CHAINS OF LOVE
CHAPTER ONE: SER MARK MULLENDORE
PAIRING: sworn protector!gwayne hightower x fem!targtower reader
SUMMARY: ser mark mullendore has been put to rest, leaving you defenseless and without a knight. your mother, queen alicent, remedies that quickly, finding you a new sworn protector who hits a little too close to home
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
AUTHORS NOTE: welcome to chains of love!!! i am so excited to start writing for gwayne and targtower!reader!!! it’s going to be a total roller coaster of emotions and feelings, and i can’t wait to get into it!!! this is also my first time writing asoiaf incest, so bare with me. this chapter also contains mentions of death and creepy, unwanted behaviour from men, so read at your own risk.
HIGH VALYRIAN IS IN ITALICS
ser mark mullendore took his last breath on the day of your twentieth name day. a testament to the years he spent protecting your life, harbouring a care for you as if you were his own kin.
the funeral pyre laid smokey in front of you; moonfyre, your midnight blue scaled dragon, swirling the sky over your head. it was only you in this barren field, your family and members of court and council not thinking it important that a man had died. mark came from a noble house in the reach, yet he had no family, and the families occupying the red keep, people he called his closest friends, didn’t seem to care about him.
it was only you honouring his death. the girl he called his daughter. the girl who he had been sworn to protect since she had turned six name days old. you stood in front of his wrapped body with a spine straight back, fire dancing across the gold of your silken dress as the mount holding mark’s body engulfed in flames. you had demanded a firm dracarys from moonfyre, yet your words had cracked, emotion blanketing the edges of your voice with a firm grasp.
this was a man who lifted you up easily and threw you over his shoulder when you were eight, catching you sneaking into the kitchens to thieve a batch of lemon cakes. that same man, who didn’t scold you harshly, yet shared a pastry with you and told you to not do it again, had died of sickness, and you would be damned to let people forget him.
“my princess!” a voice drifted through the air of the cliff, high pitched and squeaky in its announce. you lifted your tear stained face up from the pyre, taking in the sight of a young squire running up the grassy hill. you glared at the boy, not waiting for him to come closer before you unleashed your torrent of fury onto him.
“can’t you see i’m busy?!” you snapped, moonfyre growling and snapping her jaws behind you. the two of you were always in tuned. anytime you were grumpy, happy, or sad, moonfyre was similar, the dragon keepers being able to guess her mood for the day for all they would need is a moment with you and she was understood.
the squire halted a couple paces away from the burning body, a cherry hued blush on his cheeks as he wrung out his fingers in nervousness. people knew you were quick to temper, and it was never fun being on the receiving end. “i’m sorry, princess. it’s just that her grace — the queen, has called you back to the tourney grounds. it is your name day after all.”
a sneer rocked its way into your lips, eyes turning into slits as you stared at the squire with a molten glare. he shrunk under your gaze, not being able to hold a second of eye contact before he was shrinking into himself like a petulant child being caught on grounds they weren’t supposed to wander.
“ser mark has died,” you breathed, red hot anger radiating off of you in waves. if you were a dragon, fire would’ve been breathing from your lips, the fury coating your blood heating up your body and making you feel like you were going to explode. “i think it’s easy to understand that i don’t give a fuck about my name day, or the tourney for that matter. are you that daft that you cannot comprehend that?”
a deafening silence blankets the cliff as the squire shrinks even further into himself, mouth agape as he tries to come up with words to combat your snark. you stare at him with a raised brow, and before he can even utter a word, you snap at him again, words sharper and more cutthroat than before.
“that’s what i thought.” you say, crossing your arms over your chest before staring back down at the still burning body of mark mullendore. “you can leave now.”
“as you wish.” the squire scurries off before you can snap again, leaving you in a peaceful silence that is only interrupted by the beat of moonfyre’s wings. it dawns on you that this is what ser mark would’ve wanted. a serene moment for just himself and his daughter. the gods knew king viserys didn’t treat you as such, so what was a problem in stepping up?
a sigh tore from your lips, hands itching to touch ser marks sword withered skin. it didn’t matter how much he trained or how people called him a brute, ser mark was always kind and gentle with you, and you’d remember that until your dying breath.
no one had ever been as sweet to you as ser mark had. your parents were ghosts, your father melting away as your mother tried and pretended she cared, but you knew you weren’t her favourite deep down. your elder brother aegon was a drunk, too busy drowning in his cups and fucking whores to notice you. and when he did? he was cruel, making jabs at you that always left you wondering your worth.
