Chapter 9

"You asked to see me, Your Grace?" Tyrion said as he entered the King's chambers.

Jon sat at his desk, Ghost by his side, ever vigilant. "Yes," he responded, keeping his voice steady.

"You shouldn't be working today, you just got married yesterday," Tyrion remarked as he approached the desk. "The small council and I can manage things for a couple of days. You should take some time to get to know your wife…"

"Do you know what happened to her during her captivity?" Jon interrupted, unable to control himself any longer.

Tyrion's eyes widened slightly. "What?"

Jon pressed his lips together, struggling to maintain his composure. "After she was freed, did you notice any signs of trauma?"

"Is Helena alright?" Tyrion asked, alarmed. "Where is she?"

"She's resting in my bedchamber," Jon replied tensely. "And no, she's not alright."

"What…"

"Answer the question, please," Jon cut in, his tone sharp. "After she was freed, did you notice any signs of trauma?"

Tyrion's shoulders slumped, and he paused before replying. "There were some signs, yes, but she was locked up for years. Of course, that affects a person. Helena is strong, and she seemed to be doing better each day."

Jon's expression darkened. "Some signs?" he repeated, his voice low and tense. "You knew she was suffering, and you still pushed this marriage forward?"

Tyrion sighed, rubbing his temples, weighed down by the gravity of the conversation. "It wasn't like that, Jon," he replied. "Helena needed a purpose. I… I thought she could do much good for the people who had suffered. She thought so too. Believe me, I never would have agreed to this marriage if I thought it would harm her."

Jon's jaw clenched as he processed Tyrion's words. "But did you really know? Or did you just want her to be strong because it was convenient for all of us?"

Tyrion flinched at Jon's accusation, the guilt flickering across his face. "I care about her, Jon. I wouldn't have done anything to intentionally hurt her. But none of us knew the full extent of what she went through. Cersei kept her locked away for years. Whatever horrors Helena faced… she hasn't spoken much about them. She's kept it to herself."

Jon sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Ghost let out a low growl, sensing the tension in the room. "I need you to tell me everything, Tyrion. What kind of signs did you notice?"

"Well… she was reluctant to leave her room at first, and when she finally did, she fainted. I asked her about it, but she said she had just felt dizzy. According to her maid, she seemed fine until she saw a couple of guards."

Jon's eyes narrowed as he listened to Tyrion's explanation. "She fainted at the sight of guards?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. "And you didn't think that was something I should have known about before the wedding?"

Tyrion's shoulders sagged. "Jon, I… I didn't want to overwhelm you with every little detail. You were dealing with enough as it was. Helena seemed to be improving. She told me she wanted this marriage, that she wanted to help the people. I thought… I thought it would give her a chance to heal, to find a new purpose."

Jon clenched his fists, his frustration rising. "She's not a pawn in some grand political game, Tyrion. She's my wife, and she's hurting. If she's been through trauma, she needs to heal, not be pushed into some role she's not ready for."

Tyrion's brows furrowed in concern. "Jon… what exactly happened last night?"

Jon sighed heavily, the memory of Helena's blank, terrified face haunting him. "We consummated the marriage, but she… she wasn't present. She wasn't with me. She was somewhere else in her mind, terrified of something or someone from her past."

Tyrion paled, clearly piecing things together. "Was she… was she a maiden?"

"Yes, she was," Jon snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "Do you really think that's what I'm worried about? That I'd cast her aside if she wasn't?"

"No, Jon, I'm not suggesting that," Tyrion replied, his tone tight, eyes flickering with concern. "I'm just trying to understand the extent of her trauma. I thought it was just the captivity, but... perhaps something worse happened to her in that tower."

Jon's frustration flared, but Tyrion's words cut through his anger like a cold wind. The weight of what Tyrion was suggesting settled heavily in Jon's chest, and for a moment, he couldn't find the words to respond.

Tyrion continued, his voice quieter now, more careful. "If Helena was mistreated in ways we don't know about, it changes everything. Her fear… her reaction to the guards… it all points to something darker. We need to know what happened to her, Jon. Not just for her sake, but for yours as well. You deserve to know what you're up against."

Jon pressed his palms against the desk, trying to keep his emotions in check. He had known pain, battle, loss, betrayal, but this was something different, something deeper. If what Tyrion implied was true, then Helena had lived through a nightmare worse than he could have imagined.

"She doesn't remember most of what happened last night," Jon said after a long pause. His voice was quiet, but the weight of guilt was unmistakable. "I… I think her mind blocked it out." His voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion he was trying to contain. If he had been sober, he would have noticed her fear. He wouldn't have caused her more pain.

Tyrion's expression softened with regret. "I'm sorry, Jon," he said quietly. "I thought I was helping both Helena and you. But I should have recognized how much she was suffering. The last thing I wanted was to add to your burdens."

