Author's Note: I decided to update again because I had this chapter laying around and wasn't sure where to put it. It didn't really seem to fit in anywhere because it is a flashback chapter (and kinda long). However, I still think more needed to be said about Joachim's relationship with his father (an important figure in this story despite the fact he's dead) as well as his struggles with the class-system. Hopefully, this chapter will make sense and answer why Catherine initially refused/could not marry Joachim earlier on. Since memories themselves are not necessarily thought of (psychologically) in order, please forgive the fact that Joachim's past memories focus on various aspects of his adult/childhood in random order.
This is a FLASHBACK chapter that took place shortly before Joachim's father returned to Armster manor (unexpectedly) and died. I don't mean to ruin the flow of the story but I felt it was necessary to get away from the Joachim/Walter conflict (in this chapter) and focus on Joachim's past. So, if any of you are curious about his father (who, by the way is really messed up/crazy after spending the majority of his life fighting in the Crusades) read this chapter. I will get back to the Joachim/Walter conflict next time I update (which will be soon, in case you are eager to read it)
~* Flashback *~
Joachim remembered that last night well. It happened before his father was summoned by the Vatican to command a company of knights in the East. A party had been organized in honor of his father's leave. Large silver flags hung from the ceiling, which was his father's favorite color.
It was not unheard of for people to exclaim how his father once galloped toward an army of heathens numbering in the thousands. At first the enemies assumed his father had dared to venture alone, watching the noble draw his sword, his long flowing white hair cascading like unfurled wings around his delicate face. Anneliese once told him such a story, speaking earnestly about the man as he imagined his father ascending toward the enemies with grace rivaling God's greatest archangels. In a final moment of glory, the enemies backed away when his father's massive armies appeared behind him and charged into battle, screaming the magnificence of his name.
Such a tale presented itself into his mind that fateful evening, in which he watched his father's slender figure walk silently among his guests. Everywhere he went, people would turn to admire him. It was rare for his father to acknowledge his guests, and although he appeared inhospitable, many tolerated the cold welcome out of sheer curiosity. Indeed, Joachim did not know a majority of the guests his father invited, especially since the man never invited anyone from Creightel. The sting of arrogance within Lord Zaeviean's eyes was a stark contrast against his pale young son, who was used to being overlooked like a pest.
It was only a few weeks previous to the event that he hoped Catherine would attend. Her presence would have relieved him considerably; however his father would have been far from amused to see her mingling with the nobility. Regardless, he cleverly produced a plan to ensure she would attend. When the invitations were being sent away, he managed to steal one and copy his father's fine handwriting – if people thought he looked like Lord Zaeviean, there would be no difference if he wrote in the same cursive. Along with the invitation, he had gone through his mother's wardrobe and taken one of her finest dresses. During the days that followed, he listened to Catherine's excitement over receiving such an expensive gift from his father as a token of 'gratitude' for caring for his ill son. Catherine was too poor to afford such an extravagant gown. Lilac suited her perfectly. If his mother could see Catherine, he hoped she would have been proud of the woman whom he loved. If his father saw Catherine in such fine garments, perhaps he would condone her worthiness at last. However, his inexperience with the outside world, politics, and the class system, was proven that fateful evening…
Joachim looked at the full moon beyond the hall's massive windowpanes, watching its pale form rise into the black night sky. He wondered whether Catherine would come to the event. It was, after all, exclusively for nobles. The soft sound of instruments began to play as he stood by himself, his back turned upon his father's guests, enchanted by the serene nightscape beyond the hall. A swift glance over his shoulder brought his attention to the fact that people were beginning to dance. Many young ladies trotted about in hope of finding a young male dance partner – and potential husband. His pallid complexion was enough to ward away any woman who thought about approaching him. Joachim broke his gaze at the night when he turned to face his father's guests. It was a matter of courtesy for him to ask someone to dance – he knew, after all, his father would expect it. The young man walked around the hall in search of a lady to give him a smile or a curtsy of acceptance, yet despite wearing new robes and stunning armor, all of the eligible women wanted nothing to do with him. Some even became desperate and picked men far older to avoid him.
The women all wore elaborate dresses and hairstyles that must have taken a great deal of time to perfect. They were the daughters of his father's fellow lords and ladies, accompanied by sons smugly discussing venturing eastward, as well as eyeing a few ladies of their own tastes. Not a single young man bothered to notice the frail being strolling about the hall. Joachim despised the sight of overstuffed lords, and skinny young ladies grasping their arm, no doubt willing to put up with anything for the sake of financial security.
