#!draco

@mayhemxmugglesxmagic​ from here;

Andromeda was only here because Narcissa had asked her to come. It was the first time in years that she had seen her little nephew. He was younger than her Dora, of course - but still no less a grown adult and capable of making his own decisions. He looked like a carbon copy of Lucius, back when he had been strutting about the school… same grey eyes and same, pale and pointed chin. But there was a mildness to that mouth of his. The mildness that came with Narcissa. Back in those simpler days when Narcissa would laugh in wonder at all her stories. 

The dark-haired woman sighed. I need a strong glass of Elf-made Wine. She didn’t think she could have this conversation with her no-longer estranged nephew sober.

“A reason to smile, hm?” She began, almost whimsical. Almost as if she was speaking to herself and not a total stranger. She was also counting down feeble little reasons to smile. Teddy was her biggest reason to smile right now. Her small grandson with his chubby cheeks and hair that changed every second or so. He reminded her that her heart still worked. That she hadn’t just buried her heart with Ted’s, Sirius’ or Dora’s memory.

Narcissa, who had long pretended that Andromeda had not existed for the better part of two decades, had suddenly reached out. Maybe when you were faced with impending loss, you held on to things- even unwanted things.

Cissy’s desperate to save him…

Andromeda had stopped reading the Daily Prophet, unable to keep up with the rising mania out on the streets. With loss came anger and confusion and in that state of despair… it invited violence. She did not want to be a part of that. Whilst she knew Malfoy’s name was mud, she could only stare kindly at her nephew, caught in the crossfire of an ugly war.

@growngrim

Draco of House Ferren was not supposed to be the Lord. But somehow his six older brothers had all gotten themselves killed. Thus began a complicated life for Draco. His first two children, twins, were technically bastards because their mother had refused to marry him once it was clear he was the heir.

He had been irate and cross at Fayte for years. But just a year or two before Robert’s rebellion, he had met the lady he would wed. A wild spirited woman he didn’t actually realize was a lady until after they were intended. Seiran had been born at the beginning of the war that would take down the Targaryean Reign, and Draco swore the reason he was so driven was to get home and hold his daughter.

Now there was another Rebellion. The Greyjoys had tried to take their Iron Price from the lands. They had one captive up at Casterly Rock, and as a Bannerman of the Lannisters (a complicated history, his house’s relationship with theirs), he could get in to see the captive Greyjoy brother.

“Yer...the squid, right?” He leaned against the wall outside the cell, dark hair already greying. Two rebellions in one life time was too many. Lord Draco of House Ferren didn’t want that. Hadn’t wanted the first. And just then he had concerns-and wondered if at least one of his children would have been happier having not existed.

@agirlofwinterfell started following you

For the most part, Draco had enjoyed his visit to the landing for the Hand’s Tourney. Granted, the Lord of House Ferren knew the hand had little to do with it except giving the king another excuse to host a celebration. That was one thing the King excelled at, hosting parties.

But then something had haunted him. A distant ghost of his distant past. His son’s lost wife. Words whispered as if in a daze that the girl had then dismissed.

“When the flower knocks down the mountain,” He murmured softly, thoughtful, “Three Stags will soon fall. Middle, young, old. To vice, anger, and pride. Northern Tree may be Tall, but its branches too will fall...”

He knew better then to dismiss it, but what the bloody hell had Dayonara meant? That was why he dimissed the concept of prophecy. Because you needed fifty scholars to translate them.