Chapter 19

"Have you found him?" Jon's voice was low but sharp, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk. He didn't bother with pleasantries as Varys and Tyrion settled into the chairs before him.

Varys folded his hands, his expression unreadable. "My little birds have tracked down several guards who could have possibly been assigned to the Queen's tower during that time."

"And?" Jon's tone grew more pointed, his patience hanging by a thread.

Varys hesitated, his measured demeanor suggesting he anticipated the reaction his words might provoke. "None of them survived the war, Your Grace. Most perished during the chaos of King's Landing's fall. The rest, I'm afraid, vanished into obscurity."

Jon leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. "So, that's it?" he said bitterly, though the question was rhetorical.

"Not entirely," Varys said carefully, choosing his words like a man walking a tightrope. "With the information you've provided, it is challenging to identify the specific individual. However… if the Queen could recall any further details…"

"No." Jon's response was swift and resolute, his voice like steel. "I'm not going to bring this up with her. Not now."

Tyrion, who had remained quiet until now, raised a brow but refrained from commenting, his sharp mind clearly piecing together the unspoken reason for Jon's reluctance. Meanwhile, Varys's lips curved into the faintest knowing smile, though he was wise enough not to press the matter.

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys replied smoothly, his tone respectful. "I understand entirely."

Jon exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. He hated the helplessness clawing at him. The thought of that man walking free, unpunished, was unbearable. But Helena's well-being came first.

"Keep looking," Jon said at last, his voice quieter but no less resolute. "Discreetly. I don't care how long it takes or what resources you need. Just find him."

Varys inclined his head, his expression as steady as ever. "As you command, Your Grace." He turned and left the room with his usual measured grace.

Tyrion lingered behind, his sharp eyes studying Jon. "Helena and I spoke a couple of days ago," he began, his tone softer than usual, devoid of its usual sardonic edge. "About her pregnancy."

Jon wasn't surprised; he had expected as much. If anyone could coax the truth from Helena, it was Tyrion.

"She asked me not to tell anyone yet," Jon murmured, his gaze drifting momentarily to the floor before returning to Tyrion. "It's her news to share."

"I understand," Tyrion said gently. "She confided in me about… the risks."

Jon's jaw tightened, the weight of that revelation pressing down on him once again. "I knew her mother was a vile woman," he said, his voice thick with restrained anger. "But how could she keep her own daughter under such conditions? It's monstrous."

Tyrion sighed, his face lined with an old pain that seemed to resurface. "I wish I could give you an answer that would make sense of it. Cersei… she was a creature of contradictions. She adored her children, doted on them. But Helena was different. She saw her as a threat to the dynasty she imagined for Jaime's children."

Jon's fists clenched at his sides, though he stayed silent, letting Tyrion continue.

"But something stayed her hand," Tyrion added thoughtfully. "She didn't kill Helena, despite all her cruelty. Perhaps some small sliver of humanity held her back. Or maybe she wanted Helena alive as proof of her control, her power." He shook his head, the faintest trace of bitterness lacing his words. "Even after all this time, I'm still unraveling her madness."

Jon leaned back, his face shadowed with a mix of sorrow and fury. "Helena deserved better than the world she was born into," he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "She deserves peace now."

"And she's found it," Tyrion said, his gaze unwavering. "She has you. That alone is a better fate than anyone in her family ever gave her."

Jon met his eyes, his resolve hardening once more. "I'll make sure it stays that way."

Tyrion inclined his head slightly, a rare sincerity in his expression. "Then she's in good hands. I trust you to protect her, Jon. But more importantly, to support her, especially now."

Helena squeezed her eyes shut as the key turned in the lock. She lay trembling on the thin cot, fear gripping her like a vice. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, he would leave her alone. Her heart thundered in her chest, and unshed tears burned behind her eyelids. Please…

"Hello, princess," came the mocking drawl of his voice. "Did you miss me?"

Please, go away…

The heavy thud of his boots against the floor made her stomach churn as he drew closer.

"So arrogant, aren't you?" he sneered.

Helena flinched as his coarse hand brushed her cheek. The pungent stench of sweat and ale filled her nostrils, making her gag.

"You think you're too good to look at me?" he spat.

She gasped in pain when his fingers twisted cruelly into her hair, forcing her head back.

"I'm going to teach you humility…"

Jon's eyes snapped open as a piercing scream tore through the quiet of the night.

"No, no, please, stop!"

"Helena?" he said sharply, his heart racing.

The door burst open, two guards rushing in with their swords drawn.

"Your Grace?" one of them asked, scanning the room for danger.

Jon raised a hand, his voice tight. "It's alright. The Queen had a nightmare."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances but obeyed, stepping back into the hall and closing the door.

