Work Text:
…
He entered the house through the garage, noting immediately how quiet it was. No child laughing at something he was watching on the television in the den. No dogs barking with excitement at his return. No wife there, rehearsing lines as she moved in the kitchen, putting something together for dinner.
There was nothing to greet Jon Snow when he came home except the quiet. It had become the new norm.
He wasn’t expecting Eric to be home though. In the studio, he had received a message from his mother-in-law. That afternoon’s treatment had completely worn Sansa out – they all wore her out – and Ned and Catelyn Stark would take their grandson for a few hours more. Jon had wanted to come with Sansa to her treatment that day, but she had refused his offer.
“You have an album to get out,” she reminded him that morning before he – reluctantly – left.
“Fuck the album,” was his response to that. He had already said those exact words too often to count.
Sansa wouldn’t hear of it though and practically pushed him through the door, to his car in the garage.
He knew why she wanted him to leave. He had come to some of the treatments with her and it really was just him, sitting in the chair next to hers, staring at her as she drifted in and out of sleep. To Jon, there was nowhere he would rather be, but to Sansa, there were far more productive things Jon Snow could be doing; and that included on working on his next solo album that the label was beginning to get impatient for. Sansa cared far more about not pissing the label off than Jon ever did.
He tried not to use that card too much; his wife, his mother and his in-laws would never put up with it if he did, but he was THE Jon Snow and if the label couldn’t understand that with his wife sick, the album might be behind schedule, they then could go fuck themselves, in Jon’s opinion.
Setting his keys, wallet and phone on the island in the middle of the kitchen for the moment, he then headed up the back stairs to the second floor. At his and Sansa’s master suite, he stopped in the doorway. His wife was curled in their bed, fast asleep, and their dog, Ghost, slept with her.
Ghost lifted his head at the sight of him, but did not jump down, and Jon finally moved into the room.
“Good boy,” he whispered to him, giving him a rub behind one of his ears. His eyes then flittered back to Sansa. Her breathing was deep and even as she slept. She was always so exhausted after every treatment.
An always-fatigued Sansa had become the Snow family’s new norm as well, but at least Sansa was still here to be constantly fatigued. The alternative was so much worse, Jon couldn’t even allow himself to think of it because if he did, he always had to go into the bathroom and turn on the water so no one could overhear him.
Sitting down in the chair in the corner, he took off his boots and set them aside, never taking his eyes off of Sansa. He stood again and looking to Ghost, he pointed to the foot of their bed. Ghost didn’t protest. The dog lifted himself and walk the few steps before lowering himself once again and Jon slid onto the bed, taking his spot next to his wife.
He laid on his side, facing her, as Sansa was curled on her side, facing him. She wore a scarf covering her head as she slept – today’s color a shimmering emerald.
The chemotherapy had begun to cause her hair to fall out and as Sansa wept when more and more of her red hair was lost – her hair always one of her favorite things about herself – Jon had shaved his own head in an effort to both show her that he was always at her side and to try and make her feel a little bit better.
It had had the desired effect and when Sansa saw her husband without his trademark black curls, she had smiled and laughed through her tears and hugged him as tightly as she could.
When Jon was photographed in public for the first time with his shaved head, Sansa’s cancer was no secret and even paparazzi photographers were able to figure out why Jon Snow had gotten rid of his hair. Pictures and posts on social media then began flooding in from fans of both Jon, Sansa and The Direwolves shaving their heads in solidarity.
Sansa, upon seeing such support from all corners of the world, it only made her cry harder.
They had gotten her fitted for some of the best wigs in all of Westeros and Essos – her theater production company volunteering to help – but when at home or going for her treatments, Sansa wore her scarves.
Sansa began to stir in her sleep and a slow smile began to creep across her face. Just seeing it, it caused Jon’s own smile to form. “You’re home,” she murmured, her eyes finally fluttering open to see him.
Jon leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I am. How are you?” He asked though he knew it was a stupid question. How could she possibly be, going to the hospital to have vicious poison injected into her to combat the vicious disease inside of her? How would anyone be?
Sansa smiled though at the question. “I was actually going to message you earlier, but I didn’t know if you were having a breakthrough in the studio.”
Jon did his best to not sigh at that. “What have I told you? You and Eric, no matter what, can always interrupt me.” He didn’t want to point out that now, more than ever, Sansa can absolutely message him about anything when he’s in the recording studio, but he felt like that should be something she should know already. Apparently, she didn’t or she didn’t agree.
