Yesboss21: I hope this chapter answers some of your concerns (:

A/N: I wasn't 100% happy with this chapter, so I went through and edited it. The changes are minor, but I can sleep better knowing that they've been made. I've learned my lesson-I won't post until I've thoroughly edited my work. Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism on my writing style.

Chapter 6: A Stark Snowscape

"Ye don't have to leave," Tollett said, again.

"I must," Jon Snow replied gruffly, looking not at Tollett but off into the distance. Dark and angry clouds were gathering along the horizon, bringing with them more snow. More death.

"Ye sent the wildling and the boy. They're fine there," Tollett argued, again, "ye are a man of the Night's Watch. We are yer brothers."

Eddison Tollett finished without conviction. The argument had begun passionately. He had believed everything he said to his Lord Commander, Jon Snow. However, with each rebuttal by Snow—calmly delivered, concisely thought out—his points continued to be at the disadvantage. Through Jon's negative, Tollett came to realize two things: Snow would not stay and the other Crows would be happy to see the back of him. Jon Snow had split Castle Black down the middle before; but, now, even the men who respected him were afraid him-Tollett, included.

"What will we do without ye? How are we supposed to fight the whitewalkers?"

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Snow fell in flurries around Jon and Ghost as they walked away from Castle Black. The wind howled as if she, too, were a wolf running freely through the North. Flakes settled heavily on Snow's shoulders. The weight of Long Claw's Valyrian steel dragged at Jon like never before—not unlike the weight of his promise to the Night's Watch. Was he selfish for leaving?

He arrived at the camp hungry and tired from his journey—while the distance was not great, the snow had covered the road with a thick blanket. Each step Jon had taken felt like five. He trudged through the Free Folk's camp, their small campfires spreading warmth even in the snowstorm. Jon's stomach protested at the smell of food cooking. He found Osha and Rickon sitting with Tormund. Of all the Free Folk, Jon Snow sent a tiny prayer to thank the old gods for sending Tormund to Rickon. Ghost bounded toward Shaggydog, snapping playfully at the other direwolf. Together, they disappeared from the circle. Jon watched them until he could not longer make out their forms against the horizon.

Tormund looked up from his conversation with Osha, in his eyes Jon saw wonder—not fear, as he had seen in the Night's Watch. With a nod from the redheaded warrior, Jon was passed a bowl of stew. He sat and hungrily downed his meal. Rickon slid from his seat next to Osha, and tepidly walked toward Snow. When finally he reached his big brother, Rickon slide into the open space next to Jon. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the young boy began talking animatedly. He was happy to share his journey from Winterfell across the wall and then back again, Jon gave appropriate replies between spoonfuls. It all felt so wonderfully banal.

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Jon listened to the steady, sleep-heavy breaths of Rickon and Osha. Winter had reached the North in full force, but the tent was warm from their combined body heat. Jon's heart, too, felt warm. The ice that had covered it after hearing of each of his siblings' deaths had begun to melt. With that thought in mind, Jon drifted off into a more peaceful sleep than he had in years.

He was running, happy for what felt like the first time in years. It was cold, but he was made for the cold. He thrived in it. He heard the snap of a twig. Quietly, he crouched in the snow to move toward the sound. He looked to his brother, a dark outline against the white, and quickly moved into position. They were hunters. The best in the North. Despite the fact that his brother was as conspicuous in the snow as he was invisible, their prey would not know they were there until it was too late.

They were the best hunting partners. They knew each other, their blood silently communicated—they didn't need anything more than a look to know what needed to be done. Together, they lunged at the elk. He went for the jugular, his brother for the soft underbelly. There was immeasurable joy in bringing down a bull elk. They sank their teeth into the offal, the spray of blood red against the white snow. Oh, how sweet!

Jon woke suddenly, his forehead beaded with sweat and the metallic taste of blood still sticky on his tongue.

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As always, let me know what you think!