The Wine of Wrath, by Amonitrate
Title: The Wine of Wrath
Author: amonitrate
Rating: None given
Why this must be read: This was another hard authour to choose just one her stories to rec. Why this particular one? I have to admit that Kronos made me do it. I love a story with a well written, three-dimensional Kronos, and this fits the bill nicely. This one is from Kronos' POV, set in the interlude between Comes a Horseman and Revelation 6:8.
The Wine of Wrath
Author's website: Palpable Obscure
"I sat outside your flat one night, my knife in my hand. I waited until I was sure you were asleep."
He twists in his seat to watch me. The nights we used to tell stories around the fire return to me. I keep my voice hushed, keep my eyes on his.
"I was about to break in when I remembered something you said once, back in the desert."
I wait. He doesn't speak but he doesn't look away either.
"Silas asked you where the stars went when the dust storms came."
"What did I say?" he asks.
"You told him they didn't go anywhere. That they were only hidden by the clouds."
"Even the stars have shifted since then."
There's a pleading note in his voice that he'd hate if he were aware of it.
"Maybe so," I say, "But they've never stopped being stars, have they?"
Methos shakes his head. Denial or agreement, it doesn't much matter.
"However deep inside you hide it the need never leaves you. The need for a power strong enough to drown out the fear, the boredom, the weariness."
"Not anymore," he insists. "I don't need it anymore."
Author: amonitrate
Rating: None given
Why this must be read: This was another hard authour to choose just one her stories to rec. Why this particular one? I have to admit that Kronos made me do it. I love a story with a well written, three-dimensional Kronos, and this fits the bill nicely. This one is from Kronos' POV, set in the interlude between Comes a Horseman and Revelation 6:8.
The Wine of Wrath
Author's website: Palpable Obscure
"I sat outside your flat one night, my knife in my hand. I waited until I was sure you were asleep."
He twists in his seat to watch me. The nights we used to tell stories around the fire return to me. I keep my voice hushed, keep my eyes on his.
"I was about to break in when I remembered something you said once, back in the desert."
I wait. He doesn't speak but he doesn't look away either.
"Silas asked you where the stars went when the dust storms came."
"What did I say?" he asks.
"You told him they didn't go anywhere. That they were only hidden by the clouds."
"Even the stars have shifted since then."
There's a pleading note in his voice that he'd hate if he were aware of it.
"Maybe so," I say, "But they've never stopped being stars, have they?"
Methos shakes his head. Denial or agreement, it doesn't much matter.
"However deep inside you hide it the need never leaves you. The need for a power strong enough to drown out the fear, the boredom, the weariness."
"Not anymore," he insists. "I don't need it anymore."