“I was actually feeling hungry for the grilled cheese and tomato soup combo from Hot Pie’s,” she continued, her smile – a tired one, but a smile nonetheless – still across her lips.
Jon leaned in and kissed her softly. “Then that’s exactly what you’re going to get. I’ll call for delivery.”
Sansa lifted a hand, resting it on his cheek, her thumb lightly tracing back and forth across his lips. Jon closed his eyes for a moment at her touch, not able to keep them open. “How was the studio today?” She asked and he sighed, suddenly feeling quite exhausted himself. Sansa giggled softly and it made him smile, cracking an eye open to see her. “That good?” She then guessed, her eyes dancing.
“Dickon and Edd are slave drivers and I hate them,” he stated, making her laugh more.
“I feel like you should get a tattoo of that on your body since you seem to say it so often,” she teased.
Jon didn’t respond to that; just kissed the pad of her thumb.
He didn’t want to talk about the studio or his album producer or recording engineer. They were both great guys and Jon considered them to be two of his closest friends, but anything having to do with the studio or this particular album were so far down on his list of things he gave a damn about right at this moment.
His wife had breast cancer. His wife was receiving aggressive chemotherapy treatments. The love of his life had lost her hair and had lost weight and bruised so easily now and didn’t always have an appetite and was nauseous and always tired and they would never be able to have another child besides Eric due to her treatment. The love of his life was fighting for her life so forgive him if he didn’t care about too many things other than that.
“Maybe we can eat our dinner out on the patio tonight,” Sansa suggested. “It’s a beautiful day and I miss sitting on our patio.”
Jon leaned in and kissed her lips this time. “I’ll call Hot Pie’s and then we’ll get you situated outside.”
Sansa smiled, but it slowly faded as she looked into his eyes, her hand lifting to rest on his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. “For so long, I’ve been in love with you, but it’s so strange to me, that now, I finally realize how much I love you.”
Jon felt the breath stutter in his chest and he closed his eyes to keep them from growing wet in front of her. Finally, he was able to look at her again and Sansa stared at him, her own eyes wet, and Jon moved in as close to her as he possibly could, his arm going around her waist and his front pressed to hers.
“I love you, too,” he was finally able to say when he trusted his voice to, breathing it out.
…
When Sansa had first gone to her yearly mammogram appointment and the cancerous mass was discovered in her breast, she and Jon had wondered if they should stay in Braavos. More months out of the year than not, Braavos in Essos was their main home, they owning a sprawling estate outside of the city, in the privacy of the country. Sansa was a premiere actress with the Shakespeare Theatre Company there and Jon was able to write his music and record it anywhere.
In the end though, they decided to return to the North in Westeros, where they had another private, sprawling estate that was close to their family and if there was ever a time for family, it was at this time.
Sansa didn’t regret that decision. Every day, she was thankful for her parents and mother-in-law and her siblings for one thing or another; whether that be to look after Eric when Jon was working and she just didn’t have the energy to or when she needed to go scarf shopping or when she just needed a distraction from the reality of what she and her family were going through.
Sitting at their table on the brick patio in back of their house, near their in-ground swimming pool, Eric was brought home by her parents and Jon had ordered so many grilled cheese sandwiches and containers of tomato soup from Hot Pie’s, one of their favorite sandwich shops in town, Ned and Catelyn had been invited to stay for dinner as well.
“So one more treatment in this cycle?” Ned asked before spooning some soup in his mouth, keeping his eyes on his daughter across the table from him.
“Yes, and then… well, hopefully, this will be my last cycle,” Sansa answered with a deep breath.
“Fingers crossed,” Catelyn agreed, giving Sansa a warm smile.
Jon didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He hated that, but it was the truth. This was Sansa’s second cycle of chemotherapy and after the first, it was discovered that no, they hadn’t been able to kill all of the cancer and would have to go another round. Sansa had been so upset and so tired, she had questioned if she should even do a second round.
Jon could still remember how vicious their yelling had been over that. It had been the most intense fight they had ever had – both when dating and then married – and Jon was scared that if this second cycle hadn’t completely worked either, the doctors would want a third and Jon didn’t know if Sansa or her body would be able to handle that.
He obviously knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t the one going through this. Yes, he was going through this with Sansa, but she was the one to actually go through it. How could he order his wife to fight through another cycle if she decided that she was done fighting?
“Have you heard from your brother?” Catelyn switched the subject. They all thought about the cancer and chemotherapy enough. It was all they thought about most of the time. But perhaps, a conversation of Robb Stark wouldn’t be the best thing either.
Especially when Sansa shook her head.