"Lord Zaeviean-" The young man turned at the sound of the voice, especially when a hand touched his shoulder and alerted him. The moment his slender figure turned out of confusion, a lady with pale blond hair and inquisitive blue eyes made him make a nervous bow. The lady seemed no less nervous than he, and quickly stepped back, wanting to disappear into the crowd. "F-Forgive me." She murmured. "You are his son, are you not? I did not intend to insult you, I was merely-"
"Are you looking for my father, Lady Hawthorne?" Joachim could not help but reply coldly. "Do not apologize. It happens quite often." A taut smile crossed his lips, and with an uneasy nod, the blond hurried away. The young man waited till she was out of sight before he clenched a hand into a fist, his eyes narrowing. He staggered back, feeling a tremor of anxiety overpower his rage.
"Father." The word barely parted through his lips, his weak body feeling somehow smaller under the cool glare of his father's blue optics.
The man had approached him so silently he had not the time to prepare himself for Lord Zaeviean's quiet insult. "Why are you wandering about like a lost sheep, boy?" The lord hissed, drawing Joachim's gaze to his father's scowling expression.
Never before had his father approached him during a party, though the motive behind it was becoming clearer each passing second. The man brushed aside his silky white tresses with his gauntlet, allowing them to fall down his back in thick, coiling layers. His voice was a harsh whisper, yet Joachim had no difficulty hearing it over the noise of the guests.
"I expected you at my table ten minutes ago. Do not embarrass me in front of my guests, lest you want me to keep you locked in your chamber for the rest of the evening!"
"That would be unnecessary, father. I am not a child." Joachim lowered his head from feeling his father's glare intensify. "I did not know the banquet was starting so soon."
Lord Armster's lips curled. "You will accompany me this instant. I do not wish to hear a single word escape your throat."
Joachim did not comprehend the meaning behind the statement before his father moved toward the massive banquet table. If he did not go he was certain his father would chastise him in front of the guests. Like a dutiful son, he reluctantly followed the man's sweeping form through the crowd. The countless eyes of the guests were staring at him, no doubt darting between them to compare the weak youth to his father. Indeed, his thoughts were confirmed when he passed them by, hearing their sarcastic comments burn against his backside.
My Lord Armster's son, has grown so much stronger since childhood. Perhaps he shall have enough strength to wield a pen and paper instead of a sword and shield!
As always, he ignored their insults. He sat down near his father at the head of the banquet table. The table's fine cherry wood surface was covered by a white cloth and cluttered with plates and goblets. For a while, his father did not look at him. An uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke again.
"Tonight is a very important night for you, Joachim."
The youth recoiled, his once somber mood overshadowed by a mix of surprise and dread. "What do you mean? You are the one being honored; I am merely attending because I am your son. I would not dream of stealing attention away from you, father." He returned his father's glare with a scornful grin.
Lord Zaeviean's composed façade waned. "Be silent!" He snapped. "You are nearing twenty years of age. I have come to a decision about what is to be done with you."
"And what is to be done, then?" It took a great deal of nerve to challenge his father's icy explanation. "Will you have me sent away to rule some distant region no one cares for, so that you shall never have to look upon me again? Or, do you intend to have more of those so-called doctors perform cruel experiments upon me like an animal?"
A dark shadow crossed his father's elegant visage. The banquet table was large enough to seat two people comfortably beside each other at its head, but never once had he cared to ask his son to sit by his side. After looking at the empty chair next to his father, Joachim swallowed hard, remembering such a place belonged to his mother and was never occupied by anyone else. Nevertheless, without casting his son a single glance, Zaeviean rose from his chair – the gesture immediately gathering his guests around the table.
Joachim watched how all listened to what his father had to say, yet he could not help but follow in their awe, feeling his heart shatter from the words that fled his father's lips. The lord's gaze fell upon the women of noble birth, at last explaining the reason.
"My son shall reach the age of twenty this September. Any woman who wishes to court him may approach my table, and any father who wishes their daughter a privileged life and strong family name may speak with me in confidence."
The proposal created the sounds of astonished murmurs to filter through the crowd of guests, whilst Joachim felt his hands grip the arms of his chair. "What?" He choked the word so loudly a few of the guests noticed the wave of apprehension consume his once expressionless face. "How could you do this to me, father?" he continued, feeling what remained of color in his cheeks disappear. "I am not something you can just barter off on a whim to any woman who appeals to you! Have I not the right to choose for myself?"
