A Game of Chess

Rolan waited, patiently, his back somewhat slack as he leaned against one of the many rotting houses that littered the streets of Darkfrost. Although Deun had since released him from Wendigo’s prison, he had spent much of his time either speaking with windigoes throughout the Hellgate Mines -- mostly regarding Wendigo himself, as he had prior to having been captured -- or simply standing in that exact location, waiting for Checkmate to eventually make his appearance.

Granted, the former lord of Darkfrost wasn’t entirely certain that his friend could bring an end to Wendigo’s rule, yet he was not ready to surrender what hope remained. Was Checkmate strong? Certainly, but his strength alone was perhaps not enough to guarantee that the foul tyrant would meet his end. But as long as even the smallest glimmer of hope remained, he was not going to stop.

And so, Rolan, while these thoughts plagued him, found himself locked within his own mind as he waited, and allowed himself to be lost within the memories that he had once looked at so fondly.

After all, it wasn’t as if there was any other action that he could take part in.

The day was long, and the air was cool, as Rolan waited, patiently, outside of Khaza’s “castle”. The young queen of Snowfall wasn’t exactly known for her precision when it came to scheduling, and he had since grown used to it as time went on, to the point that he would often just wait wherever she’d left him for hours on end just so that Rolan would not miss her whenever she inevitably would return.

That day, however, was different; certainly, the birds chirped in the trees, and the sunny sky reflected off the beautiful snow-covered ground, it was impossible to deny the difference in atmosphere that lay over the land.

Although Rolan could sense the difference, it wasn’t until the other figure approached him that he understood it for himself.

He was another windigo, somewhat short, but carried himself so that he appeared taller than he truly was. His coat was a similar icy-blue to Rolan’s own, but seemed somewhat paler, as if to accentuate the fact that the new arrival was nearly translucent. “O-oh,” said the other, his voice shaking, slightly. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but Lady Khaza asked me to come here…”

Rolan arched an eyebrow at this statement. After all, Khaza rarely asked for a specific pony to speak with her, instead preferring to talk only with those she deemed trustworthy. Naturally, these were very few and far between, mostly consisting of himself and a few sleipnirs. “Truly?” he asked, somewhat impressed. “Khaza specifically asked to meet with you?”

The other windigo glanced away, and bit down on his lower lip. “Er… Yeah, something like that. I don’t really understand it myself, but…” He shrugged. “Well… uh… anyway, what’s your name?”

“Mine?” replied Rolan, cocking his head, slightly. “I am called Rolan, Khaza’s… acquaintance.” There was no necessity in claiming that he was her closest friend; almost everypony in Snowfall knew that already. “And what is yours?”

The other held out his hoof, obviously expecting Rolan to shake it. “My name?” he asked, slowly. “… Wendigo.”

Rolan blinked. “A windigo… named Wendigo?”

Wendigo chuckled, nervously. “Y-yeah,” he said, “my family wasn’t very creative when naming me, I guess. They just picked the first thing they could think of.” He shuffled, slightly, on his hooves, evidently still nervous.

“Why do you seem so anxious?” Rolan asked, his voice calm. Although he didn’t especially care for how informal and casual this windigo was acting, he wasn’t one to deny a question when it arose.

“It’s just… I…” Wendigo gulped, then, and licked his muzzle. “I’m just a bit nervous, is all. Nothing else, really. I mean, I’ve never met Khaza before, and now she’s just asking for me?”

Rolan had to admit that it was a bit odd. For a pony who had never even spoken to Khaza before to suddenly gain an audience was unheard of, and completely confusing and strange. What was she thinking?

He grimaced, then, as he realized that she’d likely made it up on the fly, so to speak, and had just randomly decided on a pony to speak with.

Sometimes he wondered just what went on in her head, mostly due to the fact that she would often prank him (or, occasionally, those around them) and generally acted rather childish, in sharp contrast to Illia.

“Agreed,” he responded, not meeting Wendigo’s eyes. “It really is rather odd… I hope that Khaza can give a decent explanation on this matter.” Or that she at least would apologize to the young windigo, he mentally added.

The two simply stood, then, awkwardly. They didn’t speak, and they didn’t even meet each others’ eyes, instead preferring to look elsewhere. After awhile, however, a new voice rang throughout the area as a familiar face came running out of the cavern.

“Rolan!” Khaza called, loudly, her voice ringing throughout the area. “Oh, and I see Wendigo’s here, too! Great!”

The other windigo blushed, slightly, and looked away. “Um… y-yeah,” he said, although Rolan could see that he was trying to add an air of formality to his voice that seemed to be sorely lacking, “you asked me to come here, right…? Lady Khaza,” he added at the end, quickly.

Khaza grinned, and stepped over to him. “Of course I did!” she said, not once taking her eyes off of Wendigo. “After all, I have a very, very important job for you.”

