Chapter 20
"Sam," Jon greeted his friend warmly. "How are Gilly and the children?"
"They're doing well, Your Grace," Sam replied with a smile.
Jon shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "I thought we agreed on this already. It's always Jon to you."
"Perhaps when we're alone," Sam conceded with a chuckle, taking a seat across from Jon's desk. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
Sam cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, I meant to bring this up after the small council meeting, but you already looked like you had enough on your plate."
Jon nodded, his expression inviting Sam to continue.
Sam shifted uneasily in his chair. "It's about Queen Helena's… condition."
Jon's brow furrowed. "Her condition?"
"Yes, her pregnancy."
Jon's frown deepened. "Did Maester Fergon tell you? We haven't announced it to anyone yet."
Sam hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "He did, but only because it was his duty. As Grand Maester, it's my responsibility to be informed about matters like this, especially when they concern the queen's health."
Jon leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "And? What about her pregnancy?"
Sam hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "I know Maester Fergon already spoke with you about this, but the Queen's pregnancy… It can be complicated for someone with her history."
Jon's grip on the desk tightened. "Her history?"
Sam nodded, his tone gentle but firm. "The malnutrition she endured in her youth, the stress… It can have lasting effects on the body. While she seems healthy now, there are risks we need to monitor closely."
Jon's jaw clenched as he processed Sam's words. "What more can we do to prevent these risks?"
"We can do a lot," Sam reassured him quickly. "Fergon and I have already started planning. There are remedies and tonics that will help strengthen her. But you should be prepared. It's important that she stays as calm and stress-free as possible."
Jon let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. He thought of Helena's frequent nightmares, her reluctance to rely on others, and the weight of the crown that already sat heavy on her shoulders. "She's been through enough already. I don't want her to suffer any more than she has to."
Sam offered a small smile. "You're doing what's right by her, Jon. She'll feel safer knowing you're looking out for her. And I'll do everything I can to make sure she and the babe are healthy."
Jon's expression softened, gratitude flickering in his eyes. "Thank you, Sam. I trust you with this."
Sam inclined his head but hesitated again, as if something else was on his mind.
"Is there something else?" Jon prompted, raising an eyebrow.
Sam hesitated, then spoke. "I…I heard about her nightmares. They could be a sign of the emotional toll this is taking on her. I've seen cases where such stress affects both the mother and the child. You might consider bringing in someone to help her… not just physically, but emotionally."
Jon's frown deepened. "Do you think she's in danger?"
"I think she's strong," Sam said carefully. "But even the strongest people need support. She's been carrying a heavy burden for a long time. Now more than ever, she needs you, and maybe someone she can talk to, outside of court and council matters."
Jon's gaze dropped to the desk, his mind racing. "I'll talk to her," he said finally, though his voice held a note of uncertainty.
"That's good," Sam said gently. "She's lucky to have you, Jon."
"I don't know about that," Jon murmured. "But I'll do everything I can to take care of her and the babe. Is there any advice you could give me?"
Sam considered his question for a brief moment before replying.
"Well, as I said, it's important that she stays as calm and stress-free as possible. I would recommend warm herbal baths, herbal tea, a careful massage, enough rest, nutritious food and simply listening to her body. The worst thing she can do now is push herself too hard."
Jon nodded, absorbing Sam's advice, though his mind lingered on Helena's tendency to put others' needs before her own. "She's stubborn," he admitted with a faint smile. "Getting her to slow down might be the hardest part."
Sam chuckled softly. "She sounds a lot like someone else I know."
Jon huffed a quiet laugh, but his expression quickly turned serious. "I'll make sure she listens. Whatever it takes. Is there anything else I should know?"
Sam hesitated, then added, "It might also help if she feels… secure. Safe. Pregnancy can bring back old fears, especially for someone with her past. Small gestures, like spending time with her, reassuring her, it can make a big difference."
Jon's jaw tightened, determination etched across his face. "I'll make sure she feels safe."
Sam gave him an encouraging smile as he stood to leave. "She's in good hands, Jon. And if you or Helena need anything, don't hesitate to call on me."
"Thank you, Sam," Jon said sincerely.
As Sam left the room, Jon stayed seated, his thoughts heavy yet resolute. He wasn't just fighting for his kingdom anymore. He was fighting for his family, the one he and Helena were building together.
He rose from his chair, intent on finding her. If Helena needed reassurance, he would give it to her. If she needed peace, he would ensure it. Whatever it took, he would not fail her.
"Seven blessings to you, Your Grace," an old woman said as Helena handed her a bowl of steaming soup and a piece of bread. Her hands, gnarled and trembling with age, clutched the bowl tightly as if it were a treasure.
"Seven blessings to you as well," Helena replied, giving the woman a warm smile. The old woman's face softened, and she murmured another thank-you before shuffling away, her thin shoulders hunched against the chill in the air.
The line moved quickly, but the sheer number of poor and hungry people waiting for food was a heavy reminder of the toll the war had taken. Widows clung to their children, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. Orphans huddled together for warmth, their hollow eyes darting nervously. Crippled men leaned on makeshift crutches, their tattered clothing barely sufficient against the breeze. Helena's heart ached at the sight. There was still so much work to be done.
Around her, three septas helped distribute food, their murmured blessings mixing with the low hum of the crowd. Her handmaiden, Marla, stood nearby, occasionally glancing at Helena with concern. Ghost lay a few paces away, his pale fur stark against the dull surroundings. His crimson eyes scanned the crowd with quiet vigilance, while a few members of the Queensguard stood on alert at the edges of the square.