Jon shook his head, trying to suppress the wave of guilt and frustration threatening to overwhelm him. "It's not your fault, Tyrion," he said, his voice rough. "I should have seen it too. I should have paid more attention. I was so wrapped up in everything else… I failed her."

Tyrion sighed, looking older and more worn than usual. "We both failed her," he admitted. "But blaming ourselves won't change anything now. We need to move forward."

Jon nodded, feeling a lump in his throat as he thought about the fragile woman in his bedchamber. He hadn't wanted any of this, for her, for him, but they were both trapped now. And somehow, he had to find a way to protect her, to help her heal from wounds that ran far deeper than he had realized.

"I'll speak to her," Jon said, his voice heavy with determination. "I'll give her the space she needs, but I'll find out what happened. And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she feels safe."

Tyrion stepped forward, resting his hands on the desk. "And I'll help you. However I can. But Jon, be careful. There are still political forces at play here, and if word gets out about her trauma… people will exploit that. Helena needs to heal in private, away from prying eyes. And for that, we need to be united."

Jon looked up, meeting Tyrion's gaze with a newfound sense of purpose. "We will be."

Helena yelped in pain as Mena and another maid named Bianca helped her into the bathtub.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Mena asked, her concern evident.

"Yes, I'm fine," Helena replied, managing a smile. "Just a little… sore."

"That's normal after your first time, Your Grace," Bianca assured. "No need to worry."

Helena nodded before taking a deep breath. Both maids fussed over her, gently washing her with a soft washcloth and making sure she was comfortable. She was the Queen now. According to Bianca, the Queen's quarters had already been prepared for her; those rooms had once belonged to her mother. Helena tried her hardest not to think about that. Right now, she was in the King's bathing chamber since he had told her to stay and rest.

She was still struggling to understand everything. What had she told him last night? Why couldn't she remember?

"Hello, princess. Did you miss me?"

Helena squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to retain control.

"Oh, come on, smile for me, beautiful. I'm here to play with you..."

No, stop it. The bad man… What had she said to her husband about him? She couldn't have said much, or she wouldn't be here anymore. He would have thrown her out of his chamber, maybe even out of the Red Keep. He would have demanded their marriage to be annulled. She wasn't pure, not worthy of being his Queen. He wouldn't have been so kind to her if he knew.

He had said there wouldn't be a next time before she wanted it. What did that mean? Did he want her to tell him that she wanted it, or was he expecting her to do something more? She wasn't sure if she could. She wasn't sure how much more her mind and body could take. Everything already felt confusing. Was she losing her mind? Just the thought was terrifying. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. But she had to.

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?" Mena's quiet voice asked.

Helena blinked a few times before she noticed tears coursing down her cheeks. "Yes, everything is fine," she assured, drying her eyes. "I'm just… a little tired."

The maids helped her out of the bathtub and quickly dried her with soft towels.

"Will you stay in His Grace's chamber tonight?" Bianca asked.

"Yes," Helena murmured, although she wasn't sure if her husband would want her to stay. "I believe so."

She didn't know whether she should get dressed or if a nightgown would be enough. After a moment of hesitation, she chose the latter. As she exited the bathing chamber, she noticed that the King's chamber had already been cleaned and the sheets had been changed.

The room was peaceful, but her mind was anything but. Every sound, every flicker of movement from the maids brought back flashes of memories she didn't want to confront. Her skin still tingled from the gentle touch of the washcloths, but inside, she was wound tight, a knot of fear and confusion.

She noticed a tray of fresh fruits on the table and carefully picked a couple of grapes. They were delicious, but the sight of the wine carafe made her heart pound. Helena shivered, clutching the nightgown tighter around her. She needed to be stronger than this. She had to be.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and Helena quickly wiped at her cheeks before turning toward the door. Jon stepped inside, his expression gentle but cautious. He hesitated for a moment, noticing the tension in her posture.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Jon said softly, staying by the door for now, giving her space. Ghost padded in behind him, sitting by the bed with his usual calm presence.

Helena shook her head. "You didn't," she replied, her voice quiet, but she still felt that flutter of anxiety beneath her skin.

Jon nodded, glancing toward the bed and then back at her. "I just wanted to check on you. Make sure… you're alright." He paused, the weight of his concern clear. "Did you rest?"

Helena managed a small nod. "Yes, thank you, Your Grace."

"Jon," he corrected gently. "Just Jon."

Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it faded quickly. She wasn't sure what to say, how to act around him. He was the King, but also her husband. Should she be formal? She didn't know the rules anymore.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" she asked. "I… I wasn't sure if you would like me to get dressed or…just wait for you."

