He will confide a little of his fears

Mordane’s hand stayed warm and steady on his arm, offering something solid to hold onto in the cold ruin of the tower. Jon stared past her for a long moment, the wind moving through the broken stones above them like a low sigh.

“I fear,” he said at last, his voice low and rough as a whetstone. “Every word I speak… I dread it will twist what I never meant to harm.”

He swallowed, the names rising like ghosts. “Robb. Arya. Bran. Rickon. They are the only family I have left that still feels true. And I cannot stop thinking—one careless word, one slip when I am wroth or weary or… hungry for something more—will change them. Turn them into something else. Something that is no longer them.”

His fingers flexed at his sides, then curled into fists. “I have already done harm with this,” he said, the words heavy and ****. “More than I ever meant to. And I do not know how to stop it, Mordane. I am beginning to wonder if I even can.”

Mordane’s dark eyes softened with quiet sorrow as she listened. She stepped closer, her fingers gently tightening on his arm.

“The gods have given you a terrible gift, Jon. One that can bless or curse with the same breath.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, her fingers tracing lightly along his sleeve. “What you fear most is the very thing you should fear. That this power may steal from you the people you love most, the ones who make you who you are. That is not weakness. That is the part of you that still walks in the light.”

She reached up, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead with surprising tenderness. “You must be more careful than any man alive, Jon.” Her fingers lingered against his temple, warm and steady. “Speak less when you are angry. Speak less when you are tempted. And when you do speak, let your words serve love and protection, never desire or fear.”

As she said this Mordane’s hand slid down to rest against Jon’s cheek. “The Seven teach us that power without restraint becomes a chain that binds the wielder. Do not let this gift become your prison. Or theirs.”

Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, warm with devotion. She stepped even closer, pressing her body gently against his as her arms slid around his waist. “And when the weight becomes too heavy to carry alone, come to me.” She rose onto her toes and brushed a soft kiss against his jaw. “I will listen. I will pray with you. I will remind you who you are, even when the power tries to make you forget.”

Holding him tighter, Mordane fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along his back. “You do not have to face this trial by yourself, my love. Come to me… always. My arms, my heart, and my body are yours whenever you need them.” She rose onto her toes, one hand cupping the back of his neck, and kissed him.

It was soft at first, almost reverent, her full lips brushing his with a tenderness that made his chest ache. Then the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, her mouth opening against his as her tongue traced the seam of his lips before slipping inside. She tasted of rosewater and faith and something sweeter, something that belonged only to him now. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him close as she poured herself into the kiss, a quiet moan vibrating from her throat into his mouth.

When she finally drew back, she rested her forehead against his, her breath warm and unsteady. Her dark eyes searched his face with quiet devotion. She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking tenderly across his skin. “I am yours, Jon,” she whispered against his lips. “In every way you need me. My heart, my body, my soul… all of me belongs to you.”

Mordane didn’t pull away.

Instead she leaned in again, slower this time, her body pressing fully against his as one hand slid up to cradle the side of his face. Her lips met his with quiet confidence. They parted at once, her tongue tracing the seam of his mouth before slipping inside with a smooth, unhurried stroke that sent heat pooling low in his belly.

Jon’s eyes half-closed. For all her past severity, the woman in his arms kissed like she had been born for it. Deep. Assured. Devastatingly skilled. She angled her head just enough to fit their mouths together perfectly. Her tongue curled against his in slow, deliberate strokes that made his cock twitch against her thigh. There was no hesitation. No clumsy fumbling. Every movement felt intentional, coaxing, as if she had spent years learning exactly how to unravel a man with nothing but her mouth.

A low groan escaped Jon’s throat. His hand found the small of her back, fingers pressing into the velvet of her gown as he pulled her closer. Mordane answered by tilting her head further. The kiss turned lush and hungry. Her tongue slid against his with practiced patience, teasing and exploring, drawing another rough sound from him as heat flared between them. Her breasts pressed soft and heavy against his chest, nipples hard through the fabric, while her hips shifted forward in a slow, deliberate roll that rubbed her warmth against the growing hardness in his breeches.

When she finally drew back, her lips were flushed and slightly swollen. Her dark eyes were heavy-lidded as she looked at him, breath coming quick and warm against his mouth. A faint, tender smile curved her lips.

She brushed her thumb gently across his lower lip, her voice soft and husky with both devotion and desire. “I have longed to kiss you like that for a very long time, Jon.” She rested her forehead against his once more. “Tell me… was I able to ease any of the doubts that weigh upon your heart? Did my words, and my touch, bring you even a little peace?”

Her fingers stroked his cheek with quiet reverence. “If I can soothe your fears in any way, my love, I will do so gladly, again and again. With prayer… or with this.”