Chapter 3

7 days ago

Helena looked at the door and took a deep breath. She could do this. Of course, she could. All she needed to do was walk over to the door, open it, and step outside. What could be easier? Yet her legs refused to move. What was wrong with her? After being locked up for so long, she was finally free. The door wasn't locked; she could leave this room whenever she wanted to.

Why hadn't she done that then? What was stopping her? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she was afraid. She was also ashamed of herself for being so weak. As Uncle Tyrion had said, she certainly wasn't the only one who had suffered. Countless others had been through much worse than she had. She was weak and pathetic.

"My lady?"

Helena startled as she suddenly heard her maid's voice. She had forgotten that she wasn't alone.

"Is everything alright?" the maid named Mena asked.

"Not really," Helena murmured. She knew she shouldn't say that, but she was too tired to pretend otherwise. Her uncle's visit had upset her so badly that she had barely slept at all last night. A marriage… No. That would never happen. She couldn't do that, not with the new king or with anyone else.

"Is there anything I can do, my lady?" Mena asked.

Helena turned to look at the maid. She was a pretty girl with curly red hair, brown eyes, and freckles on her face.

"Yes. I… I would like to get dressed."

"Of course, my lady."

Helena had worn a nightgown the whole time she had been in this room. Uncle Tyrion had brought her a couple of beautiful gowns, but she hadn't wanted to get dressed. The clothes she had worn in the tower had been modest; she hadn't worn a gown for a very long time. Right now, she wanted to feel like her old self again. Maybe that would help her overcome her fears. Mena helped her get dressed and started brushing her long brown hair.

As Mena brushed Helena's hair, the repetitive motion was oddly calming. Helena closed her eyes, letting herself momentarily drift away from the anxiety that had been plaguing her.

"My lady," Mena said softly, "your hair is beautiful. It's an honor to serve you."

"Thank you, Mena," Helena replied quietly. "I appreciate your help. Have you worked here for long?"

"Yes, my lady, for a while now."

"Do you have family?"

The girl nodded.

"Yes, my mother lives in King's Landing."

"Is she alright? I mean, after the battle and…"

"She lost her son," Mena replied quietly. "My brother. And her home."

"I'm so sorry," Helena said sincerely.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm grateful for this opportunity, my lady. I can help my mother with my earnings. I was a chambermaid; I've never served a lady before you. Many maids left the Red Keep or... died."

Again, Helena understood the extent of suffering around her. What right did she have to complain?

"Well, you are doing great."

Mena smiled.

"Thank you, my lady."

Helena hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"I assume you know who my parents were."

"Yes, my lady, of course."

"I also assume you have heard some rumors about me."

A flush rose in Mena's cheeks.

"I…"

"It's alright," Helena reassured. "What have you heard?"

Mena looked uncomfortable, to say the least.

"I really don't…"

"Please, tell me."

"I… I heard that… you were kept in the tower."

Helena nodded.

"Yes, that's true." She paused and looked Mena in the eyes. "Right now, I need someone I can trust. Can I trust you, Mena?"

"You can, my lady," she assured. "I swear to you, I am at your service."

Helena nodded and smiled at her.

"I will be more than happy to reward you for your service."

Helena truly hoped she could trust her maid. She had been very good with people and had been called a great speaker, but now she was too afraid to face people. She needed to leave this room.

Mena finished with the brushing and started arranging Helena's hair into a simple yet elegant style. The familiarity of the actions provided Helena with a sense of normalcy, something she desperately needed. Once Mena was done, Helena stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. She looked like a lady of the court again, not a prisoner.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Mena said, smiling warmly.

"Thank you." Helena paused and took a deep breath. "Mena, I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, my lady."

Helena took another deep breath, trying her hardest to braise herself.

"I need you to give me your hand."

If the maid was confused by her request, she didn't show it; she simply obeyed. Helena took her hand and headed to the door. Every step made her legs shake more and her heart pound faster, but she didn't stop. Her hand trembled as she raised it to open the door. It was open. Now all she had to do was step out. She couldn't. There was an invisible wall in front of her. The floor seemed to swallow her. She couldn't breathe. Her heart pounded like a drum. No. She would do this, no matter what. Just one step. Just one.

"My lady?" Mena's voice called from somewhere far away.