Before Wendigo could ask exactly what that was, she spoke, again. “See, Rolan here’s a bit uptight --” she gestured over to him, smirking as she did so “-- and I wanted a pony who help him lighten up a bit.” She chuckled, slightly, at that. “So, to commemorate this, I’ve decided that from this day forward, you, Wendigo, are going to be our new friend!”

“WHAT?!” both of the other windigoes shouted in unison.

Rolan couldn’t even begin to fathom what Khaza was thinking with that. Certainly, he was very formal, but to just randomly befriend a pony -- and to ask them so bluntly, at that -- was absolutely insane.

Khaza giggled, before she continued. “See, I’ve been keeping an eye out on all the windigoes around here,” she started, “and I saw you, Wendigo; you’re friendly, bright, and, best of all, you don’t feel the need to use large words in order to pretend that you’re ‘formal’ or ‘intelligent’.” She winked at Rolan, knowingly, and he flushed. “So I thought to myself: ‘why not add him to our little group of friends?’ Besides, it would help even out the dynamic we’ve got going for us.”

Of all the things that Khaza could have said, nothing made Rolan both simultaneously surprised and annoyed as much as that did. While he couldn’t deny her brilliance, adding Wendigo to their group of friends -- and not knowing him prior to their meeting that day -- seemed to be one of the most idiotic and childish things that she had ever said. And, to add insult to injury, her claim that he was so uptight was completely unjustified, mostly because Rolan knew that he had to protect her, and that he couldn’t risk forming friendships with ponies besides she and the three sleipnirs.

However, he did have to admit that she had a very good point in that assumption of hers, foolish as it may have been; Khaza did need a friend who was as informal as she was, and who could be seen at a moment’s notice. Also, it likely couldn’t hurt, seeing as Wendigo didn’t appear to be dangerous in the slightest.

The windigo in question blinked. “Wh… Wait, a-are you being serious about this, Lady Khaza?” he asked, voice trembling. “I… I mean, I…”

Khaza giggled, again, at the very evident blush that had appeared on Wendigo’s face, made even more obvious by the fact that he was nearly the same color as the snow around them. “Of course!” she said, in her singsong voice that she knew annoyed Rolan to no end.

When he didn’t answer for a few seconds, she added, “So? What do you say?”

“I-I’m…” Wendigo said, and he licked his lips. “… S-sure, I guess…”

Khaza clapped her hooves together, then. “Awesome!” she said. “From this day forward, the three of us shall be friends! This I decree, as Queen Khaza of Snowfall!” She raised her hoof into the air formally, before breaking out into hysterics.

Rolan sighed, and rolled his eyes. He could sense nothing but trouble from this.

“Wh… Me, are you certain?” Rolan asked, standing in the main room of Khaza’s “castle” (which was actually just the area attached to the chamber of the Glacius). “I mean, this is a fairly important choice on your part…”

Khaza nodded, her expression oddly serious. “Hey,” she said, “I did name you as my successor, and I don’t think I’m really cut out for ruling a nation like Snowfall.” The queen yawned, then, and held one of her hooves out. “Besides, you’ve always been better at political stuff than I am.”

Rolan thought this over for a moment. “But didn’t the last king of Snowfall declare that the only way a successor can take the title of the current ruler if they are killed?”

“You’re right,” said Khaza, and she grinned, “but… I’m the queen, y’know? I think they’ll make an exception, especially considering how much everypony here seems to like you.”

Rolan blinked. “Everypony likes me?” he asked, surprised. “Huh, I thought most of them hated me…”

“Ha! How could anypony hate you, Rolan?” asked the current queen, chuckling. “I mean, yeah, you’re a bit uptight, but I think you’re a genius. Smarter than I am, at least.”

“I-I don’t think…”

“Oh, c’mon!” Khaza said. “Who was it who managed to point out the unfairness of our treaty with the Griffin Empire, and get a new one written up? Who beat Lynar in a game of poker?”

Rolan almost interjected to point out that the two statements had absolutely nothing to do with each other, and that the second was primarily based around his luck, rather than his intellect, before Khaza interrupted him. “You did, Rolan,” she said, unnecessarily.

He sighed, then. “… I suppose that you’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” he asked, and sighed once more when she shook her head. “But… allow me this, at least: why not Wendigo?”

In spite of his brashness, their friend had shown an immense intelligence, particularly in politics, which had impressed even he.

Khaza let out a sigh of her own. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “He’s brilliant, but...” She stepped towards him, and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Well, I’m really not sure, to be honest. I mean, yeah, he’s a genius, but I think it’s more that I’ve known you for longer, and that I can pretty much crawl into your head, and understand just what you’re thinking. It’s not that I trust you more than him; I just know, for a fact, that you’d make a better ruler.”

“That… makes no sense,” Rolan said, not bothering that hide his feelings, “but I think I can understand your logic. Somewhat.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hoof. “But what if I don’t accept?”

