well, strange as some were. She admired their scientific and academic tastes as students and teachers that had spent so long unraveling the mysteries of their encompassing world, each of them observing life from a unique angle.

❄️

“My dearest brother,

Luther. It has been some time since I wrote, I know, and for that I can only offer my sincerest regret and apologies. The winter has been cruel in its beginnings, and little gracious in its moments of peace, but it is no excuse for me. I ought to keep you apprised of everything…but ah, there is so much to tell.

Yet I won’t keep you in the dark, my darling one. As you once said, we are akin to fledgling crows who are leaving our nest. I am testing the skies for you, but I must return with news and direction. With that in mind, I want to tell you of an amusing sequence of events that has recently transpired.

I have become the recipient of some challenge and teasing when I took up the reigns of the Yuletide Hunt, the old season of traditional game hunting and gathering for celebratory feasts. It is a wonderful time of banquet and communion, but someone must supply these festivities! For Byrgenwerth, Gehrman has taken up the role, and he permits us, his top apprentices, to aid him.

The hunt lasts until the twelfth day of feasting, and it is upon that day when a particularly elusive beast is slain. Now, I must confess, Luther…I am not entirely certain what this “boar-like” creature would truly resemble in the flesh, for I have yet to face it, but I want to find it, dearest. I want so badly to find it and slay it for Gehrman.

He has been its faithful reaper every year, hence why some of my academic peers bet in his favour, but I know he wants me to win, and I want to prove to him that I can. This is a test of prowess and skill, one that shall likely earn me greater trust and respect among my colleagues.

Do you think this foolish, Luther? Perhaps it is…though…well, sometimes I think of you when I strive so hard to prove myself in this new world. It can be cold, competitive, and even dismissive, but all at once, I also sense a warm camaraderie sprouting between my more loyal peers and myself.

The fancy is pleasant to entertain, and it gives me hope for you. I want to carve out a place for us here…I want to prove my worth and reliability so that you may have it easier when you join us at last.

If they do not question me, they shall not likely question you…if you take my meaning. You will be safer because I was able to pave the way.

But I want you to also know something else…

If I win this competition, I may be granted permission, as was declared by Provost Willem himself, to take some time away from Byrgenwerth for myself, which in turn would lead me to Cainhurst and back to you for a visit.

How wonderful would this be, dearest? I would come to you at the tide of the new year, and we could go away for a little while…I will tell you more then, but I truly wish for this to come to pass.

So, pray for my victory, Luther! This is more than my pride speaking now, or my worry over your future advent to Byrgenwerth…this is about us now. I want to see you again soon, little one. I have been thinking of you, and how your letters are so sweet and gentle. They enkindle the hope in my heart. I know you say we are like crows, but you have always been like a little dove to me.

Innocent, pure…a sign of hope in my life…

I love you, my brother, and I miss you every moment of every waking day. I dream of the season we may be reunited for good. When that spring dawn arrives, I will rejoice.

So, pray for me, Luther. Pray for us. I shall see you soon.

Your faithful and loving sister,

Maria

P.S. What would you want for a late Christmastide gift, dove? If you could receive anything? I nearly forgot, but Gehrman gave me a hairpiece dagger!! I cannot wait to show you. It is beautiful.

P.P.S: I also briefly convinced my friend Micolash that I had bribed our cooks to serve him ancient roast duck. How I wish you could have seen his face! There could not have been a better gift this Yule season than that!”

❄️