I rewatched the deleted scene where it shows Kronos actually escaping the well. It got me thinking about the show again and so I went and reread some chapters from "An Evening at Joes" and this is what I came up with. Also, they were a little vague on how long he was down in the well so I put it at a thousand years. Please enjoy!
Betrayal was not a concept Kronos would ever have imagined himself becoming familiar with. He was not a man that smart people betrayed and yet he had been betrayed and by one of his own.
Methos had betrayed him, locked him away in a well for centuries. His own brother, a man he had fought along side and shared food and drink with. . . Someone who's very life he had both saved and spared multiple times and the reality of it was almost too humiliating to bare.
For centuries now he had been trapped in the well, left there by a man he still thought of as his brother while Methos went off and played his games of pretend in the open world.
But he was out now.
A dead novice monk lay behind him, echoes of prayer on his still lips to a god that had risen in Kronos's absence.
Away from the well and ruins he fled, away from his brother's idea of a cell. He wanted fresh air and wind on his face again. He had been denied that for so long but he wasn't crazed. He'd had time to think down there and think he had. He had thought of many things, of what had gone wrong with the Horsemen and what he would do to Methos when he found him.
He'd hurt him, that much was sure but he wouldn't kill him. Methos had not killed him and without him there were no Horsemen.
Since the original group he'd formed he had been able to find no other men like them. Methos, Caspian and Silas has simply been a cut above the rest or perhaps it was that they had simply worked well together. The formula of mind and strength had melded perfectly when they had ridden side by side and it was Methos who had first broken their band apart.
If he could get him back then all could be restored. They'd ride again and this softening world would learn what it meant to fear once more.
He was weak however as he stumbled away from the well and his prison. Priests and useless men of piety had come and brought him food, no doubt sent by none other than his old friend. Perhaps Methos had some misplaced notion of brotherhood still but it had never been enough and he would have to eat and become strong again.
It wouldn't take long and he would be at full strength again.
Wrapped in the priest boy's cloak he left his stagnant fate behind and made his way towards a cluster of buildings in the distance. There he would find a sword again, a proper one and start anew.
Word had not come that the priest boy was dead and when he arrived at the inn he was greeted with a surprising amount of respect.
"Father, have you travelled far?" The inn keeper asked.
He glanced at the man. Father? He was no one's son and no one's father to be sure. Yet he didn't correct him. "Oh yes, you could say that I have travelled far." He said. "and you could say I have not travelled far indeed at all."
The man gave him a strange look but nodded and he imagined now the priestling he had murdered might have been more important than he'd thought.
He would bide his time and see.
Greece looked the same, the landscape was unchanged but the buildings. . . There were changes there and the clothes the people wore were different.
He had no exact idea of how long he had been in the well, Methos had been gone for a great number of years, he knew that and as he ordered meat and bread and drink he thought of these things.
Where was Methos now? Where were any of the others? Silas and Caspian?
The inn keeper seemed curious about him and hung around. "Father, are you heading to the monastery?" He asked, pointing into the distance.
Kronos looked that way. Monastery? He did not understand this word. He shook his head just the same. "Only passing through." He said.
The man nodded and he ate with glutenous joy. So long he had been denied such things, only what the miserable priests brought him and threw down to him. Water and bread for they had feared him.
Well, they had been right to.
He finished his food and the inn keeper hesitated. "Bless me Father?" He asked.
Kronos laughed and made the sign the young priest had. "In the name of Jesus Christ, the Unknown One: you are blessed." He said, enjoying the theatrics. He knew nothing of this Christ. He only knew the little priest had cried the name and that when he had nothing had happened.
Kronos had outlived gods already. One more hardly made any difference. The only gods that were real were the ones that brought death. The ones like him and his brothers. They were what men should have feared.
When he had eaten and drunk and satiated himself he began to chat with the inn keeper, asking him little questions to test the world.
Much time had passed and he had a great deal to catch up on and learn. To adapt to but he could do it. It would not be hard for him. He could do it easily.
"I thank you for the food and the company." He said, eying the simple man who had served him.
The man turned to look at him. "Ah but you haven't played, father." He said as Kronos gathered himself and rose to leave.
He laughed then. "No, I haven't. Was my blessing not enough?"
The man fumbled. "Ah no of course but. . . Father would you rob me so?"
A petulant and stupid question. Of course he would and he drew near the man, almost conspiratorially. "Yes my child, I would."
He banged the man's head down on the counter, making him cry out as he grabbed him then by his ear and hit him again, over and over and over in a flurry of cathartic violence. He hit him until there was blood and the crying had stopped and then he did indeed rob him.
He took the purse of coins from the man's belt and a knife from behind the counter and grabbed up yet more bread for his travels.
Here was a blessing of the old days. A blessing of pestilence at it's most merciful. The moaning lump of flesh on the ground was not dead.
He went then and found the man's horse out back and stole that as well, finding it a weak, old nag, in no better shape than it's master but he swung himself onto the beast and was riding again.
It felt good to ride again.
A Horseman once more as he set off, leaving a small and useless corner of the world behind.
His quest would continue now. He would find Methos and his brothers if all were still living and one way or another, even if he had to torture Methos into it, he would reunite them.
He was free now and a thousand years of stagnation had come to an end. Pestilence rode once more and this new age, with her new gods and priests would know the taste of his blade and the fear of their ancestors for he would set right the old order and the world would kneel as it always had been meant to.
Kronos was free and so all should fear. His promises were of pain and brotherhood. He would have his day again.
Thanks for reading!