The trembling young man fell into an idle silence as his father resumed his seat at the table, his voice lowered in a warning reply. "For almost twenty years I have been burdened by a weak son," he began, his cold blue eyes nearly freezing Joachim into ice. "You owe me your complete obedience. Just as you are unable to care for yourself, you are unable to find a suitable wife. You are fragile and your life shall be short. Thus, I must preserve the honorable lineage of our family without further delay. Twenty is more than old enough for you to marry. Had you not been so ill, I would have found a wife for you years ago."
Joachim's head lowered, his lack of will to fight the matter unveiling the shame he carried from his father's truthful words. He watched Lord Armster take a sip of wine from his goblet, resting his chin in his hand as women began to line up in anticipation of gaining the lord's interest. It dismayed Joachim to realize fathers would be offering up their daughters as if they were mares at an auction, and only the finest would attract the attention of the church's most formidable crusader. Yet, another thought burned in his mind just as clearly.
How dare my father try to pick a wife for me! I am capable of loving a lady without his interference! Rather than ask my opinion, he simply treats me as if I am one of the stallions he puts up for stud. All he wants is for me to marry and lie with a woman…as long as I made her with child, of course…
The humiliation made the color return to his cheeks, practically burning his flesh a shade of bright red. Not to his surprise, the first woman in line was Lady Hawthorne - the same woman who had fled from him earlier that evening. Joachim had to use all his courtesy to resist sneering at his father while he watched him wave her forward. The lady approached taking dainty steps, her hand extending politely to the lord's son, until Joachim obliged and took it in his. The moment his lips kissed her fine flesh, he felt his insides wretch; and a shudder flow through her body from his touch. It seemed both he and the lady were disgusted by one another, yet he heard his father's calm and quiet voice proceed with a series of questions. The questions were not even worth his attention, for they were typical inquiries about her family line, and her ability to play a role as wife of a future lord.
He almost did not hear his father address him before sending her off. "Look at this example of a woman, boy. Have you anything to say? She is more than good enough for you, though her Turkish bloodlines leave much to be desired."
The lady's lips twitched nervously, and a glint of injury appeared in her crystal blue eyes. With a low snort, he turned his face away from his father's contemptuous glare, whispering a calm reply under his breath. "Unlike you, father, I am not interested in petty details. Why do you bother asking my opinion? Do whatever you like; she is not going to be your wife, after all."
Lord Armster gave him such a dangerous glare he wondered whether or not he would strike him for his imprudence. The white-haired youth shrank back in his chair, trying hide from his father's reproachful glare. "You would be fortunate if any woman married you, my son." Without delay, his father ordered her away, forcing Joachim to watch the lady recede into the crowd. Once she was gone, Joachim fell still upon listening to his father remark. "I suppose you shall reject any woman I send before you. You are nothing but an ungrateful, spoiled little child, whom deserves nothing of a woman's love. What woman would love a creature like you of her own will?"
Joachim's face was transfixed by shame, for he could not imagine anything satisfying to say in response to his father's observation. He felt his heartbeat almost stop, his eyes fixed upon her lovely face and the black coils of her ringlets bouncing alongside her merry steps. A part of him wanted to voice his awe at seeing her beautiful figure bring his mother's dress no disgrace, yet the enraged gleam within his father's eyes jolted him to the idiotic result of his plans. Not only did he not expect Catherine to bombard her way through the crowds of other women, but she seemed to have no idea how she got there – unknowing the reason behind the delighted whispers of the noble ladies.
Joachim felt his entire body tremble from knowing her bright emerald eyes were looking at him, unaware of the dangerous situation he had placed her in. A terrible guilt knotted inside his stomach as he watched his father's fine lips and vigilant eyes survey the young girl intently. Catherine stepped forward so boldly that the other ladies in line whispered until Lord Armster's cold voice addressed her.
"Are you Catherine Corydon?" The lord's eyes pierced through her, never leaving her face when she raised her head.
Catherine placed her delicate hands in front of her, nodding to confirm the question. "Yes, milord. For years, I have visited your manor to see your son, Joachim-"
"I am well aware of that." A scowl began to form across Zaeviean's face. Without warning, the lord rose from his chair, the motion so silent yet deliberate Catherine's emerald eyes blinked in surprise. Joachim turned his head away as his father began a series of questions. Although he expected his father to treat her with the same cold courtesy as the previous lady, he noticed an extra hint of despise within the man's voice. "I am not surprised. Where were you born?"
