Chapter 5

'Stop touching it.'

'I'm not touching it!'

'You just did!'

'That was by accident!'

'Was not!'

'Was too!'

'Fine.'

'Fine.'

Medea rolled away from Murtagh, propping her chin on her hands and glaring at him from the corner of her eye. He lay on the marble floor next to her, never taking his eyes off the red dragon egg in front of him, his gaze full of hatred. The only reason why he still hadn't destroyed the egg was Medea, who had been watching him like a hawk, preventing him from as much as touching the glowing stone. He lay awake in his room for hours before taking the egg and creeping into Medea's room, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night anyway. In silence they stared at the unmoving egg, wishing for different things.

Medea wished it would hatch so that Murtagh's life would be spared.
Murtagh wished to throw the egg out of the window, to watch it smashing into little pieces, and to know that although he would die, he would not become a slave of the Empire – and nor would anyone else in his place.
Neither of these wishes, however noble they were, seemed to be fulfilling.

Medea thought about the other night she spent similarly, - just after Murtagh left, - gazing hopefully at the very same egg, and waiting. By the time Galbatorix's guards came for her, she was still waiting, hoping. She was more surprised than upset, previously being more than sure that a Dragon Rider's daughter would naturally be one as well. She sighed quietly, looking away from the egg.

As if sensing her mood change, Murtagh turned his head and touched her hand lightly with his fingertips, meaning the gesture to be comforting. He almost jerked away in surprise when Medea entwined her fingers with his without even looking at him or saying a word, but restrained himself, leaving his hand where it was. After some hesitation, he sat up, leaning against the bed, and inched closer to Medea, putting one arm around her shoulders.

A loud crack broke the silence.

3 months later

Medea stood away from the soldiers gathered in the courtyard, hugging her bare shoulders in a futile attempt to warm up. At that moment she envied Murtagh, who was leaning against the muscular front leg of a magnificent scarlet dragon, who, in turn, acted as a sort of stove for his Rider. Both seemed perfectly at ease, even impatient to take off – this Medea could not understand. So many perished on the battlefield, and yet death didn't seem to frighten the Rider and his dragon. Perhaps because they, never having been to a battle before, naïvely expected it to be merely an amusing experience… something exciting to remember.
Neither of them seemed to be bothered by the possibility of not being alive to remember it.

Medea approached slowly, timidly, and stopped a few strides away from Murtagh, waiting for him to notice her. As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked up, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment, and then looked back at Thorn. A silent exchange seemed to have passed between them, after which Murtagh walked towards Medea.

'Hello,' he said quietly, struggling to keep his voice even. There was so much sadness in her eyes that he couldn't look into them.

'I actually came to say "goodbye"', Medea replied, mirroring his tone. It was almost comical, the way they both feigned indifference. She threw a quick glance at the soldiers, who were loading provisions onto sturdy warhorses. 'Looks like they're ready to go.'

'In that case, I…' Murtagh's voice caught in his throat. She was looking at him expectantly, no longer smiling.

He knew he shouldn't do it, but in that moment it didn't matter.

Taking a step forward, he cupped her small, sharp-boned face in his hands and, inclining his head, touched his lips softly to hers. After a second she stood on tiptoes and slipped her arms around his neck, responding to the kiss with more force than he'd expected. He wrapped his hands around her waist, holding her closer, ignoring the jeers of the soldiers, who stopped what they were doing to watch.

After what seemed like a moment, Murtagh broke the kiss unwillingly. 'Now I really have to go.'

'I wish you didn't,' she muttered back.

He drummed his knuckles against her forehead, like he did so many times when they were little . 'I'll be back. I promised, remember?'

Medea nodded, the corner of her mouth curving up. 'I'll be here.'

With one last glance at her, Murtagh turned and walked away.
Medea glanced back at the castle to see Galbatorix staring coldly back at her.

'Medea? Did you hear me?'

She nodded without raising her head, her expression blank. She heard the cruel words – they still rang in her ears – but failed to capture their meaning. Her eyes flicked warily to Galbatorix' face, searching for an explanation but not finding it.

'I don't understand,' she admitted, her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. 'Why?'

'It will secure my recent alliance with Sared, as well as your future. You will be the mistress of a palace and the wife of a respectable man. I can't see a better match for you. I don't expect you can, either.'

'As a matter of fact, I can. If you cared enough to ask me.'

'Father, I obey your wishes without question,' Medea replied out loud. She dropped her eyes to the floor and waited until the door behind Galbatorix closed before falling face-down on the bed and burying her head under the pillows.

'Murtagh,

I have to break my promise. I'm sorry, truly. I don't have time to explain.

I know you will be fine. You've always been a fighter, unlike me.

Medea.'

A/N: I'm not sure how much time had passed between Thorn hatching and the Battle of the Burning Plains, so I just put 3 months. Also, sorry for the short chapter but that was the way it was meant to end… Thank you so much, everyone, for reading!