Chapter 12
"Look at you," Arya said, a hint of amusement clear in her voice. "My brother, the high and mighty king."
Jon chuckled as he shook his head. "It's not as glamorous as it sounds, trust me." He paused and waved his hand towards the papers lying all over his desk. "It's mostly just this."
"Seems boring," Arya admitted. "And I truly don't envy you." She paused and grinned. "I think you might envy me."
"Perhaps. Sansa told me about your plans to sail across the Narrow Sea." Jon hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. "Are you sure about that? You know you're more than welcome here or at Winterfell."
"I know, but you know I've always dreamed of traveling, seeing new places, meeting new people. I was never meant for a life of a noblewoman."
"I can't argue with you about that," Jon admitted. "I just want you to be happy."
Arya observed him for a moment before continuing. "How about you? Are you happy?"
Her question caught Jon off guard, but somehow, he managed to smile. "I will be. Eventually."
Arya's eyes narrowed. "Has your wife caused you trouble?"
"No," Jon replied, his eyes widening slightly. "Why would you think that?"
"She's Cersei Lannister's daughter," Arya stated simply. "I warned her that I would make her pay if she made you miserable."
Jon's eyes widened at Arya's bluntness, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You said that to her?"
Arya shrugged, her expression unbothered. "She needed to know where I stand."
"Arya..." Jon shook his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his tone. "Helena isn't like her mother. She's trying to do what's right, just like the rest of us."
Arya tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Maybe. But I won't forget who her family is. I trust you, Jon, but I don't trust anyone who's got Lannister blood in their veins."
Jon leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded his sister. "She's not her family. You, of all people, should know that."
Arya's gaze softened a little, but she didn't back down. "Just don't let your guard down. Cersei might be gone, but her shadow is long."
"I won't," Jon promised. "But Helena's different. If you don't believe me, trust in Ghost's judgment. He likes her."
"Hmm. And you, Jon? Do you like her?"
Jon paused at Arya's question, caught off guard. He hadn't expected her to ask something so direct, but then again, this was Arya, she always cut through to the heart of things.
"I..." he began, searching for the right words. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Helena was kind, and he respected her resilience. He admired the grace with which she carried herself in such a difficult position. But his feelings were tangled, complicated by everything that had happened since their marriage.
"I care about her," he said finally, his voice steady. "She's been through a lot, and she's trying to find her place here, just like I am."
Arya's sharp eyes stayed on him, reading him in that way only she could. "That's not what I asked."
Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We don't know each other well yet, but I believe that, in time, there can be genuine affection between us."
"Genuine affection?" Arya repeated, rolling her eyes. "Sounds exciting."
"Helena is a sweet girl," Jon stated, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Our marriage wasn't about love; it was about what was best for the realm."
Arya sighed and shook her head. "I still think you deserve better, Jon. You deserve to marry someone you love…"
"I've loved two women, and they're both gone now," Jon snapped before he managed to stop himself.
The words hung in the air, sharper than Jon had intended. Arya flinched slightly, but her expression remained steady. Jon immediately regretted his outburst, knowing that Arya was only trying to look out for him.
"Arya, I didn't mean…" he began, but she cut him off.
"No, it's alright," she said, her tone softer now, though the edge remained. "I get it. You've been through hell, Jon. You've lost people. People you loved. But that doesn't mean you have to give up on finding happiness again."
Jon shook his head, the weight of his grief and guilt pressing down on him. "I'm not giving up. But I don't think love is something I'm meant for. Not anymore."
Arya's face softened further as she studied her brother. "Maybe not right now. But don't shut yourself off to the idea forever, Jon. Helena might not be the love of your life, but you shouldn't have to resign yourself to a loveless marriage either."
Jon sighed, leaning against the desk. "I know you're right. I just... I don't know how to feel anymore."
There was a moment of silence before Arya stepped closer, her voice gentler than before. "You've carried too much for too long, Jon. You've been protecting everyone else, doing what's best for the realm, for your family... But you need to let yourself heal too."
Jon nodded, but the knot in his chest refused to loosen. "I'll try, Arya. But right now, I just need to do what's best for the kingdom. That has to come first."
Arya studied him for a long moment, her fierce eyes soft with understanding, though there was still a trace of sadness in them. "Just don't forget yourself along the way."
