A few hundred Septims goes a long way in a tavern, and The Frozen Hearth had always aided his journeys. The lycan downed another bottle of mead, the twentieth in the past two hours, shaking at the chilling sensation in his gut. A local drinking legend in Winterhold, no one gave it a second thought when he'd ordered so much, buying round after round for the other patrons. In a place as dreary as Winterhold, any joy was a welcome sight, and the young man, with his pockets lined, brought plenty of it to the town.

The locals were crowded around a table in the back, watching as a man out-drank every challenger. “If anyone can beat me, I'll buy the drinks for a week!” The man shouted, speech not slurred in the slightest. “How about you, sir?” he asked, pointing to an old Dunmer. “Or maybe you?” An Altmer this time. “Really, no takers? Are all the real men at the College or something?”

Not one to insulted, the young lycan took a seat across from the drinking machine. “I've never turned down a challenge, or lost for that matter. But I feel bad for taking a stranger's money, so,” The lycan held out his hand across the table. “What's your name?”

Taking it, the stranger replied with a smile, “Name's Sam, friend, and you are?”

“Ready to get started.”

@#@#@#@#@#@

“Citizens of Equestria, I, Princess Luna, welcome you to the Winter Solstice Festival!” There she was, in a large gazebo, looking out at those gathered. The guests were easily above three hundred in number. “As you know all too well, I was once Nightmare Moon, and was banished to it for attempting to bring eternal night, I returned one thousand years later, a year and a half ago, but thanks to the Elements of Harmony,” Luna motioned towards the six, seated to her left. “I was freed from being the Mare in the Moon, and have returned to my place at my sister's side, as your Princess.”

Luna stepped out of the gazebo, onto the small stage erected next to it. “Now, without further delay,” She began her ascension, “I declare,” Her moon began to show on the horizon, “The Winter Solstice Festival” The moon was now behind, its light partially obscuring her. “Commenced!” The moon's color shifted, once pale white, now a brilliant gold. As Luna landed, she looked upon the crowd, and was slightly put off by the shocked expressions of her subjects. She jumped slightly as they suddenly broke into applause, creating a thunderous roar.

The band began to play, the guests mingled, danced, and passed congratulations to the Princess of Night as she passed by. Everypony seemed to be on their best behavior, in fact, the only disturbance was a pegasus having an allergic reaction to one of the exotic flowers. Things were almost going too well, a rare occurrence at Canterlot parties. The whole situation made Celestia's nose itch.

“Luna, darling, what you did with the moon was brilliant!” Rarity, ever occupied by appearances, piped in.

“Ah hope Granny Smith didn't see that, she'll be headin to Fillydelphia to see Cousin Fritter for a new cart axle.” Applejack really didn't want to elaborate.

Pinkie Pie also spoke, but the speed at which she did made whatever message she tried to convey incoherent, although 'walrus' and 'battle-station' were identified.

#@#@#@#@#@#

They both downed the first mug of Sam's special brew in one pull. A slight warmth spread through the lycan, in his limbs. The second was poured, and consumed just as quickly, warmth settled in his torso, a slight shiver ran through him. Sam seemed unaffected, save for a slight coloring in his cheeks. The lycan could smell something in the air, outside of the usual scents one could attribute to a tavern. He had picked up this scent before, hard to describe, pleasant, but left his head buzzing.

A third mug was poured, while Sam seemed to inhale the stuff, the lycan hesitantly drank it. The fuzzy warmth spread up into his head, making thinking difficult, the scent on the air only adding to it. He looked to his opponent, who smiled with a slight glint in his eye. The lycan's chest began to feel uncomfortable, not good, definitely not good. He stood, wobbling slightly, “Sorry to cut the game short, but I have pressing matters to attend to.” He meant to say, but all that came out was a mixture of a groan and whimper. Stumbling through the gathered crowd, out into the cold air of the early night.

Snow fell, as it almost always did, heavily, gathering on the buildings and light fixtures almost fast enough to see. He moved East, towards the College, nearly tripping with each step. Just as he reached the stone entryway, he turned left, towards a natural ramp down the cliffs. The discomfort now full-blown pain, he knew just what was happening: transformation. He fell to his knees, onto the sand of the coast.

As his body shifted, the scent grew, becoming as intoxicating as that Breton's accursed drink. Instinct recognized what the rational mind failed to. The scent was indeed familiar, but he had no memory of it: The scent of fresh prey, unwitting and vulnerable, ready for the chase.

“Well, well, well, look at the lost puppy.” Sam's voice barely registered over the haze within the lycan's mind. “Out for a walk little fella? Shouldn't you be on a leash?” Had he understood, the man would have met his end. The lycan, half-way through this painfully long transformation, gave Sam a pained look. “What's the matter, the drinks not sit well with you? I guess I should have figured it would, dogs shouldn't eat from the table, after all.”

The lycan's vision blurred and shifted with him, changing the world around him into a flurry of colors with no certain border between them. From gray and white, to an array of bright colors and flickering lights. Solitude, perhaps? This certainly seemed similar to the Burning of King Olaf, at least color-wise. His thoughts slowly began to take form, he was not cold, his transformation was complete, Sam was gone. With each thought, complexity increased, his vision improved, smell with it.

Indeed, Solitude seemed the most likely possibility, regardless of how improbable the situation. He saw the Queen sitting across the massive garden, surrounded by guards. The townsfolk were observing him with both fear and curiosity, a combination he had never received. Guards came through the crowd, weapons drawn defensively, one spoke, words falling on deaf ears. Anger crossed the guards features, this time shouting, posture changing, becoming challenge, offensive.

The lycan out a roar, and the confrontation began..