So I finally saw Clash of the Titans, and just like in King Arthur, Mads Mikklesen totally captivated me every single instant he was on screen. Of course, with my crappy luck with on-screen crushes (particulary when it's Mads Mikklesen), Draco dies. Which is just epic sucky. However, I survived it.

Now though, I realized that I wanted to write Draco-fic, but hell, that was seriously going to be depressing. And really, I don't write angst. I DON'T! Then this plot bunny hit, and suddenly I was writing a lot of angst. Be prepared.

BTW, I totally rape mythology and the film with this, but I do it with purpose and according to my beta, it works. Here's hoping you think so to!

As usual, I own nothing. *pouts*

Father and Daughter

It has been many years since I have smiled. Years since the light of my life was taken from me, and since I threw myself wholeheartedly behind my king's war with the gods themselves

I have vowed I will not smile again until the day I can spit in the faces of those gods, until the day that I can see them tremble for the life they so selfishly took from me.

I have always been a warrior. I have carried the spear and shield and sword and knife since I was years younger than the boy-soldier under my command, the one called Eusebios. It is no false pride to say that I am one of the most skilled to ever live in Argos; I trained hard to become so. Why not? After all, I desired no other life. I fought and bled and poured my strength into battle until that day in my twentieth year, I became the youngest Captain of the Royal Guard in living memory. I was proud, I was loyal, and the king saw this.

I was granted another sign of the royal family's trust and friendship that day. Her name was Ceto, and she was the youngest of the queen's handmaidens and undeniably the most beautiful. As of that day, she was also my wife. She was kind and gentle, and I could not help but love her. I only hope I loved her well, for I was only given a scant pair of years by her side.

On a bright day in the middle of spring, my wife and the queen went into labor almost as one. The princess, Andromeda, and my daughter were born mere moments apart.

Ceto, my sweet wife, died only hours later. The king and queen grieved with me, but that grief was tempered by a fierce joy in the birth of the daughter who would be their only child.

So too was my own grief tempered.

My wife had been a joy to me, but my daughter? She was joy. Born beautiful as her mother but with her father's fierce spirit, she was my everything. In those first moments of holding her in my arms, I knew there would never be anything to compare to her in all the world. I could deny her nothing, and would strive with all that was in me to be sure she never wanted for anything.

I named her well, I thought, sensing the warrior spirit within her. Her name meant "guardian and protectoress," fitting for the life she would one day lead as a daughter of the Captain of the Guard. In time, she grew into her name in a way I had not expected.

As another sign of favor, the royal family invited my bright daughter to live side by side with their own child, as a handmaiden to the young princess. I agreed, and from then on, the pair was inseparable, closer than the sisters that strangers to the court sometimes thought them to be. As I watched the pair, it was clear to me that my daughter's destiny would be tied to the safety of the princess. Even from childhood, she chose to protect her foster sister from any danger, shielding her with the fierce love she showed only to myself. I was proud of her, and proud that only she and one other was allowed so close to the young princess.

So it was with that pride, and a thought to that need to protect, that I asked for and was given permission to teach her the warrior's arts.

She took to such lessons like one born to it. She had a swiftness about her, and she moved with a sensuous and silent grace that left her opponents in defeated awe. It was with a bow that she excelled, and I gifted her with one I had carved myself on her twelfth birthday, in recognition of her skill and of her new appointment as an acolyte of Athena.

Both the princess and I mourned that new appointment, but the queen had arranged thus to further my daughter's training as an eventual companion and adviser to young Andromeda. Though her skill at arms I had taught her myself, the queen wished for her to learn the tactics and strategies practiced by the Temple of Athena.

I, of course, could not argue against the queen's will, and so I allowed my daughter to make her journey into the temple until her time as an acolyte was ended, and she could return to us.

I would always regret that decision, and though I was sworn to defend her against her enemies, after my daughter was gone, I knew deep inside me that I would always hate the queen.

I was not told the truth of my daughter's disappearance from the temple; I was only told that on the day she turned sixteen, the day she would have returned, she had transgressed against her vows with a man. I was told that worse: she had defiled Athena's temple by lying with him there, and so was cursed to appease the goddess's wrath at her insolence. No one told me what that curse truly was, but I could not bring myself to care.

I could not believe it, any of it, would not believe my daughter would have done such a thing. Still, whatever the truth of the matter, there was no denying my daughter was lost to me.

That day I took a new name, one to signify the role I would now fill. "Draco" I called myself: the dragon who would live only to defend the greatest treasure of Argos, the princess Andromeda, who my daughter had loved as a sister. On that day, I had nothing else to live for.

It was years later that I learned the truth that my daughter lived, though it was not in a form that even I would recognize. I trembled in rage and sorrow as I heard the whispers, rumors only, of a monster hidden in the shadows changing grown men to cold stone if they but looked into her eyes. And the name they spoke...

Oh my bright Medusa. What had cruel Athena done to you? I could not free her from her curse or her cage, imprisoned in the depths of Hades as she was. No man could make the journey there. No man.

I began to bind my hair back in serpentine coils, a small tribute and reminder of her fate, but the only one I had the power to give. That the soldiers under my command began to emulate the style brought me a bitter pain, but that too, I felt, was a fitting tribute.

Then came the war against the gods, fueled by Kepheus's pride and Cassiopeia's mad arrogance, a war I was willing to fight out of memory of my daughter's terrible fate. It was an empty existence destroying their temples, cursing the skies themselves. I had only moments of sanity, brought on by the painful kindness of my charge. Andromeda had heard the rumors, too, and sought in her quiet way to offer solace. We grieved together in the silence of those who dare not speak their pain aloud. I swore to myself that I would die for my princess, as my daughter would have gladly sworn had she remained herself.