Catherine's eyes widened in surprise. "Pardon, milord?" She took a hasty step back, her gaze fleeing to Joachim for support, however the young man's throat had long since stolen the sound of his voice.
Joachim continued to sit in his chair, not daring to move, but undergoing the most severe form of distress imaginable. While he was trying to decipher a solution, he heard his father's voice lower.
"Answer my question. Where were you born?"
"…In Creightel, milord." Catherine's voice was so soft it was barely audible.
"I want to know the place, not the village." Lord Zaeviean's scowl deepened, professing the rage slowly seeping into his voice.
In a matter of seconds, Joachim stood up from his chair. "Why are you berating her?"
"Why does it matter to you, boy? You told me yourself you do not care, and I am free to ask what I wish the lady whom seeks our wealth and name."
Joachim shook his head and sank back into his chair. "You have no right to speak to her that way!" Regardless of his objections, his father continued to scrutinize Catherine mercilessly.
By that point her eyes cast themselves upon the floor, and her shoulders sank back when she gave her reluctant answer. "…I was born in a wagon, milord. Though if you please, what is all of this about-"
"What did you say?" Lord Armster asked purposely, causing Catherine's face to pale as if she was being addressed before a judge. When she gave no immediate reply, Joachim jumped at the sound of his father's gauntlet hitting the surface of the table.
Zaeviean's brow knit impatiently, his icy gaze possessing a kind of intentional hatred that made the girl's lips tremble. "Either answer me, or stop wasting my time."
"I was born in a wagon!" She covered her face with her hands, trying to hide the vibrant flush that colored her cheeks.
It seemed the lord had not an ounce of time to spare so she could regain her composure, preferring to confront her in front of Joachim's horrified expression. The youth could barely remain seated in his chair, and felt his breath hitch at the sound of his father's relentless inquiries.
"A wagon?" Lord Armster exclaimed, and though his voice was rather quiet, the words were loud enough that the surrounding guests murmured to each other. Steely blue eyes clashed against her emerald green, soon immobilizing the young woman under his callous examination. His hand flicked aside strands of his long pearly white locks, whilst his lips curled into a sardonic smile. "I see. A woman born in a wagon, a daughter of wanderers…" The glaring lord mused aloud. "Who are your mother and father? What family lines do they boast?"
It appeared all of her joy had been ripped from her soul, for her head lowered again as if wishing to vanish out of sight. Despite the beauty she radiated in the extravagant lilac dress, her form seemed to wilt under the lord's ice-like words. "My mother and father never boast anything. They are humble people, who work hard to earn a living-"
"What status do they posses?"
"None, milord. They are gypsies under your rule…"
Lord Armster's dark blue eyes flickered. "Is it not true that your mother was a Turkish peasant? You are aware Turks are the enemies of my Romanian subjects. As for your father, he is nothing more than a gypsy. Tis' true he serves me occasionally, but my domain has gained considerable power, and I need not the aide of a simpleton any longer."
Another murmur filtered through the crowd, which made the lady stir uneasily and lower her head. Joachim felt his heart pounding so loud against his ribcage his breaths felt short, especially after watching a forced smile spread across Catherine's trembling lips.
She withdrew a calm breath, her hands fidgeting with the long skirt of her dress, and her green eyes blurred by watery tears trying to escape. "Tis' true, milord. I do not see how this matters, for I only wished to pay my gratitude to you, since I have never attended a party of such grandeur until this night."
"Indeed." Lord Armster replied, at least unveiling the condemning hint within his smile. Joachim felt Catherine's eyes looking at him, pleading for him to intervene. It had already occurred to him her situation was his fault, already the guilt of his selfishness was burning a hole through his heart, and the pain throbbed so greatly he could not gather the strength to overcome it. The very image of her trembling lips was enough to kill him, if not the escalation of his father's rage.
The lord's lips and stance stiffened, following the sound of chafing metal filling the air when his fingers clenched into fists, his cold blue eyes staring at the woman's lilac colored dress. "Perhaps I have cause to wonder how a gypsy half-breed could call herself one of my guests. Look around you – you stand among baronesses, duchesses, countesses and other ladies of proper breeding. Now, please explain how a gypsy was invited here?"
"I cannot, milord." Catherine's voice again died to a whimper of a reply. "Except to say that like your other guests, I received an invitation from you a fortnight ago."
"Bring it to me."