“I mean, I shouldn’t say no,” Sansa quickly scrambled to correct herself. She leaned over to wipe at some tomato soup on Eric’s chin and mother and son exchanged a smile. “He has emailed me a few times. I know he and Dany have that little tour coming up that they’re getting ready for. I don’t need him to call me and some people… well, you know Robb. This isn’t something he would want to deal with.”
Her explanation did nothing to quell Ned’s frown. “Well, he’s still a part of this family and this is what this family is experiencing right now. He just doesn’t get to check out because he doesn’t want to experience it with the rest of us.”
“Dad…” Sansa began to say and then stopped herself, looking to Jon.
“Hey, buddy,” Jon said to Eric. “You about done?”
“Yep!” Eric bobbed his head as he popped the last bit of sandwich into his mouth.
Jon smiled. “How about you go into the house and get your deck of cards? You can show grandpa and grandma the card trick Uncle Theon showed you the other day when he visited.”
Catelyn rolled her eyes even as she smiled. “Of course Theon taught him something like that.”
Eric looked to his grandpa with wide eyes. “Do you want me to show you, Grandpa?” He asked eagerly.
“Are you kidding?” Ned smiled at him. “I’d love for you to show me.”
Without another word, Eric slipped from his chair and went running back into the house.
“Finish,” Ned then said, looking back to Sansa, his smile gone.
Sansa took a deep breath and Jon reached over, taking hold of one of her hands. She instantly squeezed it.
“It’s me. Robb and I still aren’t the best terms. It’s better than it has been, but it’s still not great and I know that Robb probably won’t make the trip up here from King’s Landing to see Sansa if I’m here,” Jon said and Sansa squeezed his hand again.
Of course Jon was going to be here and just thinking about Robb, it made him furious that the guy wouldn’t come up to see his sick sister just because he was fighting with her husband.
“That is absolutely no excuse,” Catelyn was the one to say in a hard voice. “Sansa is his sister and I’m sorry, Jon, but this is a lot bigger than you two exchanging barbs in your songs.”
Jon nodded, feeling guilty even if he was in absolute agreement.
And reading his mind, Sansa squeezed his hand. He lifted the pair to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, causing a small smile to break across her face. They looked at one another before Sansa exhaled a deep breath and looked back to her parents. Jon didn’t let go of her hand.
“I also… I don’t mind that Robb hasn’t come to see me,” Sansa was able to get the words out, admittedly proud of herself for being able to say the truth to her parents.
“Sansa-” Catelyn began to say, but Sansa shook her head, stopping her mom from saying anything else.
“It’s how I feel,” Sansa told them truthfully. “Robb and I used to be so close, but that has changed. That’s not our relationship anymore and I honestly don’t know if it will ever be. Yes, he’s my brother and I will always love him and I know he loves me, but I don’t need to see him. If… if things get worse for me…” her voice began to weaken a bit, emotion rising in her chest, and Jon squeezed her hand tightly. She took another deep breath and her parents weren’t moving, looking at her, waiting for her to finish. “If the time comes… I don’t want to see him before then.”
It wasn’t even about the Direwolves and the breakup years earlier and the things Jon and Robb have said about one another in their solo songs. It wasn’t about being put between her brother and her husband. It came down to Robb behaving in certain ways that Sansa couldn’t approve of or forgive him for.
And if battling cancer as she was taught her anything, it taught her that life was short; that very much was true. But even learning and knowing that, Sansa just wasn’t ready to have Robb come and see her. Being this sick had also taught her that. Now, more than ever, she was able to be honest with herself.
…
Jon sat in the chair in the sound booth, listening to the playback, looking to both Dickon and Edd for their reactions to the song. Eric had come with him that day to the recording studio as Sansa had gone for her last treatment and the boy was currently laying on the couch, watching a movie on Jon’s iPad and not listening or paying attention to anything else around him.
The song ended and Jon looked back to his producer and engineer.
“Well?” He answered.
“It’s good, Jon,” Edd nodded his head. “It really is.”
“But…” Jon could hear the unsaid word hanging in the air and he looked to Dickon next.
Dickon had worked with Jon back on the very first Direwolves album, every Direwolves after and now, on Jon’s solo albums. They might have butted heads occasionally, but no one knew Jon’s music or understood his occasional musical experimentations better than Dickon and the man’s opinion did hold a lot of weight for Jon.
“It’s not bad, Jon,” Dickon told him. “But…” he said the dreaded word. “We need something more. The album is missing that something more that’s been on your other ones.”