Khaza nodded. “I figured you’d ask that,” she admitted, “and I’m not gonna say, ‘Rolan, you have to do this,’ or something like that. If you don’t accept, then I’m not gonna challenge you on it; it’s your choice.”

That was precisely what he wanted to hear on the matter, so Rolan looked up, then, and smiled. “Very well,” he said, “I accept.”

The sextet of creatures sat around a low table, looking each other with eyes ablaze, attempting to find any sign of weakness that could be located on their foes in their heated battle.

“Full house!” Lynar announced, cheerfully, as he lay his cards -- consisting of three kings and two aces -- down onto the table.

The rest of the group let out a simultaneous groan of annoyance as the sleipnir took his winnings for the fifteenth game in a row.

“Ugh, I knew we shouldn’t have accepted…” muttered Khaza, her head in her hooves. Even the spirit of the Glacius was not immune to Lynar’s ridiculous luck.

The sleipnir flashed her a winning smile, then, and began to deal out the cards once more. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have offered a game, Khaza,” he responded.

Cora sighed. “Would you believe that this isn’t the most he’s won?” she grumbled, but didn’t wait for a response. “We’ve gone fifty-seven games, once…”

“Fifty-eight, actually,” Illia said, her face now completely focused on the cards she now held, studying them intently. “Although, I cannot deny that there was the time, once, when Rolan bested Lynar. How long ago was that, again?”

“Too long,” Khaza muttered, darkly, keeping her eyes on her cards.

Wendigo nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That was… what, four-hundred years ago? Not too long after you met me, right, Khaza?”

“Indeed,” Rolan said, and spoke no more.

The cards met the table, once more, and Lynar let out a bark of triumphant laughter. “Ha! Four-of-a-kind!” he shouted, gesturing to the three queens and two jacks that adorned his side of the table. “Guess I win again, huh?”

The sleipnir reached into the middle of the table, then, and grabbed his winnings, much to the annoyance of his opponents.

“Dammit,” Khaza hissed, “this is ridiculous!”

Cora grit her teeth. “I know!” she shouted.

“I think you are all getting a bit too excited over a poker game,” said Rolan, chuckling slightly. “It’s just a game of chance; it’s not as if the world is at stake.”

Illia grinned. “That is an excellent point, Rolan,” she responded. “Perhaps Khaza was right to put you in charge of Snowfall, after all… You’re far more level-headed than she.”

Wendigo smirked. “Honestly, Khaza, it’s just a game.” He ignored her rage-filled eyes, and chuckled. “It’s a bit like a game of chess, in that regard.”

“How so?” asked Lynar, bemused.

Wendigo simply flashed him a small smile, and said, “You see, Lynar, chess is a game of intellect; a game of knowledge. You must know your opponent, recognize their next move, and throw them into a trap of your own.” He lay down his own hand, then, for the round had yet to truly end. “And by taking my queen, I have stolen your king.”

He lay the cards down, then, as the others gawked in surprise at his hand. “Royal flush,” Wendigo announced, smirking.

“What!” Lynar gasped.

Khaza laughed, clapping her forelegs together, and Cora joined in, as well. “Whaddaya think of that, Lynar?” the former queen of Snowfall shouted.

Rolan leaned back, smirking to himself. Very few ponies had ever bested Lynar in a game of chance; the sleipnir’s luck was infamously ridiculous, and his ability only made him even better. However, Wendigo had bested him already, and had provided quite an interesting speech, too.

He truly was brilliant, and knew just how to make an entrance. Rolan knew, then, just who to make his successor.

It was at that moment, however, that a new figure burst into the room. He was a windigo, and was somewhat short compared to the others -- save Wendigo, of course -- but he stood with his back somewhat straight, even as he rushed into the chamber.

The young windigo let out a gasp, trying to catch his breath. “L-Lord Rolan!” he breathed, “m-my apologies if I’m interrupting anything, but…” He coughed, and tried to make himself seem taller than he was, before he continued, only to be cut off by Wendigo.

“Say, Deun,” he said, cheerfully, “good to see you! Why don’t you join us?”

Deun flushed, then, and looked away. “I-I, er…” he stated, eloquently. “I… I was given a message for Lord Rolan Rimeheart.”

Illia shot the king of Snowfall a glance. “’Rimeheart’?”

Rolan shrugged. “I desired a title that I could use,” he said. “’Lord Rolan’ sounds somewhat bland on its own.”

He looked over, then, at Deun. “But I see that you’re playing the part of the messenger. Alright, what is it that you wish to tell me?”

The young private stepped in place a bit, and cleared his throat. “I-I… you’ve received a request to be met, Sir,” he stated, slowly, and licked his lips, “by… by Lord Chronos.”