"Push me," Helena murmured.

"Pardon?"

"Please, push me. I must leave this room."

Mena hesitated for a moment before gently guiding Helena forward. The next thing Helena realized she was standing in the corridor. She had done it. With shaky legs, she took a few steps and broke into a nervous laugh. The floor hadn't swallowed her; everything was fine. She could go wherever she wanted. Mena accompanied her as she walked across the empty corridor.

Everything was going well until she saw two guards approaching. Terror filled her immediately; she couldn't breathe. In that moment, she was back in the tower again, lying on her bed in a fetal position. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed he wouldn't come tonight. His scent of sweat and ale overwhelmed her; his hands were rough and calloused.

"Hello there, princess. Are you ready to play?"

Helena's legs gave out, and she collapsed.

"My lady!" Mena cried out in alarm.

"What's wrong?" one of the guards asked, rushing forward.

"Please, fetch Lord Tyrion!" Mena pleaded urgently. "My lady is his niece."

One of the guards hurried off to find Tyrion, while the other stayed by Helena's side. She was barely conscious, feeling Mena's comforting touch as the maid stroked her hair gently.

"It's alright, my lady. Everything is going to be alright."

Jon blinked against the bright sunlight as he, Tyrion, and Ghost headed towards the garden. The warmth felt unfamiliar after years in the cold North, but Jon appreciated being outside nonetheless.

"Such a beautiful day," Tyrion commented cheerfully.

Jon grunted in agreement, squinting against the brightness.

"I thought you could use some fresh air," Tyrion continued.

"I would hardly call this air fresh," Jon replied dryly.

Tyrion chuckled. "Fair enough. Southern warmth takes some getting used to."

Jon remained silent, his mind preoccupied with the weight of his responsibilities. Guards trailed them at a distance, a constant reminder of his changed circumstances.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Jon asked, breaking the silence.

"Something quite important," Tyrion replied seriously. "I understand this isn't an easy subject, but it's necessary."

Jon raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "What is it?"

Tyrion hesitated briefly before speaking. "You need a wife, Jon."

Jon froze, his mind reeling from Tyrion's suggestion.

"What?" Jon's voice was incredulous, his tone laced with disbelief.

"I know this is difficult," Tyrion began cautiously, "but please listen to me…"

"You can't be serious," Jon interrupted sharply. "How can you even…"

"I know," Tyrion replied calmly, his voice sympathetic. "And believe me, I wouldn't bring this up if it weren't important."

"No," Jon muttered tensely, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear any more about this."

"I'm afraid you have to," Tyrion insisted gently. "Surely you understand that you need a wife and an heir…"

"I said I don't want to hear any more about this!" Jon snapped, his frustration mounting. "Someday perhaps, but not now or any time soon."

Tyrion fell silent, allowing Jon's words to hang in the air. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone measured.

"I know it's not fair," Tyrion began, "but you are the King now, and that's not an easy position. You are a good man and a good king, and I know you want what's best for your people."

"What difference does my marriage make for the people?" Jon asked sharply, his emotions raw from recent events. He wasn't ready to discuss marriage, especially not now.

"Your marriage means stability," Tyrion explained patiently. "And it will give you a chance to unite your people."

Jon frowned, his brows furrowing in contemplation.

"How?" he demanded, still skeptical.

"If you choose the right bride," Tyrion continued, undeterred. "Helena is a daughter of a Baratheon and a Lannister. She is young and capable; I have no doubt she can give you an heir."

Jon was taken aback by Tyrion's certainty and his suggestion.

"Are you serious?" Jon finally managed to ask, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Very serious," Tyrion affirmed.

"Have you even asked what she thinks?" Jon pressed, his concern evident.

"Helena is a smart girl," Tyrion replied, "and I know she also wants what's best for the people. She could help you with the nobles, Jon."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, torn between his personal feelings and the responsibilities of his position.

"I don't…" Jon started, unsure of how to articulate his reluctance.

"Please, Jon," Tyrion interjected softly, his gaze steady. "Think about this. That's all I ask."

Jon sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the decision pressing upon him. He knew Tyrion was right about the need for stability and unity in the realm. Despite his reservations, he couldn't deny the logic in Tyrion's words.