Jon's expression softened, and he took a step closer but still kept a respectful distance. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she clung to the edges of propriety, not knowing what was expected of her. The idea that she felt like she needed to wait for him, unsure of her place or what he wanted from her, pained him deeply.

He didn't have time to reply when two maids appeared from the bathing chamber and curtsied.

"Your Grace," they murmured in unison.

"Leave us, please," Jon stated as calmly as he could, needing to connect with his wife, however fragile she was at that moment. The maids obeyed and closed the door behind them.

"Please, take a seat," he asked softly, gesturing toward the table. Helena obeyed without a word. Jon sat opposite her and automatically poured himself some wine. She wasn't looking at him, but he noticed her body tense immediately.

"You're scared," he murmured. "You fear I'll get drunk and hurt you again."

She looked up, her eyes wide. "No, no, I don't… I don't fear that, I swear."

"What do you fear, then?" he asked gently.

She hesitated, nervously clutching the edge of her nightgown.

"Please, tell me," he encouraged.

"I… the smell of alcohol… it… it makes me a little nervous. But that's alright, I promise."

Jon stared at her, feeling the weight of her words and the hesitation behind them. She was trying to reassure him, but her trembling hands, the way she clutched the fabric of her nightgown as though it were her only anchor, told him otherwise. Her fear was palpable, even if she didn't want to admit it.

He glanced at the wine in his hand, the same drink that had clouded his judgment the night before, and immediately set it down. He pushed the goblet aside, the soft clink of it against the table breaking the silence between them.

"I'm sorry," Jon said quietly, his voice steady but full of regret. "I didn't know. I would never want to make you uncomfortable." He leaned forward slightly, trying to meet her gaze. "I don't want you to be nervous around me. Ever."

Helena's eyes flickered to his for a moment, uncertainty still clouding her expression. She looked down again, her fingers still tangled in the folds of her nightgown.

"I'll have them bring tea instead of wine," Jon offered gently. "Something warm and calming, if that's alright with you."

Helena blinked, clearly surprised by the suggestion. "I couldn't ask you to do that…"

"You don't have to ask; I want to. I want you to be comfortable around me. Alright?"

She gave him a cautious nod. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"No need to thank me," he murmured, taking a deep breath before moving on. "About last night… I know I was inconsiderate and caused you pain. I truly am sorry for that, and I need you to know it will never happen again."

"No, no, that's alright," she assured quickly. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It's not your fault."

Jon swallowed hard. It may not have been intentional, but the fact that she even felt the need to reassure him felt like a failure on his part. He had hurt her, whether or not he had meant to.

He reached across the table, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle her. His hand hovered near hers for a moment before resting on the table, close enough that she could reach out if she wanted but not forcing any contact.

"I promise you," he said, his voice low but firm, "I will never hurt you again, Helena. Not in any way. If something scares you or makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me. You don't have to hide it."

They were both quiet for a long while before he continued.

"What happened last night… I know you weren't ready for it. Not physically or mentally."

She swallowed hard. "I tried, I swear I did. What can I do to fix this?"

Jon shook his head gently, his expression softening as he heard the distress in Helena's voice. "No, Helena," he said quietly. "You don't need to fix anything. This isn't your fault."

He could see the guilt and confusion written across her face, the way she twisted her fingers together, searching for something to hold on to. It hurt him deeply to see her like this, to see her blaming herself for something she had no control over.

"You've done nothing wrong," Jon continued, his voice steady but filled with conviction. "What happened wasn't about you doing anything wrong or failing. It was me, not seeing how much you were hurting. I should have noticed. I should have been more patient, more understanding."

Helena blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She opened her mouth as if to protest, to deny his words, but he didn't let her.

"I want you to know," Jon said firmly, "that from now on, nothing between us will happen unless you want it."

Helena bit her lip, her eyes searching his face as if trying to understand his promise.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me," Jon added softly. "And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel that way again."

Helena looked away for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her nightgown.

"May I ask you a question?" she murmured after a moment of silence.

"Yes, of course."

"When you say that nothing will happen between us unless I want it… do you… do you want me to say that I want it, or… should I do something… more?"

Jon's heart ached at Helena's question. The uncertainty in her voice and the hesitation in her words made him realize how deeply she had been conditioned to believe that her worth, her place in his life, depended on what she could give him, physically or otherwise.

"No," Jon said gently, shaking his head. "You don't have to say or do anything you don't want to." He leaned forward slightly, ensuring she could hear the sincerity in his voice. "This isn't about meeting any kind of expectation. You never have to feel like you need to agree to something against your will."

Helena's gaze remained downcast, her fingers still nervously toying with the edge of her nightgown, as if she were trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"I want you to know that your comfort, your feelings, matter to me," Jon continued softly. "What I want is for you to feel safe."

Helena's shoulders trembled slightly as she absorbed his words.