The white-haired lord extended his hand, and in a demure fashion, she withdrew the small white card. Lord Armster snatched it away and flipped the card open, his dark blue eyes scanning the handwriting inside before crumpling it in his fist. Joachim shifted in his chair, trying to hide the tears in his own eyes beneath the lush curtains of his shoulder-length ivory hair. Despite his attempt, his father continued to cast indignant glances upon him, already detecting the fact his son's skin turned a shade more pallid than usual.
After a rather lengthy silence, the lord's voice lowered to a whisper that teetered on the barest thread of composure.
"You think I wrote this? Foolish mongrel, this invitation was forged!"
Catherine's face almost turned a shade whiter than the lord's hair. Her hand flew over her mouth in horror, yet the tears refused to break free from her eyes, though her voice choked the tremors of mortification coursing through her once joyous mood. "How could this be? Why would someone forge an invitation? What have I done to deserve this cruel treatment, milord?"
"I do now owe you an explanation. You are nothing more than gypsy, and that alone should explain why you are unwelcome here." Zaeviean's hands folded in front of his smooth visage, his cold eyes once again glancing at the youth seated near him at the table.
Joachim's eyes met those belonging to his father, but he did not expect his father's next inquiry to be directed upon him. Without warning, the lord tossed the crumpled invitation across the table. His throat constricted when the mangled object skittered in front of his motionless figure.
With a hiss so spiteful it could have made a snake slither away in fear, his eyes narrowed upon the despondent young man. "My dearest son, would you have any knowledge of how this invitation came into existence? Few of my servants are literate enough to read or write, unless there are any you can think of?"
Joachim had to use all of his willpower to keep his jaw from dropping open. His eyes glanced from his father to Catherine's fading composure and then to the guests silently crowding around the table. If he spoke the truth, there was no telling what his father would do to Catherine – and him – in front of the guests. Scandal would rip through Creightel faster than wildfire. Although his soul screamed to throw away his future and quite possibly his inheritance, the composed words that left his throat contradicted his urgency to contravene.
"I know nothing of this." He whispered. "I felt too ill to read or write when the invitations were sent away. I know not who is to blame for this indiscretion."
"I see." For a moment, Joachim thought his father would persist, since the man's eyes seemed to see into his soul like it was made of glass. "I cannot imagine how this could happen. Not many could manipulate my cursive. Unless of course, there is a person here who wishes to insult me by blending gypsy filth with noble blood. "
"If that is true milord," Catherine's voice had since lost composure. Tears trickled down her smooth face, and she brushed them away with her hand. "Was this lovely dress…a forgery of someone's vindictive intent as well?" Her emerald eyes blinked away the salty liquid, but she backed away from the sight of the lord moving toward her.
Zaeviean's steps were stealth-like and his eyes were locked upon the gown she wore, a mere prelude to what was about to unfold.
Curtains of long, silky white hair cascaded against Lord Armster's contoured cheekbones, his eyes unveiling a spark of indignation as he whispered dangerously. "A marriage between an Armster and a gypsy would be a travesty! How dare you attempt to sully my good name! Tis' also the fault of my unruly son, who seems to take a liking to women who are unworthy of him. I imagine, someone wished to ruin my reputation with this scandal."
Her shoulder was quickly restrained in his grip. When Catherine pushed against him to free herself, the seams tore down and across the garment's front, unveiling her smooth shoulder blade and the top part of her left breast once concealed beneath it. His steel blue eyes held no remorse amidst her terrified screams, instead responding to her pain with the back of his hand that cuffed her across the face and sent her careening against the marble floor.
"You wretched thief! How dare you wear my wife's dress!"
Catherine's green eyes were transfixed upon him in the most visible form of fear, watching the man's hand draw the deadly blade from it's sheathe. All around the scene the guests gasped, but no one dared to flee, for their fear of the sword was as great as their fear of the man who wielded it.
Like a demon, the lord's dark blue eyes blazed. "I should cut you down where you lay, you worthless wench! If you think you can deceive me by claiming this dress was given to you-"
A flash of metal gleamed, and then another, followed by the sounds of Joachim's voice screaming as he blocked his father's blow with his sword. he screamed so loud people in the crowd began to flee from the sight of him. He could hear the sound of metal upon metal chafing, listening to sharp metallic clinks of his father's sword clashing against his own. Nevertheless, Joachim kept his stance poised, using all the strength in his arm to keep the sword away from Catherine. He gazed into his father's unblinking eyes while the man's blade strained against his own, threatening to break his sword in half if he so much as moved.
"What right do you have to condemn her?" he screamed. His father's expression had calmed, and not a flicker of hesitation proved such desperate measures were at all effective.