There was silence, then, for several minutes. Lord Chronos desired to see Rolan? But why? What reason could there possibly be for such a meeting? Rolan wasn’t particularly important; Snowfall was only a small nation near Equestria, after all, and the windigoes were not known nearly as well as anypony could hope, instead being thought of as mere apparitions throughout much of the world, rather than actual creatures.

“… Thank you,” he said, at last, and nodded to Deun. “You are dismissed.”

“Actually, hold on a moment!” Wendigo said, and he grinned. “If you’re gonna be gone for awhile, Rolan… mind if we have Deun fill in for you?”

The younger windigo flushed, again, clearly not used to being looked at like that. “Erm…” he started, “I’m… not sure if I…”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Cora, ignoring Deun. “I mean, we could get a bit lonely here without you…” she added, teasingly, having evidently forgotten her outrage towards Lynar.

Khaza chuckled. “I don’t have any complaints about it.”

“Same,” responded Lynar, still looking somewhat annoyed over his loss.

Deun was clearly trying to make himself look smaller than he was, before he said. “W-well, I’m not sure what the soldiers back at the barracks will say about it…”

“Just tell ‘em it’s a direct order from Lord Rolan Rimeheart!” said Wendigo, still grinning. “I don’t think any of them’ll deny you, then.”

“Okay… if you say so,” Deun said, nervously, before sitting down at the spot that Rolan had now left.

The king of Snowfall chuckled, then, looking over the small recruit. He had heard much about him from several of the more famous generals, especially of his intellect, skill, and speed, but of his low self-esteem and general shyness around ponies.

He couldn’t wait to see just what an incredible soldier Deun would become, once he was helped with the latter two, and left as the young windigo began to draw cards from the pile, his hooves shaking as he did so.

The royal palace, situated in the young, thriving village known as “Canterlot”, sat, piercing the sky with its tallest spire, a marvel for all to see, and that would likely last forever.

Rolan stood amongst it all, awkwardly, as he waited within the main lobby, the massive door that guarded the throne room shut so tightly that not even the smallest sliver of wind could escape nor enter.

He felt anxious, nervous, at the very idea that he could be meeting with the famous Lord Chronos, king of time itself, and the god whom others bowed their heads to in respect. Rolan couldn’t even begin to fathom the reason why such a magnificent and powerful being would desire to meet with him, who simply stood as the king of a newer, non-famous race. As these thoughts bombarded him, he felt his legs acting on their own, and began to pace to-and-fro, slowly, deliberately, whilst his legs shook.

What could it be about? Could it be due to Khaza suddenly granting him the title of “King”? Could it be because Lord Chronos felt he was unworthy of such a role?

What possible reason could there have been for the god of time to ask to speak with him?

At last, after several minutes -- which felt stretched into hours -- of simply walking around the lobby, the door to Lord Chronos’s chamber opened, the massive oak doors swinging back to reveal a place filled entirely with light.

Two soldiers, an earth pony and a unicorn, stepped from the light, their bodies covered in gleaming, golden armor. “Lord Rolan Rimeheart of Snowfall,” the earth pony stated, his voice deep, “Lord Chronos shall now speak with you.”

“Indeed,” stated the other, her voice higher-pitched. “Follow us, if you will, and we shall lead you to him.”

Without awaiting his response, the two guards turned away, stepping back and into the light behind them. Rolan followed, despite his instincts telling him otherwise, that something terrible was to happen.

And then, his body hitting the sheet of light, the room behind him vanished, and the room before him emerged. It was, evidently, Lord Chronos’s throne room, the color blue, and the walls covered in several stained-glass windows that depicted his victories over monsters, and his son’s and daughter’s victories, as well. All of them allowed a beautiful, wondrous light to radiate into the long chamber, and made Rolan feel immensely small in comparison. But nothing made him feel smaller than the figure before him.

There, sitting upon the largest throne, was the figure that he had been seeking. Lord Chronos was tall, his body no less than eight feet in height, and his eyes filled with nothing but a strange compassion. He was stark white in color, the same as a blank canvas, with several black signs adorning his figure, each representing a number on a clock. His wings were pulled in towards his sides, while his horn radiated magic from where it lay on his forehead, nearly covered by his gray mane.

Beside him sat the young, beautiful princess of Equestria, Celestia, who appeared to be somewhat small, as well, and looked about as nervous as Rolan felt at the moment. She was seated upon a smaller throne, and was desperately avoiding Rolan’s gaze, instead focusing upon the windows, the two guards who had brought him in, and Lord Chronos, himself.

The god of time stood, his presence seeming to overtake the entirety of the chamber. “It is a pleasure to meet you, truly,” he stated, in a voice that Rolan could not even begin to identify; it was soft, yet powerful, and warm, while still showing restraint. It could hardly be described as anything but “deep” and “powerful”.