Jon offered her a tired smile. "I'll try not to."
With a final nod, Arya turned to leave, her steps quieter than before. As she disappeared from view, Jon slumped into his chair, the weight of his responsibilities and emotions swirling inside him.
He had spoken the truth, he cared for Helena, and he wanted to protect her. But was there room in his heart for more than just duty? The question haunted him as he stared out the window, watching the sky grow darker.
"Good night, Your Grace," Mena said, offering Helena a warm smile.
"Good night, Your Grace," Bianca echoed.
"Good night," Helena replied, smiling at both maids. "Thank you."
She was ready for bed, but Jon hadn't arrived yet. He had seemed absentminded at dinner, but he had said that he would join her soon. She wasn't alone, though; Ghost was with her.
"You were great today," she said to the direwolf.
Helena had finally thought of a gift for Jon. She had begun painting a portrait of Ghost. It felt strange to start painting again after so many years, but she quickly remembered how much she loved it. She wasn't entirely sure about her idea, though, especially since she had seen how important Ghost was to Jon. She feared he would find her gift ridiculous, especially in comparison to what he had given her.
Helena glanced at Ghost, who was lying by the hearth, his watchful eyes following her movements. She couldn't help but smile at the direwolf's quiet, steady presence.
"You're always here for him, aren't you?" she murmured, feeling a strange sense of comfort in Ghost's calm.
She sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about the portrait she had started. The brushstrokes, the shades of white and gray that captured Ghost's powerful form, it was the first time in years she had allowed herself to create something. She had feared that her ability had vanished with her childhood. But as soon as she had started, the memories of her time in the garden, lost in her own world of colors and shapes, had come flooding back.
Still, doubt gnawed at her. Would Jon really appreciate it? The garden he had given her was a grand gesture, a piece of her past returned to her, something priceless. And what was she giving him in return? A mere painting?
Helena bit her lip, uncertainty rising. She wasn't sure she was ready to show Jon this part of herself, the vulnerability that came with sharing something so personal. Would he understand? Or would he think it was childish, meaningless compared to the responsibilities they both carried now?
Ghost huffed softly, and Helena's eyes returned to him. "Maybe it's not so silly," she whispered, half to herself, half to the wolf. "Maybe it's just... a start."
Just as she was about to rise and pace the room, she heard the soft creak of the door. Jon stepped in, his expression tired but soft when he noticed her sitting there. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."
Helena shook her head, offering a small smile. "No, not at all. Ghost has been keeping me company."
Jon glanced at Ghost, who, in typical fashion, barely acknowledged him, and then back at Helena. "He has a way of doing that."
"I... I told your cupbearer that he could go to sleep," Helena said as Jon took a seat. "I hope you don't mind."
"No, not at all. I have two functional hands and legs."
"No, no," Helena protested when Jon was about to stand up. "Please, sit and relax."
"You don't have to..." Jon started as she brought him a cup of water.
"It's no trouble," she assured him, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "I... I hope you don't feel that you can't drink wine anymore because of me."
Jon accepted the cup of water, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He gave her a small smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and unease. "It's not that," he said quietly, looking down at the water. "I just... I don't want to make the same mistakes as others before me. I've seen where it can lead. How easy it is to lose yourself."
Helena watched him closely, feeling the weight behind his words. She had heard the stories, of course, about how wine had dulled kings and lords to their duties. Her father had been one of those kings.
"I understand," she said softly, sitting down across from him. "I just hope you don't see me as a wife who demands too much from her husband."
Jon shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at her. "No, Helena. You're not demanding anything unreasonable."
Helena studied him for a moment, unsure how to respond. She had feared that her presence might be more of a burden than a comfort to him. They had been thrust into this marriage by circumstance, not by choice, and she had been cautious not to overstep, to give him space.
"I don't want to be a burden to you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jon's gaze softened even more at her words, and he set the cup down on the table. "You're not a burden. Far from it." He hesitated, then added, "I'm still figuring this out, being a king, a husband. Sometimes it feels like I'm failing at both."
"You're not failing," she said firmly, surprising herself with the conviction in her tone. "You care about your people, your responsibilities. And you've been nothing but kind to me. That's more than most can say."