"Its not her fault! You have already humiliated and scorned her! That is enough, father!"
Silence. His father's cold eyes stared upon him, and on a whim the lord could have cut him down then and there with a single swipe of his blade. For many moments Joachim expected to feel blood pouring from his chest, or perhaps an instant death if his father chose to sever his head from his neck. He heard Catherine's crying ringing in his ears, but he prepared himself for what was to come, waiting for that single blow to end his miserable existence once and for all.
It never came.
Instead, he watched his father's sword slide away from his. The whole scene ended in less than a minute, yet he fell still under Zaeviean's hardened gaze, and heard a deep sigh part through his father's lips. Then, without a word, the lord's steps echoed through the great hall – leaving all standing in a silence that could have rivaled mourners at a funeral.
That night never ended in his memory, especially what came after, whilst he brooded within his chamber alone. Catherine left without bidding him farewell – in fact she left without speaking a single word. From that day on they never spoke of what happened, and he did not know if she considered him responsible for the humiliation she endured.
His brooding was disturbed when he saw his father standing in the doorway of his chamber. The young man had not bothered to shut the door; since his pain and regret were so visible he was unable to hide it from anyone. A single tear dripped down his cheek, and he turned his head listlessly to look at his father's cold expression, awaiting whatever came next with silent acceptance.
"Joachim." He heard his father's deep voice fill the room like vicious gale. "Tell me. Was all of this you're doing?"
Without voicing a reply, he made a slow nod, and lowered his head when his father removed the sheathe from his back and gripped the hard encasement in his hand. What he heard his father say next made him fall completely still.
"You lied to me…in front of my guests. I presumed t'was so. Nevertheless, I have decided whom you shall marry. If you think a heathen gypsy is worthy of our name, you are gravely mistaken, my son."
Never before had his father punished him, for all too often he was either on his deathbed or too frail to endure it. All of it seemed to matter little anymore, since after a short silence, he heard a loud crack and he hit the floor in a spray of blood. The youth screamed under the immense pain flooding through his back, and managed to look up long enough to see his father's arm raising the sheathe he clutched in his hand. Not a second later another blow struck the young man across the back, but Joachim made no effort to defy it, he only let his tears fall when his father's rough hands stripped him of his armor and robes, leaving him naked on the floor as blow after blow was brought down upon his body. Once he tried to turn away from his father's unmoved expression, but the man seized him by the hair and struck him across the face with his gauntlet. Splatters of blood covered the floor while the youth writhed and screamed until he lost his voice.
Almost twenty years of hatred finally broke his father's calm demeanor, and the lord seemed to be lost in his rage, his eyes looking down upon the naked youth pitilessly. The stench of blood filled the room alongside the repetitive sound of flesh being struck, and in a short time Joachim's face was smeared by blood, and welts began to surface on his backside.
Between beating him, he heard his father's voice rasp. "You will live long enough to bear me an heir, Joachim! I have arranged for a marriage between you and Lady Hawthorne. Indeed, tis' a match I have chosen personally, for love is hardly enough of a reason to marry. Love does not exist in marriage."
Joachim gasped when a particularly hard blow hit him on the back of his shoulders, and another struck him across the side of the face below his cheekbone. Clots of blood dripped from his quivering lips, as his nails dug into the stone floor in a feeble attempt to control the pain coursing through him. He continued to listen to his father's words.
"I was more than worthy of your mother's love! I gave her everything, even a son, but t'was not enough! That devil took her from me…"
Neither spoke a word, but Joachim fought to turn his aching neck so that he could look upon his father's face – the man who beat and scorned him. What he saw was a face identical to his – but his father's face expressed absolutely nothing of the gentleness of his son. Without a single word, the lord turned away, whilst placing the blood-covered sheathe upon his back. Trickles of blood from the sheathe stained the silver fabric, smearing itself across the lord's back as he left the room.
Shortly after his father's departure for the crusades, Joachim fell ill and was on his deathbed. Catherine had noticed the prominent bruises and gashes on his face and back, yet when her attentive nature caused her to ask, he found not the will to tell her. He simply pretended to be sleeping, his mind preoccupied by his humiliation and guilt. Not even three days passed before he made a miraculous recovery, fighting against his wounds so well none were able to tell it still caused him agony whenever he moved, but his solemn expression showed none of the turmoil his body continued to undergo.
Yet, he did not expect more pain to greet him when his father unexpectedly returned. Upon his death, Lord Armster took his secrets with him, and forever stained his son with his cruelty.