"I'll… think about it," Jon conceded reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tyrion nodded understandingly, giving Jon a reassuring smile.

"Thank you," Tyrion said sincerely. "I know it's a lot to consider. Just remember, I'm here to support you in whatever decision you make."

Jon was about to dismiss the topic when he noticed a guard rushing toward them. His own guards intercepted the man before he reached Jon and Tyrion.

"Your Grace," the guard greeted with a bow. "Forgive me, but I have an urgent message for Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion approached the guard, who whispered something in his ear.

"I see," Tyrion said, turning to Jon. "Please excuse me, Your Grace; I must attend to this."

"Is it something serious?" Jon inquired.

"No, just a personal matter," Tyrion replied hastily. "Excuse me."

Alone in the garden now, Jon took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. The artificiality of the garden didn't sit well with him; he yearned for the untamed wilds beyond the city walls. Still, the fresh air and the view of the sea offered a brief respite from his responsibilities.

But Tyrion's words lingered in his thoughts like an unwelcome guest. Marriage. It was a topic Jon had avoided, especially after losing Daenerys. The wounds were still raw, and the idea of marrying someone else felt like a betrayal, even if it was for political reasons.

Yet, he couldn't dismiss Tyrion's words entirely. Helena Baratheon seemed to fit the mold of an ideal political match. She carried the bloodlines of both Baratheon and Lannister, making her a valuable ally in the realm. But did he want a wife solely for political advantage?

Personally, Jon had never envisioned himself marrying for anything other than love. Ygritte and Daenerys had been the closest he had come to that, despite the complications of their relationships. Now, faced with the prospect of marrying someone he barely knew, it felt daunting and unsettling.

As he stood there, gazing out at the city below, Jon's thoughts turned to his brief encounter with Helena years ago in Winterfell. She had been a young, vibrant girl then, full of energy and confidence. Jon recalled her warm greetings to his family and how she had interacted with everyone around her with ease. He had been distant, reserved, and perhaps a bit intimidated by her spirited nature.

Jon sighed heavily, opening his eyes to the reality of his situation. He needed to return inside and attend to his duties. There were pressing matters that required his attention, distractions he welcomed at the moment. With a sense of resolve, Jon turned away from the garden and headed back towards the keep. The decision about his future, about marriage, would have to wait. For now, duty called, and Jon Snow, now Jon Targaryen, the reluctant king, would meet it head-on.

"What happened?" Tyrion asked, turning his gaze to the young maid.

She appeared nervous, perhaps even frightened.

"I…I don't know, my lord. My lady and I were walking in the corridor, and suddenly she just…fainted."

Tyrion looked at Helena; she lay on the bed. The guard had carried her back to the guest chamber. At least she had finally left this room.

"How did she seem? Was she nervous?"

"Yes, my lord, I believe so. But she seemed happy when she was outside."

Tyrion reminded himself that Helena needed time to recover. Being locked up for so many years would surely affect anyone. He needed to support her more than he had so far. She was a strong girl; he knew she would get through this.

"You may go," he said to the maid. "I will stay here with her."

"Yes, my lord."

As Tyrion sat beside Helena's unconscious form, memories of her childhood flooded his mind. When Joffrey had claimed that a servant had stolen one of his gilded toy soldiers, Helena had defended the poor man in front of her mother and father. Cersei had been ready to have the servant flogged, but Robert had listened to his daughter. The toy soldier had been found from under Joffrey's bed.

Tyrion gently held her hand, a mixture of sadness and determination in his expression. Helena had always possessed a compassionate heart, even as a young child.

Looking at her now, vulnerable and still recovering from years of captivity, Tyrion felt a surge of protectiveness. He knew she needed time to heal, both physically and emotionally.

Despite her initial refusal to consider marriage to Jon, Tyrion believed it was the right path for her. Not just for political reasons, but because he saw potential for her happiness and fulfillment in such a role. Jon needed someone who could complement his strengths and soften his rough edges, a task Helena seemed uniquely suited for.

As Tyrion sat there, contemplating the future and the challenges ahead, he made a silent vow to support Helena wholeheartedly. He would gently persuade her, guide her, and help her regain her confidence. And when the time was right, he would broach the subject of marriage again, knowing it was for the greater good of the realm and for Helena herself.