The day the demigod appeared in our midst, I sought to protect Andromeda from his influence. He would be her doom, I was sure. After Hades made his terrible pronouncement, I raged. Once again, the Gods were going to take one who I thought of as a daughter, even if only she and I knew I felt thus. I turned my rage on the demigod, sickened at the very thought of any of the gods' bloodline near Andromeda.

And yet, I was proven wrong in my rage and disgust. The woman, Io, appeared, and in only a few short moments, the demigod was revealed as hope instead of doom. Or so the woman said, so my men and king seemed desperate to believe. Only Andromeda and I held ourselves apart: she because she feared it was truly only her life that would spare her people, and I because I feared she would sacrifice herself even if the son of Zeus succeeded.

Still, I could not ignore a direct order from the king. I would go with this demigod to the realm of the witches, and I would watch as my men died. I was no fool to think mortal men can survive this journey.

In this at least, I was proven right. One by one, my men died until only four of us were left alive to face the Stygian witches with Perseus and the Djinn mage beside us. I tried not to hate the demigod for the deaths; it was the gods' who I must hate more.

It was a shock when I heard the witches' speak my daughter's name, and a painful one. Instinct as a father had my sword held more tightly at the threat to my child, and it was that same instinct that led me to warn Perseus away, to tell him that Medusa cannot be controlled.

It was a deeper shock when he said so calmly that if that she could not be controlled, then we must take her head.

I found I could not speak, could not bear to.

I kept my silence as we descended back down through the ragged cliffs, as our allies the Djinn made their way away from us. My thoughts roiled, memories of my beautiful daughter and the horror that she was made to become blinding me to everything around me. The men wandered about without my order, and I could not bring myself to care. They would follow Perseus now, I realized, even if I did not join them; they were loyal to him now. And rightly so; he was proving himself a man worthy of leading them.

I told myself that I could leave, that if I spoke of my daughter, no man would ask me to remain. No man would ask me to make the choice that lay before me.

But what choice would my daughter have asked me to make? I stared out into the mountains around us, looking for an answer I did not want to find. When it came to me, I almost cried out at the pain of it. I forced my face to remain impassive, but inside I shrieked my sorrow as I knew.

Medusa, my brave and beautiful daughter, would fight to protect her princess, even to her own death. My Medusa spent her life preparing to do so. My Medusa, my lost Medusa, would rather die than remain a monster.

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength to free her.

Behind me, Perseus spoke, and for the first time, I heard fear in his voice, heard a true need for help and strength. I sighed, finding strength in it. The demigod, for all of his insistence that he would fight as a man, had finally remembered he was part human.

One by one, the men pledged themselves to follow him, and I felt pride in their strength and their bravery. When Perseus turned his eyes to me, I nodded. I would be proud to die with them.

Still I held my silence as we took the final trek to the entrance to Hades to await Charon. I had made my decision and would not back away from my fate. Mere words seemed too light for the burden I bore.

I did not know how heavy that burden could become. I could not know that the woman Io knew of my daughter, indeed knew more than I did. It was both a blessing and a curse to finally know that my daughter had been innocent of the crimes the temple claimed she committed. I was proud to know she had never broke faith with those who trusted her, but to know that one had broken their trust?

To know that it was only Athena's spite and Poseidon's lust that damned my daughter to this curse? I stared out again into the mists, trying to fight back the anguish in my heart.

I did not mean to speak when Perseus came to stand beside me, but the words escaped my lips none the less. It was true: I had not thought to reach this place in my lifetime.

When he asked who I had lost, I thought for a moment. Did I dare tell him of my loss? Could I? I realized I was grateful to him for this chance to finally face her. It was gratitude that led me to speak as I did. Still, I did not tell him more than that my daughter had been taken from me far too soon, and that I felt I would see her again soon.

I wanted to see her, I realized, needed to, as I had not since she was sent away in her twelfth year. Even if the face before me was monstrous, I wanted to glimpse it one last time.

I held to that dark hope as we approached the temple. I readied my bow. If I could wound her from a distance, I might spare the lives of one of the men. It was a slim chance, though, I knew. We entered and were assaulted by the heat and stench of serpent. The inferno below threw strange shadows upon stone, shadows I knew Medusa would use to hide. Then the laughter came, and that sound alone told me how much of my daughter had truly been changed. No matter what her form, Medusa had never possessed such cruel glee at the thought of death.

I was prepared for the attack when it came, but not for the form it took. A barbed arrow stuck me, piercing through armor with ease. Some part of me marveled that my daughter had remembered her bow, when all other memory of her humanity was taken from her. The rest felt my hopes began to fade with my strength I had not expected her to attack from afar. If I died now, I would never see her face.

I forced myself to stand strong and ordered the men to flank her if they could. I had little hope for their survival now: their fear was too powerful. Still, they would try I knew.

Left alone, I manged to break off the ends of the arrow, knowing they would hinder my movement. The rest, I didn't bother to pull out. I knew my death was near. At least this way, the shaft would slow the bleeding and perhaps buy me a few more moments.

I used those scant moments, tracking the others by the sounds of their screams. When I finally found them, all but Perseus had perished. I readied my blades and willed my failing strength to hold out for one last feat, then leaped to tear one long stalactite down upon the writhing body beneath me.

My aim was true. I pulled myself to my feet one last time, tasting blood in my mouth and throat.

"Tell them men did this."

A shriek of pain pulled my gaze away from our savior's and I turned to meet my daughter's eyes one last time. Her eyes were still beautiful, I saw for an instant, and I smiled at the sight.

Then I saw no more.

Well there it was. Drat, now I need a tissue... *huggles Draco*