Slay the Hierarchy

A Likely Theory

The Marchioness's battlefield--I mean--tea party would result in either one of two things, the Countess determined. Either an invitation to another after showing the nobility that the Blazkowicz family was perfectly normal despite the colourful rumours about them... or the social and hierarchal ruin of the name entirely.

This gargantuan task rested on the shoulders of both her and her son. Depending on their behaviour and what the nobility saw of them, they had a 50/50 chance of either outcome.

Yet what they came out with that day was far beyond any of their expectations. The Count and Countess stared at the signed and sealed letter from the Duchy of Lucius in awe. A letter inviting Sylvia and her son to a private tea hosted by the Duchess herself.

'What in the world happened that day, Sylvia...?' The Count asked, reading the letter over and over in disbelief. 'Is what the letter says true? That our son saved the life of the Duchy's heir at the tea party?'

Sylvia nodded slowly, scarcely capable of believing what she was seeing either. 'Well, you see, dear...'

The Countess recalled the event in great detail to her husband. How during the time she had engaged in relentless social warfare, word traveled quickly throughout the party of a certain scuffle between children. A scuffle that involved fallen bodies and carnage.

Feeling an inexplicable, creeping dread at the story, she arrived on the scene. And true to the rumours, the first thing she saw were the bodies. And at the centre of them was none other than her own son... he wasn't the only one standing, though.

He wasn't quite as tall as her son, but the strange boy's eyes - bright and blue - held something peculiar in them that she couldn't help but be struck familiarly by.

Spotting the bruises on his limbs, though, Sylvia only expected the worst. Which family was this strange boy from? That very honour she fought so hard to restore moments prior depended exactly on the answer to that question... until it answered itself.

'You're saying our William saved the life of a Duke's son!?'

'It... it would seem so.'

'How splendid!' the Count cried in relief. 'It seems our son is more capable than we think, dear!'

Yet Sylvia didn't share her husband's mirth. Noticing the concerned furrow of her eyebrows, he asked, 'What's the matter now? I believe this ordeal is a cause for celebration, not more worry.'

'I understand that, but...'

'But?'

'Teas are highly sociable events, dear,' she said, biting her nail as she held the Count's eyes. 'To put it bluntly... our son has to talk.'

The joyous atmosphere in the Count's office quickly turned into a familiar sombre as the two sighed deeply and longingly. Only time would tell what came of the invitation.

And that time approached faster than the family would have liked. The Countess and young master Blazkowicz sat through an hour-long carriage ride through the fief and into the Dukedom of Lucius, arriving at a manor possibly five times the size of their own. In fact, it was more like a castle as they stepped out; Sylvia dazzled by the servants that lined up to greet them, following the head butler as he led them inside.

No sooner had the Duchess arrived with her son in tow, smiling, glowing almost in a way the Countess struggled to fathom but nonetheless reciprocated courteously.