"How are you feeling, Your Grace?" Marla asked quietly, stepping closer. Her gaze flicked to Helena's pale face, noticing the faint shadows under her eyes. "Do you need to rest?"
Helena shook her head, managing a small smile. "I'm alright," she assured, though her voice was soft.
The truth was, she had been struggling with nightmares for the past three nights, vivid and unrelenting. Each time, she would wake in a cold sweat, her heart racing. Jon had been nothing but patient and understanding, holding her close until she calmed down, but she hated the thought of constantly disturbing his sleep. She didn't want to be a burden.
A young boy shuffled forward, his clothes little more than patched rags. His cheeks were smudged with dirt, and his wide, nervous eyes barely met hers as she handed him a bowl of soup.
"Thank you, Your Grace," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Helena crouched down to his level, her smile softening as she met his gaze. "You're very welcome. What's your name?"
"Jory," he mumbled, clutching the bowl tightly in his small hands.
"Well, Jory, make sure you eat all of this, alright? And if you're still hungry, come back for more," she said gently.
The boy nodded, glancing up at her briefly before hurrying away. Helena watched him join a group of children huddled together, their laughter faint but a glimmer of hope in the somber scene.
"Your Grace," one of the septas interrupted, breaking her thoughts. "We're running low on bread."
Helena straightened, her brow furrowing slightly. "I'll have more sent from the Red Keep. No one leaves here hungry," she said firmly.
The septa bowed her head. "Yes, Your Grace."
As Helena continued her work, a man in a dark cloak stepped in front of her.
"Hello," she greeted him. "Let's get you something to eat..."
Before she could finish her sentence, the man lunged at her, brandishing a knife.
"Lannister whore," he hissed. But before the blade could reach her, Ghost lunged forward, tackling the man with a fierce growl.
Chaos erupted as the man let out a scream, Ghost's powerful jaws clamping down on his arm and forcing him to drop the knife. Helena stumbled back, her heart racing as the Queensguard sprang into action, swords drawn.
"Get him!" one of the guards shouted, rushing to restrain the man.
Ghost growled, keeping the assailant pinned to the ground until the guards could seize him. Blood dripped from the man's arm where Ghost had bitten him, but he continued to struggle and shout obscenities.
Helena pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. "What…why would he…"
"Your Grace, are you alright?" Marla asked urgently, rushing to her side.
"I'm fine," Helena managed, though her voice trembled. Her eyes remained fixed on the man, who was now being restrained by two guards.
The captain of the Queensguard approached her quickly. "Your Grace, we'll take him to the dungeons for interrogation. Do you wish to return to the Red Keep?"
Helena hesitated, her gaze darting between the frightened crowd and the guards dragging the man away. "No. These people still need help."
"With all due respect, Your Grace," the captain insisted, "your safety is our priority. This was an assassination attempt."
Jon arrived just then, his face a mask of fury as he took in the scene. "What happened?"
One of the guards quickly explained, and Jon's expression darkened. His eyes immediately sought Helena, softening slightly when he saw her unharmed.
"Helena," he said, his voice low but firm, "you're coming back to the Keep. Now."
"But Jon…"
"No," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn't up for discussion. You could have been killed."
Helena looked at him, seeing the mixture of anger and fear in his eyes. Slowly, she nodded, realizing how shaken he was.
"Captain," Jon ordered, "double the guard on the Queen and investigate every inch of this area. I want to know who sent him."
"Yes, Your Grace," the captain replied with a bow.
Helena turned to the crowd, struggling to steady her voice.
"It's alright, everyone," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You'll all get food."
The people murmured among themselves, their worried faces reflecting both fear and admiration for their queen's resolve. A few stepped forward, bowing slightly to show their gratitude.
Jon, however, wasn't reassured. His hand rested protectively on Helena's back as he guided her toward the waiting carriage. He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd and the guards still securing the area. "Captain, clear this space. Disperse the crowd if needed, but make sure the Queen's orders are followed. No one leaves hungry."
The captain nodded, shouting commands to his men, while the septas hurriedly continued distributing the remaining food.
As they reached the carriage, Helena turned to Jon, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jon, I don't want them to think I abandoned them. They need hope."
Jon stopped and looked at her, his jaw tight. "They need you alive, Helena. Hope doesn't mean much if the Queen isn't here to lead them."
Helena swallowed hard, guilt flickering across her face. "I was just trying to help."
Jon sighed, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I know you were. And you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. But if something happened to you..." His voice trailed off, raw emotion flashing in his eyes.
Helena reached out, resting her hand on his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I'll be more careful."
Jon covered her hand with his, his gaze steady. "You don't have to do everything yourself. Let me protect you. Let others help you."
She nodded and looked at Ghost who padded beside them, his fur still bristling. Helena reached down to brush her fingers through his fur, whispering, "Thank you, Ghost."
Jon helped Helena into the carriage, his hand lingering on hers for a moment longer than necessary. He closed the door gently after climbing in beside her, his protective instincts still on high alert. Ghost settled near the door, his red eyes scanning the streets, ever watchful.
As the carriage jolted into motion, Helena leaned back, staring out of the small window at the people still queuing for food. Her heart ached for them, but Jon's words echoed in her mind. She couldn't help anyone if she wasn't alive.
For now, she had to focus on staying safe, for her people, for Jon, and for the life growing inside her.