Kiss Me Deadly, for @skirka
Sep. 5th, 2025 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
forrestertailor When Luka knew him, then by campfire light after long and bloody days on the battlefield, he used the name the soldiers called him. Houndstooth. A brutish name for such a calm fellow but one he had well earned. On the field Gelert von Llywelyn was a fearsome warrior, battle-tested and clever with little concern for his own life. It was at first a joke on his given name, a means for the farmboys to tease their better, but before long Houndstooth proved out. Like the fabled hound he was named for, he was as powerful as he was loyal.
In the teeth of a vicious battle, Houndstooth defended his battalion even as the enemy circled and overwhelmed them. Never leaving his men, Houndstooth led them in a desperate struggle that splintered the enemy line, freeing his men to reap their revenge as the cavalry stormed in at their backs. The whole affair turned Houndstooth's once plain face into a mass of scar tissue and cost him his right arm, and the farmboys never suffered another joke to be made about their commander.
He returned home a battered hero and enjoyed the added thrill of losing his father and older brother. With the Duke of Ardt's passing the family title and land passed to Houndstooth. Scarred and staggered by the loss that waited for him at home, Houndstooth isolated himself from the world and found solace only in writing to his old brother-in-arms.
For his part Luka delighted in their letters, as he had always delighted in the man's company, and he wrote Houndstooth many times a day every single day. Even when the messages only reached him in a month old pile, the two men's affection for one another was evident. Luka had known many who had been lamed in battle and his steadfast assurances that Houndstooth would live through the shadowy pain in his stump and that the ringing screams of all those lost souls would one day quiet, all served to bolster his friend in his new life. Court was dull and peopled with blackguards. He ached to take a walk, uninterrupted by affairs of state, through the meadows that had been shining and gold when he was a boy. In lieu of these pleasures a letter from an old friend did Houndstooth a world of good.
Beloved by his peasantry, although he was now a horror to look at, the rumor mill churned rapidly wond about his bride. She would need to be as sweet a soul as Houndstooth himself, and someone who could cool his fire and soothe his trouble brow when the spectre of his war rose over him. She would have to be temperate and kindly, and not mind too much that her lion hearted husband had a distorted face that scared children. A well borne, well bred, lovely country girl was what he needed. Someone who did not mind his plain ways of thinking and speaking, and who would be happy to cherish a walk in the meadow over a palace of gold and a bed of silk.
Luka hoped just as much as the washerwomen that his friend should find a perfect girl to fill his autumn years. Houndstooth was a good and noble man, he deserved a woman who could appreciate those parts of him. When the news arrived that Houndstooth would wed Luka exalted and packed his bags with as many novelties and gifts as he could carry. Though not of noble blood himself, his arrival was one of great fanfare, as he brought with him riches fit to glorify a king and marvels taken from all corners of the world.
Though the feast that awaited his arrival turned Luka's stomach, he was keen to sit through it and be in the company of his old friend. So it was a cold shock when, looking across the banquet and bustle of the growing wedding party, Luka saw his comrade's bride for the first time.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman, made more so by her unbending nature and the snake cold eyes watching the party as if from a great distance. Seeing her Luka felt a chain of hellfire wind around through his guts, lashing the two of them together to burn as a black maw opened wide at their feet.
In the teeth of a vicious battle, Houndstooth defended his battalion even as the enemy circled and overwhelmed them. Never leaving his men, Houndstooth led them in a desperate struggle that splintered the enemy line, freeing his men to reap their revenge as the cavalry stormed in at their backs. The whole affair turned Houndstooth's once plain face into a mass of scar tissue and cost him his right arm, and the farmboys never suffered another joke to be made about their commander.
He returned home a battered hero and enjoyed the added thrill of losing his father and older brother. With the Duke of Ardt's passing the family title and land passed to Houndstooth. Scarred and staggered by the loss that waited for him at home, Houndstooth isolated himself from the world and found solace only in writing to his old brother-in-arms.
For his part Luka delighted in their letters, as he had always delighted in the man's company, and he wrote Houndstooth many times a day every single day. Even when the messages only reached him in a month old pile, the two men's affection for one another was evident. Luka had known many who had been lamed in battle and his steadfast assurances that Houndstooth would live through the shadowy pain in his stump and that the ringing screams of all those lost souls would one day quiet, all served to bolster his friend in his new life. Court was dull and peopled with blackguards. He ached to take a walk, uninterrupted by affairs of state, through the meadows that had been shining and gold when he was a boy. In lieu of these pleasures a letter from an old friend did Houndstooth a world of good.
Beloved by his peasantry, although he was now a horror to look at, the rumor mill churned rapidly wond about his bride. She would need to be as sweet a soul as Houndstooth himself, and someone who could cool his fire and soothe his trouble brow when the spectre of his war rose over him. She would have to be temperate and kindly, and not mind too much that her lion hearted husband had a distorted face that scared children. A well borne, well bred, lovely country girl was what he needed. Someone who did not mind his plain ways of thinking and speaking, and who would be happy to cherish a walk in the meadow over a palace of gold and a bed of silk.
Luka hoped just as much as the washerwomen that his friend should find a perfect girl to fill his autumn years. Houndstooth was a good and noble man, he deserved a woman who could appreciate those parts of him. When the news arrived that Houndstooth would wed Luka exalted and packed his bags with as many novelties and gifts as he could carry. Though not of noble blood himself, his arrival was one of great fanfare, as he brought with him riches fit to glorify a king and marvels taken from all corners of the world.
Though the feast that awaited his arrival turned Luka's stomach, he was keen to sit through it and be in the company of his old friend. So it was a cold shock when, looking across the banquet and bustle of the growing wedding party, Luka saw his comrade's bride for the first time.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman, made more so by her unbending nature and the snake cold eyes watching the party as if from a great distance. Seeing her Luka felt a chain of hellfire wind around through his guts, lashing the two of them together to burn as a black maw opened wide at their feet.