Rolan could feel tension in his throat, closing it up. He tried to speak, but nothing would leave except for the sounds of small squeaks and quiet gasps. At last, after several minutes of the four figures in the room staring at him, all seeming unable to understand his appearance, he was able to blurt out, “VERILY, ’TIS A PLEASURE TO MEET THOU, AS WELL!”

It was fantastic that he had allowed himself the chance to discover how, exactly, to use the so-called “Royal Canterlot Voice” while traveling from Snowfall. However, the effect of what he said was not what he had in mind.

Princess Celestia looked him over for a few moments, biting down on her lower lip while tears began to form in her eyes. Had he offended her, somehow? Had he caused her any stress, or pain?

And then, in that instant, she started to laugh. Not a dignified laugh, as one would expect from a princess, but rather she fell off of her throne, clutching at her stomach while she showed her mirth at that statement. “Th-that’s…” she said, and was unable to continue that statement.

Rolan flushed, knowing that he had obviously already made a massive error in speaking with that tone.

“Th… I don’t…” laughed the princess, unable to contain herself.

Even Lord Chronos and the two stone-faced guards below him seemed unable to keep their laugher in check, with the dignified, calm face that he was so known by nearly shattering as they all laughed at Rolan’s plight, his cheeks now a bright red.

Once Lord Chronos had composed himself, he coughed, loudly. “Ahem, yes,” he said, struggling to retake his flat expression. “Lord Rolan, you must know that the Royal Canterlot Voice is only to be used in public, and only to convey our strength and position to the ponies around us, no?”

Princess Celestia still laughed, albeit not as hard as before. “Th… I don’t think that was used in proper vernacular…” she said, giggling. She reminded him of Illia, somewhat, in that regard.

The guards had since regained their stolid, flat faces, yet were very clearly trying not to break out of that façade they had formed. The unicorn looked to be having the hardest time, constantly looking away from him, while the earth pony’s eyes seemed to be watering.

“O-oh,” he said, sheepishly, “I… apologize, then, if I may.”

Lord Chronos nodded. “But of course,” he said. “It is only natural for a pony not from Equestria to be unfamiliar with our customs. Besides,” he added, with a small smile, “I don’t believe I’ve seen my guards nearly double over in laughter for years. You must be commended for that, at the very least.”

Trying to change the subject quickly, Rolan said, “Lord Chronos, what is it you desire to ask of me?”

Lord Chronos nodded, once more. “I see that you are straight to the point,” he mused. “Very well, in that case, I shall tell you what you desire to know.” He nodded to the guards in front of him. “Captain Oceana, Lieutenant Gild,” he stated, “you two may leave us.”

The duo nodded, and, wordlessly, exited the chamber through the door that opened into the curtain of light.

The king of time looked towards Rolan, then. “Lord Rolan Rimeheart,” he said, “you have been called here by I, Lord Chronos, king of Equestria, in order for me to make a simple request of you: I would ask that you -- and the rest of the windigoes, for that matter -- allow Snowfall to be made into a province of our nation.”

Rolan’s heart stopped at that. Becoming a province of Equestria, one of the most powerful nations in the world? It was an astounding opportunity. Yet that left one question, and it was the one that he truly wanted answered. “And… what is the benefit to Snowfall in the case that I accept?”

“I realized that you were likely to ask that question,” admitted Lord Chronos, and he nodded. “I… cannot guarantee that much will change in how Snowfall is, as a nation, yet I can say, with full confidence, that I shall do everything in my power to benefit the ponies, windigoes, and other species who live there.”

Rolan blinked. “’Benefit the windigoes?’” he asked, quietly. “Most creatures outside of Snowfall do not know of our existence, and the few that do believe us to be monstrous creatures who sow the seeds of hatred purely for the purpose of reaping its rewards for ourselves. In that case, however, why would you ever desire to assist our kind?”

“Because, Lord Rolan,” came a new voice, one that was calm, and polite, yet oddly cold, “Chronos and I both desire to see the windigoes rise to their full potential, and that cannot be done unless they are given aid.”

A new figure stepped forward. He was an alicorn -- or, at the very least, he held the appearance of one -- and was at least as tall as Lord Chronos. He was a deep, dark purple in color, with red mixed in to add detail, with a black mane. The alicorn’s entire body seemed to have been formed out of some kind of steel, and his wings were like flames that danced across his back.

“My apologies for being late, Chronos,” he said, somewhat casually. “I had some difficulty arriving here on schedule.”

“I suppose so,” said Lord Chronos, ignoring that his title had been forgotten. “Please, come and join us, Hatred.”

Rolan’s heart nearly stopped, again. The abstract force who represented pure hate, yet who seemed almost devoid of it himself, and the creator of the windigoes, stood before him. “Very well,” Lord Hatred said, mimicking Lord Chronos’s speaking patterns. “I’ve no objections in regards to that.”