helaena, your elder sister, was a sweet and gentle soul, but she liked to be by herself. sometimes you’d visit her and her children in her chambers, but she was always quiet, the visits usually spent with you playing with jaehaera and jaehaerys instead of talking with your sister.
your younger brothers, aemond and daeron, were vastly different, the latter having gone off to oldtown when he was very young, leaving you to only know snippets of his personality in letters you sent once every moon. from what you could gather, he was kind, and to you, a targaryen man known for his kindness was a good thing.
aemond was an enigma in his own, the one-eyed man more reserved and quiet than talkative. you guys bonded on the grounds of being the black sheep of the family, but aemond felt like he held a brighter candle to the name, sulking around corners and training to the sword with ser criston cole, a man who you loathed for no apparent reason other than he made your bones rattle with irritation.
it dawned on you at a young age that you held a syndrome only middle children could understand, the one where you felt left out even in a crowded room. it made you feel isolated as a kid, yet ser mark always made you feel seen, cheering you up when the trials of being a targaryen got too much.
now he was gone, and at the realization that you were invisible once again, a tear slipped down your cheek, a watery gasp leaving your lips as you clutched at your chest in agony.
“gods, ser.” you sobbed, holding onto your heart as it broke in your chest, the muscle feeling like it was spasming and burning all at once. “why did you leave me alone in this wretched world! it was supposed to be you and i forever, and i don’t know if i can live without you.”
behind you, moonfyre flew down in a fellow swoop, landing beside your shaking frame and nuzzling her snout into your chest. a shaken laugh left your lips, your head leaning down to lay on top of her nose, nuzzling into her deeply.
“i love you, my girl.” you breathed out the words in a soft breath, holding onto her a little tighter. the smoke was starting to make your head spin, and you knew it was time to go back to the tourney grounds before your mother sent a whole batch of kings guard to look for you.
with a sigh, you patted moonfyre’s neck, caressing her midnight blue scales before commanding to her deeply in high valyrian. “go back to the dragon pit,” you said firmly, backing away so the midnight monster could descend into the air and fly away towards her resting place.
a deep dread wallowed in your gut was you watched moonfyre fly away, your fingernails digging into the beds around your cuticles in worry. you didn’t want to leave ser mark, but you also knew he wouldn’t want you to hold back your life just for him. this thought made you sigh yet another breath, moving forward towards the noise of the tourney that was being celebrated in your name.
many minutes of aching feet and sniffling sobs finally led you to the tourney grounds, your eyes taking in the extravagance of all the tents and vendors that lined the field. you walked through with your head held high, the feeling of ser mark not behind you uncommon and saddening, yet you tried to get used to the feeling.
the royal pavilions came into view as you walked a little further, the sight before you complete and utter chaos. alicent stood frantic, her fingers twisting the green sleeves of her dress as she spoke harshly and sharply to her sworn protector and leader of the kings guard, ser criston cole, the rest of the white cloaks being spread around evenly. helaena sat on a bench beside the yawning mouth of the main pavilion, butterfly in hand as jaehaera and jaehaerys ran around wildly close by.
aegon was slumped over beside helaena, drunk off his arse even though it was only half past midday. aemond was nowhere to be seen, and you were certain he was probably off training somewhere.
your lips twisted in displeasure, the thought that you were abandoning ser mark for this terror one of pure unbridled anger. no words left your lips as the chaos ensued around you, and it wasn’t until your mother caught onto the sight of your silver curls and golden dress that she finally let go of all the tension that was building up in her shoulders.
alicent turned to ser criston and said a few more words before stalking over to you, her face a mask of anger as her dress billowed behind her in a storming fury. “where in the sevens name have you been?” she seethed, grabbing onto your upper arm with malice. her nails dug into your skin, and you felt a hiss leave your lips as she started tugging you towards the pavilion. “i’ve been worried off my wits for hours!”
a roll of your eyes had alicent digging her nails harder into your upper arm, leaving a gasp of pain to breach through your mouth. “don’t give me attitude, or i swear to the seven, i will send you to oldtown to become a septa!”