Jon looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Finally, he sighed, a trace of a smile appearing on his lips. "Thank you. I appreciate your words."
Helena smiled back, hoping to ease the burden he was carrying. "So, how was your day?"
"Busy," he sighed, rubbing his neck.
"Anything I can help you with?"
"Not really. Tyrion and I had a long meeting."
Helena stood up and hesitantly approached Jon's chair. "May I... touch you?" she asked, nervously blinking her eyes.
He was clearly surprised, but he nodded. "Sure."
She hesitated again before carefully starting to massage his neck.
"Oh gods…" he murmured. "How... how do you..."
"I saw... someone doing this to my father a few times," she murmured.
Jon closed his eyes as Helena's fingers worked gently on the tense muscles of his neck. Her touch was tentative at first, but gradually she grew more confident. The unexpected comfort of it made his shoulders relax, and he let out a low sigh.
"You're... good at this," Jon muttered, a little surprised at how much it helped ease the tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying.
Helena felt a little less nervous as she sensed him relaxing. "I'm glad I can help. You always look so tense. I just thought…maybe I could do something for you."
"You didn't have to. But... thank you."
"I can't promise I'll always be able to help with the matters of the realm," Helena said softly, continuing the massage. "But I'm here for you, Jon. In whatever way I can be."
"I appreciate that, Helena."
He sighed and slowly opened his eyes after she was finished.
"Thank you. Truly. I can… if you want…"
"It's alright," she replied quickly. "I mean… I'm alright. But thank you for the offer."
She felt a twinge of shame for reacting to the idea of him touching her like that. He had every right to touch her if he wanted to. He had been kind and patient with her. The last thing she wanted was to insult him.
Jon noticed the quickness of Helena's response and the slight shift in her expression, a flicker of discomfort that she tried to hide. He frowned slightly, concerned.
"Helena, it's alright," he said gently. "You don't owe me anything."
Helena looked down, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. "It's not that. I just... I don't want you to feel like I'm ungrateful or that I don't trust you. You've been nothing but patient with me."
Jon shook his head. "You don't have to explain. I want you to feel safe with me, and if you're not ready for something, that's fine. I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything just because I'm your husband." His voice was calm, reassuring, and filled with sincerity.
Helena swallowed, a mixture of relief and guilt coursing through her. "I know that. I just... I don't want to disappoint you."
"You haven't," Jon said firmly, leaning forward a bit. "You've done more than you realize. This isn't something that needs to be rushed."
Helena's heart warmed at his words, and though she still felt conflicted, she appreciated his understanding. "Thank you, Jon," she whispered, her voice soft but genuine. "For being so patient with me."
She hesitated for a moment, then cautiously leaned down and planted a brief kiss on his cheek.
Jon blinked, surprised by the gentle kiss on his cheek. He hadn't expected it, and it left him momentarily speechless. He looked at Helena, his gaze softening even further.
"You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice low and steady.
Helena gave him a small smile, the warmth of his words and his calm presence easing her lingering fears. There was a long pause, one that felt more comfortable than before.
"I… I think I'll go to bed. Goodnight, Jon," she whispered softly.
"Goodnight," he replied, his tone gentle.
He stayed on the chair as she climbed onto the bed, followed by Ghost. Jon watched as Helena curled up under the covers, her small frame relaxing.
Arya's words echoed in his mind. "Helena might not be the love of your life, but you shouldn't have to resign yourself to a loveless marriage either."
Could he love Helena? Truly love her? He cared for her and felt a strong need to protect her. That should be the bare minimum for a husband, but he knew all marriages didn't even have that. His marriage to Helena had been arranged for the sake of peace and stability, and while he didn't regret the decision, the thought of spending his life in a marriage devoid of deeper affection troubled him more than he wanted to admit.
Could he love her? He knew that he at least wanted to try. He wanted to give this marriage a chance, to find a way to bridge the gap between them. It wouldn't be easy, but Helena deserved his best effort, and he owed it to himself to explore whatever feelings might be growing between them.
As the room settled into a peaceful quiet, Jon felt a sense of determination. Maybe love didn't come all at once, but it could grow over time. And perhaps, in time, they could build something real, something that went beyond duty.