The lord of hatred stepped up, then, and stood at Lord Chronos’s side, the opposite position of Princess Celestia.

Rolan gulped, then. “Um…” he started, his voice eloquent, “I…”

Princess Celestia smirked at his predicament. “Huh,” she said, “I didn’t realize that a windigo’s face could get that red.”

“Celestia,” Lord Chronos said, sharply, “please do not cause any more stress for Lord Rolan than is necessary. I do not desire to cause him any difficulty on this matter.” He looked towards Rolan, then, and sighed. “Forgive my daughter,” he mused, “she is… rather new to politics. But, rather than dwell into my daughter’s past, allow me this: have you made your decision?”

Rolan sighed, and looked away. If he didn’t watch either Lord Hatred or Lord Chronos, he figured, that would likely make it far easier for him to answer. “… No,” he admitted, “I haven’t. However, before all of this is over, Lord Chronos allow me a question.”

“Ask as many questions as you require,” replied the king of Equestria.

Rolan nodded. “Very well,” he said. “What if I decline your offer? What, in that case, would you say?” It had worked before on Khaza, after all. There was no reason why it shouldn’t have worked on Lord Chronos.

As if on cue, he nodded in reply. “You have every right to decline,” he said, attempting to meet Rolan’s eyes. “I do not desire to inconvenience you in any way, in the case that you do.”

Rolan nodded, again. “Very well,” he repeated, and met Chronos’s eyes. “Then I cannot accept your offer.”

Silence took hold of the throne room, as the four ponies within allowed that question to sit for a moment. Princess Celestia’s eyes were wide and her jaw had dropped in shock at the prospect of denying her father, Lord Chronos was silent, staring into Rolan’s eyes, and Lord Hatred stood, his eyes wide, as well.

“May I ask… why?” Lord Chronos asked. His tone was not angry, nor annoyed, but genuinely curious.

“Lord Hatred is right,” replied Rolan, quietly. “The windigoes -- as they stand, now -- are weak. Our kind isn’t particularly dangerous, or powerful, and we are far from our maximum potential.” He shook his head, then, and sighed. “However, allowing another nation to take us, to add us to their ranks, would do nothing for our kind. We have to get more powerful, and more prosperous, not by your merits, though it pains me to say, but by our own.”

Lord Hatred was silent for a moment, before a small smile crossed his lips. “Didn’t I tell you, Chronos?” he asked, the formality he had once held slipping away.

“I suppose so,” replied the king of Equestria, and he sighed, turning his head back towards Rolan. “You have brought up a very good argument, Lord Rolan, and I cannot claim otherwise. But you are wrong on one matter.”

Rolan cocked his head at this, curiously. “What is that?”

“The windigoes are not weak,” Chronos said. “You showed us that, just now.”

“Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” laughed a new, more feminine voice.

Lord Hatred’s hoof fell just short of his forehead. “Of course you would be eavesdropping, wouldn’t you?” he muttered. “You really must stop being so nosy, Fear.”

Immediately as these words left his mouth, the air around them changed, and a sleipnir stepped from it. She was tall, around Princess Celestia’s height, and had a dark red coat with a rust-colored mane.

“I dunno about that,” said the avatar of fear. “I mean, when two of the most powerful creatures in existence decide to gather together in order to talk to some windigo, who am I to stay away?” She jumped right in front of Rolan, then, startling him. “Ha! So you’re Rolan, right? My name’s ‘Fear’, queen of terror, nightmares, and all that other crap.”

“Fear!” Lord Chronos shouted, annoyed, “can you not still your tongue? We’re in the middle of an important talk, here!”

Fear giggled. “Oh, c’mon, now, Chronos!” she said, smirking. “It’s not like any of us are gonna judge you, ya know. You can drop that ‘high and proper’ act of yours.”

Rolan looked to Lord Hatred for an answer to what was happening, and he sighed. “This is Fear, as you can likely guess,” he grumbled. “My sister, to be specific, and likely the most annoying creature ever to walk upon the ground.”

Fear sighed, and straightened her back. “And you, Hatred,” she said, her voice losing its airiness, and becoming almost serious, “can stop acting like the world revolves around you. Honestly, ‘Lord’ Hatred? ‘Lord’ Chronos? Please. I don’t make ponies call me ‘Lady Fear’, do I? Sheesh, you two need to stop being so uptight about everything for once in your eternal, never-ending lives.”

“Wh… Fear!” Lord Hatred shouted, his face red.

Rolan, then, began to laugh, watching the antics that occurred before him, and felt a strange joy overtake him. Maybe it was because Fear had a decent point in that regard, or perhaps it was due to Lord Hatred seeming to shed his more dignified persona in order to scold his sister, but he didn’t quite care.

As soon as he stopped laughing, however, Rolan cleared his throat. “I trust this conversation of ours is over?” he asked. “Because if so, I would ask if I might take my leave.”