Jon turned back to Helena, her small frame trembling violently under the covers. He knelt beside her, shaking her gently but firmly. "Helena, wake up. It's just a dream. Please, wake up."

Jon shook her gently, his voice laced with worry. "Helena, it's me. You're safe."

Her eyes flew open, wide and glassy with fear, as if she couldn't quite place where she was. "No… no…" she whimpered, her body trembling.

"It's Jon," he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. "It's just a dream. You're safe now."

Helena blinked rapidly, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Slowly, the panic in her eyes began to fade as she focused on his face. "Jon…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I'm here," he reassured, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his tunic as though anchoring herself to reality.

"I thought…" She couldn't finish, her voice catching on a sob.

Jon held her tighter, his chin resting on the top of her head. "No one can hurt you now," he murmured firmly. "I swear it. You're safe with me."

Helena buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric. He rubbed slow circles on her back, his touch steady and grounding. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently after a moment.

She shook her head quickly, her voice muffled. "I… I can't."

"Alright," Jon said softly, not pressing her. "You don't have to. But I'm here when you're ready."

They sat like that for a long moment, the only sound her quiet sniffles and the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. Ghost padded over silently, his large head nudging Helena's side as if sensing her distress.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she looked at the direwolf, her fingers brushing over his soft fur. "Thank you," she whispered, though whether it was to Ghost, Jon, or both, she wasn't sure.

"Do you want me to stay awake with you?" Jon asked, his voice tender.

Helena hesitated, her grip on him not loosening. "You should rest," she murmured, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I'm sorry for waking you."

Jon's brow furrowed, and he reached up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Helena, don't apologize," he said firmly, his tone full of reassurance. "You're my wife. If you need me, I'm here."

Ghost let out a soft huff, curling up at the foot of the bed as though standing guard over them both. Helena glanced down at the loyal wolf, a flicker of gratitude warming her chest. Then she looked back at Jon, her grip on his hand easing only slightly.

"Just for a little while?" she asked softly, her voice almost fragile.

Jon's lips curved into a faint smile, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. "As long as you need," he promised without hesitation.

Helena let out a weary sigh and rested her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I really don't mean to inconvenience you…"

"You're not inconveniencing anyone," Jon interrupted, his tone gentle but resolute. His hand came to rest protectively on her back, drawing her closer. "I'm your husband, Helena. I want you to let me take care of you."

Helena was quiet for a while, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest as she wrestled with her thoughts. "I'll try," she said at last, her voice laced with vulnerability. "I just… I feel like I should have gotten over this by now. It feels… ungrateful somehow to complain."

Jon tilted his head to press a kiss to her hair, his voice soft but unwavering. "Healing doesn't follow a timetable, and it's not ungrateful to feel the weight of what you've been through. You endured more than anyone should ever have to. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Her eyes stung, though she refused to let the tears fall. Instead, she curled closer to him, feeling the strength of his arms around her. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," she whispered.

Jon's hold tightened just slightly, his voice rich with conviction. "You don't have to deserve anything, Helena. You're my wife. That's enough." He paused, his jaw tightening as he carefully chose his next words. "That guard… do you know what happened to him?"

"No," Helena murmured. Her voice was almost detached, distant. "He stopped coming a while before the battle of King's Landing. Maybe he was sent to war. I don't know."

Jon hummed in acknowledgment, though his blood boiled beneath the surface. His fists clenched at the thought of the man who had caused her so much pain.

"Do you know his name?" he asked gently, though his voice betrayed a simmering anger he couldn't entirely suppress.

"Gorold," she whispered so quietly that he barely heard her. Her hand tightened in his shirt, as if bracing herself. She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice trembling with guilt and uncertainty. "I want to be honest with you, Jon. I was a maiden on our wedding night, but… he… he did things to me. Bad things. I wasn't…pure." Her words cracked, and she looked away. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before the wedding."

Jon's heart twisted at her words, not from disappointment, but from the anguish she carried. He reached for her face, tilting her chin so she couldn't look away. His gaze was steady, filled with an unwavering tenderness. "Helena, look at me."

Her wide, tear-filled eyes met his, and his voice softened, though it carried a steely edge of resolve. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. What that man did was not your fault, and it does not make you less. Do you understand me?"

She blinked, her lip trembling, but she nodded slightly.

"You are my wife, my queen, and the mother of my child. You are whole and more than enough. Don't let anyone, not him, not yourself, make you believe otherwise."

Helena's tears finally fell, but this time they were quiet, a mixture of release and gratitude. She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking as he held her tightly, one hand gently stroking her hair.

Jon kissed the top of her head, his voice quiet but firm. "You're safe now, I promise you."

Jon had decided not to tell Helena about the search for the guard until the man was found. With a name, Varys would have a stronger lead to track him down. And if the miserable coward was still breathing, Jon would make sure he wouldn't be for long.