Jon sighed heavily and closing his eyes, he tilted his head back. He knew. What Dickon was telling him was not anything new to Jon. These songs weren’t bad. He was actually really proud of this batch, but Dickon was right. This album and collection was missing one very important thing. It was missing THE Jon Snow song; the song people heard on the radio and immediately knew that it was a Jon Snow song.
“Dickon and I have been talking,” Edd spoke up again. “And we know you don’t want to do it, but maybe… maybe writing about Sansa is the way to go.”
Jon’s eyes snapped open and he stared at both men.
“She’s your muse, Jon,” Dickon pointed out. “Right now, more than ever, you need your muse.”
“I’m not writing about my wife and what we’re going through,” Jon shook his head just as he had the other times the suggestion had been made to him. “What we’re going through, it’s our business.”
“It is,” Edd agreed with a head nod. “But maybe you should think of it in another way.”
Jon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Eric slid off the couch then. “Daddy,” he frowned, holding out the iPad.
Jon sat up in his chair and took the iPad to see what the matter with it was. “Charger’s in my bag,” he told his son and then watched as Eric took the iPad back and went to the bag Jon had brought with them, loaded up with a few of Eric’s toys and snacks for the boy to eat while here in the studio.
Jon watched his son rather than look back to Dickon and Edd, but he was thinking of their words. Sansa was his muse – that hadn’t changed from when they were young teenagers and he was sitting on the bus to school, wishing he was brave enough to hold her hand – but right now, his mind was shut out to writing songs about her because of what was happening and what Sansa was going through, every song was about that. He meant what he said. He would not be writing a song about that.
He looked to Eric, smiling a little as the boy plugged the charger into the wall and then plugged the iPad in before plopping down on the floor, digging his vanilla wafer cookies out from the bag.
What would they do without Sansa? Jon would suddenly find himself a widower and Eric would no longer have his mom. Jon would have help of family and friends, he knew, but he would be on his own, raising his and Sansa’s son alone.
He didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know if he could do anything without Sansa by his side.
Jon looked back to Edd and Dickon. He exhaled a great sigh. “What do you mean?” He asked again.
Dickon leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees. “I know this is going to be far easier to say than actually do, but if Sansa wasn’t sick right now, what song would you write? What would you want to tell her?”
Jon paused, trying to actually think of what Dickon asked. What would he say to Sansa if she wasn’t so sick? He had never been short of things to tell her and he wasn’t now. But everything he could possibly say to her, it was about how much he loved her and how he wouldn’t be able to do this without her.
“What I feel, I can’t say,” Jon shook his head.
Edd and Dickon look at him for a moment and then glanced to one another.
“What I feel, I can’t say,” Dickon repeated. “That’s not a bad start.”
…
Sansa laughed softly at the ridiculous animated greeting card Grenn had sent her. “Grenn’s ridiculous,” she then informed her husband though it anyone knew that fact, it would be Jon.
“Sent you another one?” Jon guessed correctly as he was leaning forward, writing on his pad of paper on the coffee table. Sansa stretched out on the couch and Jon sat at her feet, keeping them warm for her even though she was already covered by a thick knit blanket and there were wool socks on her feet.
“You think one of these days, Grenn would outgrow fart jokes,” Sansa said, the slightest laugh in her tone as she closed her laptop and set it on the floor. Every day, Grenn had been emailing her an animation. Even currently on tour with his own band, he had yet to miss a day. Sansa was still having trouble finding the words to tell him just how much it meant to her – even if most of the animations involved farting.
“As a male, you never outgrow fart jokes, love,” Jon gave her a smile and a wink and Sansa laughed as she nestled back into the couch, pulling the blanket up tighter around her.
They didn’t speak. She watched as he would write, strum a few things on the acoustic guitar in his hold and then write down some more. Some might find watching Jon write his songs to be incredibly boring, but Sansa had always found it to be relaxing. Even now, Sansa could feel her eyes grow heavy. She turned her head and looked to the ridiculously big arrangement of blue roses that Arya had had delivered that day and Jon had set them on the coffee table so Sansa could smell them and appreciate them.
She was just beginning to drift off, her body beginning to enter that floating stage of being carried away, when – in the distance – she could hear her cellphone begin to ring. Her eyes were heavy, but she forced them open to see Jon setting his guitar aside so he could get up to answer it.
“Sansa Snow’s phone,” he answered. “She is.” Jon came back to the couch and crouched down next to it. “Sansa, it’s the doctor’s office.”