“Really, you’re leaving so soon?” Fear asked, and she sighed. “I didn’t scare you off, did I? ‘Cause, ya know, I’m kinda good at that…”

“F-Fear!” Lord Hatred shouted, annoyed, “leave R… Lord Rolan to his peace, so that he may return to Snowfall!”

Lord Chronos sighed, and began to rub his temples. “Yes, Rolan, this meeting has ended. If you desire, you may return home.”

Rolan smiled, slightly. “Good,” he said. “I may make it in time to finish that poker game…”

Fear instantly looked up. “What’s this about a ‘poker game’?” she asked, curiously.

Rolan sighed, knowing that he would have to answer. “A friend of mine -- several friends, I should say -- hold a game of power sometimes, provided that the six of us are free.”

“Well,” Fear said, grinning, “mind if I join you? I could go for a game of poker at the moment…”

“I-I’m not sure that they would…” Rolan started, only to trail off once Lord Hatred looked up.

The avatar of hate nodded his head. “Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I wish to join, as well,” he said, taking on his more formal demeanor. “At this point, I haven’t much I can accomplish, given that I effectively only sit back and watch the windigoes grow. It could be intriguing, this game of chance, I mean.”

“Oh, can I come, too?” asked Princess Celestia, jumping up. “This place is really boring, at least right now, but you seem pretty cool, Rolan! Mind if I come, too?”

“B… I…” Rolan could say literally nothing at the moment, his mind blank and his eyes wide. The very idea that anypony would actually want to play poker against Lynar was astonishing.

Lord Chronos stood up, and smiled. “If this poker game is to be that exciting,” he said, “perhaps I should join, as well. I expected our session to last longer, so I scheduled seven hours of speaking, and I’ve not anything else to do between now and then…”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Rolan was extremely excited about that idea, he would have passed out, then-and-there. At last, however, he was able to compose himself. “W-well,” he said, “I just want to warn all of you… you’ll be playing against one of the luckiest stallions in the entire world, so…”

Fear grinned. “Please, I doubt he’s that good.”

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! screamed Fear, as Lynar collected his winnings for the eighty-third time that night. "Dammit, Lynar!"

The young sleipnir wore a smile that blended both complete innocence with complete evil. "I don't know what you're talking about, Fear," he replied, and smiled at all the others around him. "Say, any of you want to go for another round?" Before waiting for a response, he shuffled the deck -- using two, now, due to there being too many ponies to play with just one -- and dealt out the cards.

"Dammit, his luck is ridiculous," Fear muttered, ignoring that she'd blatantly refused to listen to Rolan, earlier.

Cora grit her teeth. "I know, right?!"

"Wendigo, you'd better get another royal flush!" Khaza snapped, glaring at the small windigo.

"Yes, Khaza," he replied, "I should just pull a complete victory out of thin air, like how most ponies do."

Hatred laughed, looking surprisingly joyful at this. "Well, I'm certainly glad I decided to join you in your game," he declared, having dropped most of his formal tone, and had instead taken upon himself his more casual, less dramatic true personality. "This is far better than simply standing back and doing nothing."

"I'm pretty sure just about anything is better than simply watching time flow by," replied Illia, her eyes affixed to the cards that she held, and she sighed. "However, I must say that the prospect of being no more than a watcher is truly a wretched ideal; I believe it is best that you decided to join us in our game, Hatred. And the rest of you, as well."

"It's certainly made it more interesting," added Wendigo. "Especially watching you all be so surprised when Lynar wins... again." He said the last word completely casually, not even having a single touch of venom to it as he spoke.

When the five of them had arrived in Snowfall to join the game, the other six -- including Deun, who rarely spoke to them throughout it -- had reacted precisely as one would have expected: they all were worried, and spoke with such formality that the four gods had since asked them to stop. After that, even their titles were null, and they simply all sat around the table, the eleven of them having to squeeze in, slightly, as they played their game of chance.

Princess Celestia was oddly quiet, focusing on the cards she held using her magic with immense intensity. "This is fun," she said, "and I wish I'd known about all of this earlier. We should do this more often!"

"Yeah," Fear said through grit teeth, "maybe one of us'll actually manage to freaking beat Lynar."

"I don't know about that," responded Khaza, and she lay down her hand. Not nearly enough to win. "Wendigo beat him, earlier."

"What! Are you serious?!"

"Yeah. It was pretty amazing," Cora said, and she sighed. "I think I'm running out of things to bet..."

"Same here," replied Hatred. "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this..."

Illia sighed. "Well," she said, matter-of-factly, "we have reached round eighty-four, as it were, so I would imagine that we cannot continue for far longer than this."

Chronos chuckled, and Rolan noted how odd it was to see such a powerful creature being so informal, and so casual, and calm around other ponies such as they. It was somewhat humbling. "Well, I have little left that I can bet," he admitted, "and I do not desire to be forced to use any of the national treasury in order to continue our game."