“i was on the cliffside by blackwater bay,” you mumbled, tripping over your slippers as your feet slid on the grass. “i laid ser mark to rest. a feat none of the imbeciles in this gods forsaken realm had the honour to do.”
a drunken laugh was heard from your left, your head whipping to the side to encounter a drunk yet somewhat coherent aegon. a lazy smirk was thrown on his face, disgust rolling in your gut as he eyed you up and down with the lustful eyes of a snake. “what’s with your incessant need to drone on about that mullendore nobody?” aegon slurred, gaze landing on your breasts with a smirk. “a good fuck would do you good. get your mind off that animal. you know which chambers to come to if you need aiding between your thighs, sister.”
“focus on your wife, you drunken craven!” a gasped yell left your lips, ripping your arm out of your mothers hold to charge at aegon. “and don’t speak of ser mark again! or i will cut off your cock and feed it to-“
“woah there, m’lady.” arms wrapped around your waist in a firm grip, your body spinning as the perpetrator pulled you away from aegon’s grinning frame. your arms clawed at your brother, glaring daggers and yelling curse words at aegon as the mystery man held you in a firm grip. “you mustn’t make a scene.”
a half scoff, half snort left your lips, spinning your head to glare at the stupid hedge knight who dare speak to you in such way. why wasn’t anyone stepping in? why wasn’t your mother calling the kings guard to unhand this treasonous man from you? it was all blinding, and you couldn’t help the sneer that blanketed your words.
“pardon me, ser. but if you don’t mind letting me the fuck go.” the words died in your throat as your lilac gaze caught onto that of warm brown, alabaster skin marred with freckles and soft auburn hair the only thing in your sight as you took in your captor. you knew now why your mother or the kings guard hadn’t acted, for the man holding you was non other than your uncle gwayne, proud knight of oldtown and a man you hadn’t seen since your tenth name day.
he’s grown in the decade since you last saw him. sharper, acute, and definitely more handsome than before. his eyes were wide, taking you in with a startled smile that rendered you speechless. he held you firm around the waist, fingers digging into the divots in your back as he pulled you away from aegon’s giggling frame. you could hear your mother sigh behind you, her fingers most definitely pinching her nose in exasperation.
“can you ever be proper, my dear?” she asked in a withered breath, auburn hair billowing behind her in the wind as she glared at aegon with sharp eyes. “gwayne. you can let my daughter go. and aegon. one more word from you and i’m enlisting constant surveillance around your chambers.”
aegon’s drunken protests were sparked on deaf ears as gwayne squeezed the flesh of your hips, smiling at you dashingly before letting you go all together. you fixed your wind swept silver curls, cursing yourself for deciding to go with your hair down today for it now resembled a birds nest. your lips blew at strands as you smoothed them down your head, doing the same motion to your rumpled dress before placing your hands on your hips and staring at gwayne with eyes thinned into slits.
“what are you doing here, dear uncle?” you asked suspiciously, watching as gwayne fixed his chest plate with a boyish grin. “you should be holding down the fort in oldtown. not halting me from attacking my disgrace of a brother.”
gwayne only laughed at your accusation, shaking his auburn hair out of his eyes before looking you up and down swiftly. it wasn’t leering or lustful in the way that aegon did it. gwayne seemed to be sweeping you for injuries, making sure his firm hold on you from earlier hadn’t harmed you.
“your mother hasn’t told you, i presume?” he questioned, looking past your shoulder to alicent with a raised brow. you whipped around at his remark, taking in your mothers too stoic face and knowing she was about to be the harbinger of bad news.
with another sigh, alicent reached forward and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly before explaining what your uncle had meant. “i know you’ve been heartbroken by the sudden passing of ser mark,” she responded, his name on her tongue shooting a pang of sadness to your heart. “but you need a protector, my dear. you can’t go around unsupervised.”
gears starting winding and turning in your brain; gwayne’s sudden appearance. why he had rushed to save you when you charged aegon. it was all starting to make sense, and the realization had you letting out a dry, humorous laugh.
“no.” you stated firmly, moving your head back and forth between alicent and gwayne, taking in your mothers firm yet motherly stare and your uncles apathetic eyes. “mother! you’ve got to be joking.”
alicent squeezed your shoulder tighter, nails digging into the blade as a warning to stop acting like a brat. after five kids you would’ve thought she was trained well in deflating their temper tantrums, but you and your siblings all had targaryen blood running through your veins, and nothing could stop the swell of wrath that sparked when any of you got mad.