"Does that make sense?" he asked quietly, trying to meet her eyes.

Helena nodded slowly, though she still seemed hesitant. "I… I'm not sure what to say," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was taught that a wife doesn't have the right to refuse her husband."

Jon felt a wave of anger, not at Helena but at the world that had conditioned her to believe such things. He clenched his fists briefly before forcing himself to relax, knowing that anger wouldn't help here. Helena didn't need to see his frustration; she needed reassurance, understanding.

"That's not true," Jon said firmly but gently. "Not in this marriage, not with me." He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to make her understand. "You are my equal, Helena. Your wants and needs matter just as much as mine. I will never take anything from you that you're not willing to give. Ever."

Helena blinked, her eyes flickering with confusion, as if she was hearing something entirely foreign. "But… but how can I be a good wife if… if I refuse you?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "A wife is supposed to please her husband, isn't she?"

Jon shook his head, his heart aching for her. "A good wife is someone who is true to herself, who is cared for, respected. And a good husband… is someone who makes sure she feels safe, protected, and never forced into something she doesn't want." He paused, making sure she was hearing him. "You're not here to serve me, Helena."

Helena's lips trembled as she tried to absorb his words, her eyes still reflecting so much uncertainty. "But I don't know if… I can do what you need," she said quietly, as if afraid of disappointing him.

"You don't need to worry about that," Jon replied softly. "All I need from you is honesty. That's it. We can figure out everything else as we go. But you don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken feelings. Jon could see how hard it was for Helena to let go of the deeply ingrained beliefs she had been taught. He understood that it would take time for her to trust him fully, to believe that he didn't see her as something to be owned or controlled.

Helena swallowed hard, her eyes misting over. "I don't know if I'll ever be… what you want," she admitted, her voice almost breaking. "I'm not… I'm not strong."

Jon's heart clenched at her words. He stood up slowly and moved to her side of the table, kneeling down in front of her. He took her hand in his, gently, carefully, as if handling something fragile. "You are strong, Helena," he said softly, looking up into her eyes. "You survived things most people couldn't. You've lived through so much pain, and yet you're still here. That's strength."

Helena's tears finally spilled over, running down her cheeks, and she looked away, her breath hitching. Jon stayed where he was, holding her hand, giving her time to process his words.

"I don't deserve to be here," she sobbed. "I'm filthy. That man… You'll cast me out… I'm filthy."

Jon's chest tightened at Helena's words, and he instinctively squeezed her hand, trying to anchor her to the moment. "No," he said firmly, his voice steady. "You are not filthy. You are not to blame for what happened to you."

Her tears flowed freely, each sob cutting deeper into Jon's heart. "I… I don't remember everything," she choked out, her voice trembling. "But I know what he did. I know how I felt."

Jon felt a surge of anger at the thought of what she had endured, but he forced it down. This was not about him; it was about Helena. "You survived, Helena. You endured unimaginable things, and you survived. That makes you incredibly brave."

Helena's sobs continued as she shook her head. "I'm not brave. I'm weak and pathetic."

Jon's heart ached at Helena's self-deprecation. He took a deep breath, searching for the right words to reach her. "You are not weak or pathetic," he said firmly, his voice steady. "You are the opposite of that. It takes strength to face your pain, to acknowledge what you've gone through. It takes courage to sit here and share that with me."

Helena looked away, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her nightgown, as if trying to pull herself together but finding it impossible. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You should be disgusted by me."

"No," Jon replied, shaking his head. "I might not know exactly what you've experienced, but I can see the pain it has caused you. I can feel the weight of it. And instead of feeling disgust, all I feel is an overwhelming desire to protect you, to help you heal."

Her eyes flicked back to his, searching for sincerity. "But what if I can't be fixed?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What if I'm always broken?"

Jon leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. "Then we'll learn to live with that together. Healing isn't about becoming whole; it's about finding a way to carry your scars with you, to live your life despite them. You don't have to be perfect for me, Helena. I just want you to be yourself."

Helena's breath hitched as she processed his words. "But what if you regret this? What if you regret me?"

"Regret you?" Jon's voice was soft but filled with conviction. "I would never regret you. You're my wife, and I chose you for a reason."

Helena blinked, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't know how to believe that," she admitted, her voice breaking.

"You don't have to know right now," Jon reassured her. "Just know that you are safe with me. I will do everything in my power to make sure you always feel that way. I'm not going anywhere, and I will never hurt you. If I do, you have every right to call me out on it."

Helena finally managed a faint smile through her tears, the flicker of hope sparking within her. "Thank you," she said softly. "I don't know if I deserve your kindness, but I'm grateful for it."

Jon smiled back, warmth radiating from him. "You deserve all the kindness in the world, Helena. I'll remind you of that every day if I have to."