The others let out a small laugh at that, and Lynar grinned, laying down his hand. "Well, guess I'm walking away as our champion. Again."

Fear rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath about how much she wanted to rip Lynar apart. Meanwhile, Rolan noticed that the others had all been studying their cards, as if trying to figure out if what they held was anywhere near as valuable as what Lynar had laid down, but Rolan knew better than to challenge him; not once during their entire game had Lynar needed to use his talent, after all, and he was still the victor so many times, only proving his completely improbable luck in the matter of... everything.

"No, Fear, I will not accept 'your soul' as a bet," Lynar said, dryly, bringing Rolan back to reality.

"But I don't have anything else on me!"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," said everypony, all completely deadpan. Even Deun, the nervous, shy little creature, had spoken, albeit quietly.

Instantly, the room broke out into laughter, the eleven creatures -- from the smallest to the largest -- burst out into peals of mirth at their combined statement, which was so perfectly timed that it may as well have been planned. Even Lynar couldn't resist the joy that seemed to surround them, doubling over on the table as he nearly choked.

Rolan allowed himself a small smirk, looking over the group. This easily had to be one of the greatest things he'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing, and simply seeing the joy felt by the ponies all around him was wonderful. If he could capture any moment forever, and know that it had happened, that simple game of poker would most certainly have been it.

He wanted every day to be as great as that one, but knew that such a thing would be impossible. After all, had he been able to guess what was to happen in only a century, perhaps he would not have claimed such a thing, after all.

Nearly a century had passed since Rolan had declined Chronos's request -- as they had long since dropped their titles -- and he had made good on his goal to make Snowfall a beautiful, prosperous nation. Certainly, it was nowhere near as wondrous as Equestria, yet that did not matter to him; as long as its citizens were happy, the windigoes were getting by, and the lands around them saw them as a viable threat and chose not to invade, Rolan was satisfied.

It was a slow day, certainly, and he stood in what Khaza had once called her "castle"; a small cavern connected to the chamber that had once held the Glacius. Nopony had come to meet him for days, save Wendigo and Khaza, and even fewer had requested anything of him that was in his power to act upon.

However, he was still happy, and, as Wendigo stepped into the throne room, he knew he would be even happier.

"Wendigo," he said, "how are you?"

His friend nodded, but his eyes looked somewhat forlorn. For just a moment, he was silent. "... Lord Rolan Rimeheart," he stated, slowly, "I, Wendigo, have come to challenge you for the right to rule Snowfall."

Rolan felt a chill run down his spine. Had it been any other day, or had Wendigo's tone not been so quiet, he would have believed it to have been a joke, but with the current circumstances, he could not deny the obvious intent in the windigo's eyes. "Whatever for?" he asked.

Wendigo met his eyes, then, and he saw a strange coldness in them. "No true reason," he replied. "I simply desire to see you dead."

"Wh-what?!" Rolan gasped, only to stop, as he felt something pierce his chest, and let out a scream of agony as he fell to the ground.

"Such a fool," muttered Wendigo, stepping around him. "You really assumed that any of that idiotic 'friendship' was out of a mutual desire for companionship? Please. I played my cards right, and I mastered this game; I convinced Khaza to befriend me, you to befriend me, and was even able to get Chronos and Hatred on my side, as well. Ha! You truly are fools to have all fallen for such a trick." Rolan could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Wendigo held two daggers; one was the color of obsidian, and the other was nearly transparent.

He leaned down, then, and placed his face close to Rolan's, smirking. "Especially you, Lord Rolan Rimeheart. Naming me your successor has just now backfired quite horribly, hasn't it?" he laughed, humorlessly. "And now here you are, dying on the ground, like the worthless, useless, damned fool that you are!"

And then, there was the feeling of something sharp in between Rolan's shoulder blades, and the world around him turned dark.

Rolan stood, his back still against the building, quietly, as he waited. All of those memories had once been things that he loved, and that he looked at with such joy; his two closest friends, however, had been snatched away from him. One had fallen into evil, and had sated his monstrous appetite with blood. The other had been locked away, forced to take upon herself another form, and left in the snow to lay in pain.

However, Rolan had yet to give up hope. Although he doubted that it could be true, he still hoped, prayed, that there was still some scrap of compassion within Wendigo's frozen heart, no matter what had occurred. He couldn't deny that he hated the bastard, but there was still that desire to know precisely what had happened, and what had caused him to kill so readily.

They couldn't change the past, but they could still alter the future, and make it brighter, and better than what had already transpired. The Wendigo he had once known no longer existed, he had told himself, and there was nothing that could be done except for learning the truth.

And then -- only then, once the truth was discovered -- could they truly bring an end to Wendigo's foul regime.

And the nation could finally become Snowfall once again.