Sansa’s eyes snapped open at that and stayed open. They stared at one another and she was unable to move. Already, having no idea what the news would be, she knew that this was the news – the news they have been waiting for through two cycles of chemotherapy. Good or bad, the time had arrived and Sansa’s heart was racing in response.
“Put it on speaker,” she whispered and Jon instantly did just that. “This is Sansa Snow,” she spoke, her voice already shaking, and slipping his hand under the blanket, Jon found her hand and Sansa grabbed hold of it tightly, not letting go; not that she expected Jon to go anywhere.
…
“Jon!” “Sansa!”
The flashing of cameras as well as the shouts of their names from reporters and fans alike were nonstop and Sansa leaned into Jon, his arm strong around her waist. Not letting her go, when Jon was ushered towards one of the reporters on the carpet, Sansa came with him.
“Sansa, you look beautiful,” the reporter immediately said and Jon looked to his wife, smiling proudly.
“Oh, thank you,” Sansa blushed. “I decided to switch it up this evening,” she then smiled, her hand lifting to the blonde of her hair. Beneath, her red hair was beginning to grow back, but still looked a bit too much like peach fuzz for her liking so Sansa had gone out this evening, wearing one of her wigs.
“It’s perfect,” the reporter insisted and Sansa’s blush deepened. Jon tightened his arm around her.
“Jon, are you going to be growing your hair out again?” The reporter asked.
Jon couldn’t help, but laugh. It was still amazing – and ridiculous – how many people wasted time thinking about his hair. He lifted his hand ran it over the black curls, still shorn short. “We’ll see,” he answered. “I’ve gotten rather used to it. I supposed I’ll just wait to see what my wife wants me to do.”
Sansa laughed at that and leaned into him. He knew she was getting tired and though they had just arrived, as soon as they walked the carpet and got inside, they would almost be immediately heading home again. Although her energy was getting stronger every day, she was still weak and Jon never allowed her to push herself past her limit; not even for publicity appearances the label had made him make. This was by far the best public appearance he had ever made though, in his opinion.
His wife was with him.
“Jon, your new album is titled Dark Horse,” the reporter continued. “I don’t want to assume, but it’s been assumed by others that the title comes from what you and Sansa have gone through recently.”
“That’d be a correct assumption,” Jon confirmed. “I think, to those who have gone through this – either fighting cancer themselves or being with someone who is fighting it – a lot of days, you feel like you’re in a race you can’t possibly win and the cancer is going to beat everyone in the end. You feel lost and helpless and you never know what you’re doing. I like to think that Dark Horse is for everyone who fought and are fighting no matter the odds.”
The reporter is smiling, looking like their eyes are growing a bit damp. Sansa looks a little misty, too.
“And of course, the song for Sansa, which you have already publicly confirmed, on this album, is “What is Life”. Some are calling it one of your very best that you’ve ever written and critics are already considering it a classic.”
Jon smiled and Sansa was beaming at him.
“If that’s what people are saying, I’m not going to argue with them,” Jon replied.
They stayed on the carpet, moving down every few feet, posing for dozens and dozens of pictures. More than one reporter shouted to Sansa how beautiful she looked and Jon looked at her every time it was said. He couldn’t agree more. She was gaining weight back though he knew most would consider her to be too thin (if they hadn’t known the sickness she had just beat) and color was returning to her skin. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and she was here for him to look at and think so.
Inside, the instant he saw Davos, a former record producer who Jon had made his manager, Jon informed him that he and Sansa weren’t staying.
“I figured as much,” Davos smiled at them both. “It’s your record launch party. It’s not like you have to be here. It’s everyone else’s turn to pat themselves on the back. You’ve had your pictures taken already with everyone who’s here. Go on home, the both of you.”
“Oh, Jon,” Sansa said, lifting a hand to Jon’s chest. “I’m alright. We can stay a little bit. It’s been too long since we’ve been out and… well, I feel too beautiful to go home just yet.”
Jon looked at her. “You’re gorgeous,” he told her. “And if you want to show off, by all means…” he then looked to Davos. “Punching people for leering at my wife, I suppose, won’t be a good story to have break tonight?” He asked.
Davos just kept smiling and shrugged. “Who could possibly blame you?”
Jon broke into a smile at that and then, taking one of Sansa’s hands, he pulled her further into the reception room where dozens of people in the music – and entertainment – business had gathered to celebrate and congratulate him on his newest solo album. To no surprise though, Jon didn’t care about that. Really, he just wanted to show his wife off to everyone because she was still here and as always, Jon firmly believed that none of them would be here to celebrate anything if she wasn’t here.
…
