Seven Dreams One Kingdom

5-Sansa

Sansa hadn't intended to manipulate Jon, it still wasn't her intention. However she would do anything to keep him away from Daenerys, even if it meant flirting with him herself, not that anything would ever come of it. Littlefinger had told her she could seduce men, he'd even given her instructions on how to go about it. Not that she intended to seduce Jon in a sexual way, but she was going to try and use the knowledge her old teacher had imparted on her. Make sure he sees nothing of consequence, but enough to make him want to see more. That was a lesson which had stuck in her brain. Jon had a protective streak, he wanted to play the hero, therefore she was going to use her vulnerability, however he liked women who were strong, almost warrior-like. Sansa knew nothing of how to wield a sword, but she knew how to inspire an army. So when she had leaned in to rub the salve into Jon's scar, she had hoped her scars might invoke that protective streak, which it did to some degree, but she suspected he pitied her; which was not what she had aimed for, she felt a little deflated. He clearly saw her as no more than a little sister, which was slightly awkward on her part, as although she'd only been having the dreams for a few moons, she felt like she'd always known he wasn't her brother. To make matters worse, when she tried to use the salve on his scars, it didn't work, so she thought rubbing it into his chest to heal his stab wounds was not an option.

"Hmm. It's not working." she frowned.

"Maybe her salve was only made for you." Jon suggested.

Sansa replaced the lid onto the salve and put it back on the table, then joined Jon to sit by the fire. "I was hoping it would help with your...wounds." she looked down sadly. "I know you have problems with them healing."

Jon frowned. "They don't heal?"

Sansa shook her head. "Not properly. Or so she told me." Sansa knew she sounded like a woman scorned, but she couldn't help it. The months she spent with Jon, firstly trying to reclaim Winterfell and then rebuilding it, were some of the best in her life. She had purpose and felt like she had a husband of sorts, even though it was a man she considered to be her brother. However, that suited her fine, she'd never sexually entertain a man ever again, although flirting was allowed. Therefore, when Jon suggested she try stitching the wounds up, she was flabbergasted.

"I...I can try." she said. "I've never sewn wounds before." she frowned, then realising it could also prove to be a useful skill. "But as we will be heading into battle, firstly against the Bolton's and then into the Long Night, then it would be helpful if I knew how to do it." she bit her bottom lip in thought. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"What harm can it do?" Jon shrugged. "It won't kill me. But it might save the lives of others, even if my wounds still don't heal."

Sansa nodded, getting up. "I'll need some needles, thread, alcohol, linen and hot water." she told him. "I'd get it, but I can't go out like this..." she pointed to her loose dress. "And I can't tighten it back up until the scars are all gone."

Jon nodded. "Any particular alcohol?" he asked.

"Something strong enough to kill the pain, but won't make you sick all over me." she teased. "Oh and something to steady my hand." Jon nodded and left her to gather what she needed.

Sansa's hand was shaking, this was not what she had planned, it had just...happened. Viewing Jon now as her cousin instead of her brother had indeed changed her perspective. Her memories of them ruling together, her hatred of Daenerys, and deep down, Sansa knew, at the heart of that hatred, had been jealousy. She was jealous because Daenerys had taken Jon away from her. The dragon bitch had broken up her family. Of course, Sansa wasn't stupid, she had a sense of honour and duty, but the Tully words were; family, duty, honour. Jon was family, she had a duty to do right by the north, which was keeping Jon in the north and not letting him into the clutches of his mad aunt. And her view of honour was circumspect, to say the least. Honour had gotten her father killed. Honour was just another name for male stupidity. Yet at the same time, Sansa knew she was being selfish with Jon, for she didn't wish for him to be her husband, or for their relationship to change, yet neither did she want to see him with another woman, which was dishonourable. In her green dreams, or her previous life, as Melisandre had suggested; after becoming Queen, she had spent many nights crying herself to sleep. She had lost all of her siblings, in one way or another, either through death or their own desires for life. However, it was losing Jon that hurt the most. In her greatest hour of need, he had been the one to bring her back from the brink. Jon had been her knight in shining armour, fulfilling her perfect childhood dreams of a gallant prince.