“it needs to be done,” alicent responded, looking around to see if anyone had caught onto the crowned princess throwing a fit. “ser mark had passed, and i trust little in the kings guard by my own sworn protector. gwayne is a fine enough choice, and he took this role was grace and apathy.”
you only scoffed, ripping your shoulder out of your mothers hold to spin around on your uncle. he stared at you wide eyed, taking in the fiery lilac embers of your eyes and the wild untamed energy that radiated off of you in waves. “ser mark just perished not even a fortnight ago,” you quipped, rounding on gwayne with the predatory act of a dragon. “you dare steal a dead man’s position?”
“there’s little to steal, princess.” ser criston thought it perfect to put in his two cents, a sneer sucker punching itself across your face as you whirled on him in fury. “he’s passed. the position isn’t his anymore.”
“i’m sorry, who the fuck asked for your opinion?” alicent gasped at your language, her cheeks flaming in anger. gwayne tried to hide his snicker, agreeing with you on your hatred for the knight. he’s heard about ser criston’s lack of honourable behaviour, detesting him for breaking his vows and becoming the thing the warrior would loath.
a crack sounded through the air as alicent slapped you across the cheek, your head snapping sideways as a red hot print latched itself onto your skin. a gasp was heard from her brother behind you, yet no reaction came your way, your head turning back to your mother as she glared at you deeply.
“you watch your tone, young lady. and stop acting like a petulant child.” her words were sharp, cutting into your skin like glass. you just glared at your mother, seeing the deepness of her aversion towards who you really were. alicent never really saw you, and because of this, she never saw your relationship with ser mark, not understanding why appointing you a new protector so soon made you upset.
a silence blankets over your small gathering, the only noise being the merchants and nobles wandering around camp. you just stare defiantly at your mother, waiting for her to make the next move.
alicent only sighs for the umpteenth time, looking past you to her brother who is wide eyed at the display you and your mother just made. “gwayne. please escort my daughter back to her chambers. she’s had a rough morning, and i think some rest would do her good.”
your defiant stare turns into an open gaping mouth, wide eyed and angry as your mother turns her back on you to talk again with ser criston. it was heartbreaking, being on the receiving end of your mother’s indifference. she only seemed to care for helaena these days, her favouritism clear as she shooed you away to your chambers on your own name day.
a soft hand blanketed your shoulder, the feeling almost comforting as you whirled around to see gwayne looking at you sadly, a soft smile on his lips that showed how much care he held for you.
“come, sweet niece,” he whispered, trying his best to keep his words low and out of earshot of alicent and ser criston. “let’s get you back to your chambers. i know you detest this tourney anyways.”
the kindness of his words seeped into your bones, making a warmth bloom underneath your skin. gwayne was always kind. he never picked favourites like your mother did, doling out his affections for each of his nieces and nephews evenly. if ser mark’s death wasn’t weighing heavy on your chest, you would’ve been glad that gwayne was your new protector, for his knightly virtues and honourable behaviour made him a good man.
with a defiant huff, you pushed aside that warmth in your chest, remembering ser mark and how it was supposed to be him with you right now. you fluttered past gwayne with the grace of a disgruntled fairy, dress swishing behind you as the wind lifted your silver hair.
gwayne hurried after you in measured steps, his armour clanking as he tried to keep your pace. nobles and common folk looked on earnestly and confused as the young princess tore through the camp grounds, her exasperated uncle following behind her. it was a sight for sore eyes, the whispers starting to already form.
“it’s been a while since i’ve made your acquaintance, princess.” gwayne’s voice was smooth, his attempt at trying to form small talk making you irritable. “you’ve grown into a fine young lady since our last meeting.”
“i was ten when i last encountered you,” the words that came out of your mouth were clipped, your head turning to the side to eye gwayne as you continued to walk towards the red keep. “it would be concerning if i didn’t grow.”
a huff of laughter left gwayne’s lips, his arms placed demurely behind his back. “you’re quick to wit, dear princess. i must say though, it evades my memory if you were always this smart tongued as a child.”
it was easily detectable to see the prying of gwayne’s questions, how he inquired cryptically on your upbringing, wondering on the difference between you then and you ten years later. a raise of your brow showed your knowledge of gwayne’s ulterior motives, your face passive as the red keep’s scarlet bricks came into view.
“growing up in my family leaves you moving down one of two paths,” you responded, the bustling sounds of stable boys and maids hitting your ears the closer you got to the castles yawning mouthed entrance. “either you become quiet and meek, or you become steeled and hardened. i learned early on the quietness gets you nowhere in life, so being a cruel bitch must do.”
a soft silence came over both you and your uncle, the only sound being the howling wind ghosting through your ears and over your skin. you looked over to gwayne to see a mask of thoughtfulness over his usual muted expression, his eyebrows drawn tight as he bit his lip and stared down at the rubbled sand beneath his feet.
“i don’t think your cruel.” gwayne’s words were finite, his bitten lip twisting as he stared head of you towards the halls of the red keep. “mouthy? yes. headstrong? definitely. but not cruel.”
laughter left you in a quick, loud shout, your head thrown back in merriment as gwayne stared at you with a smile, a soft yet quizzical look on his face. “what’s so funny, princess?”
“i’m sorry, uncle. it’s just that no one has ever spoken of me in such manner.” you grinned at him as you continued walking, silently taking in his ethereal beauty. gwayne was seriously gorgeous, and you realized that you don’t recall what he looked like from when you were ten. the only image you have of him is gwayne now; a godly beauty that is steadfast and strong in his words and actions.
it was refreshing, how gwayne didn’t diminish you like aegon did with his lewd words, or how he didn’t ignore your requests like your mother did. you weren’t fond of him taking ser mark’s place, but you could see yourself warming up to him in the future. for now, you’d stew in your anger, for it’s the only way you could hold onto your best friends memory.
gwayne shook his head, a grin on his face that rivalled the brightness of the sun. you could tell you were getting closer to your chambers, and some deep part of you didn’t want this conversation to end. “that’s too bad,” gwayne responded, spine straight and poise in a knightly manor. “i’m honoured to be the first one to acknowledge your kindness.”
“kindness?” you snorted, ignoring the spark of warmth that ignited in your stomach at gwayne’s words. “dear uncle, you just held me back from attacking my brother. how is that me demonstrating acts of kindness?”
a mask of displeasure twisted over gwayne’s face as you mentioned aegon, a soft sneer igniting on his lips that made you hold back a smirk. “don’t mouth this off to anyone but me, but aegon is far from honourable, and if your mother or that craven ser criston weren’t there, i would’ve let you get a few scratches in.”
more laughter danced from your lips, the knowledge that gwayne hated ser criston just as much as you did brightening. you spotted your chamber doors in the distance, sighing as you could now finally get some peace and quiet. talking to your uncle was all nice, yet the toll of putting ser mark to rest started weighing heavy on you, leaving your bones weary and your body in need of rest.
“well, i’m glad to hear that you’re on my side, dear uncle. but i fear it’s time for me to retire.” you stopped in front of your door with a wave of exhaustion, your eyes tired and your quick whit dwindling. gwayne only bowed his head in response, grabbing your free hand that wasn’t reaching for the door handle to bring it up to his mouth.
the kiss he placed on the back of your hand was delicate, one that sent shivers wracking through your bones. in this moment, it was hard to see this man as your uncle. in this moment, all you could see was a dashing man who treated you with respect. one who cherished you.
his lips lingered on your skin, their warmth leaving you in a trance even as he pulled away, staring at you with kind eyes.
“get some rest, darling niece.” he whispered, a unfamiliar cherry blush dancing across your cheeks. “and sorry for the loss of your old protector. i remember you mentioning his name was mark mullendore, and i can’t help but think back to meeting him at a tourney.” a smile dusted his lips, one of remembrance and good memories. “he was a fine knight, and i hope to protect and keep you unharmed to the degree that he upheld.”
with a reverent nod of his head, gwayne spun on his heel and moved back down the hall, your eyes following his purposeful gait before he turned a corner and you lost him.
something deep furled in your gut, and you didn’t know if it was his acknowledgement of ser mark, something not one singular person had done since his death, or that gwayne seemed steadfast in his protection of you. he was always a noble man, a follower of the seven and honourable enough to cover a whole army, but something in his words left tingles in your veins, a feeling you hadn’t felt since you developed a silly crush on a kitchen boy when you were twelve.
your hand clutched tightly onto the door handle of your chamber, mind reeling with emotions that hadn’t been unearthed since you were a girl. what you were feeling was dulcet, but it was forbidden, and that made your stomach clench so tight, you felt like you were going to be sick.
“seven hells.” you breathed, throwing your chamber door open and slamming it in a fellow swoosh, your body flinging itself onto your bed in agony.
this was going to be hell.
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