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Murtagh stared forward. Violet rivulets and oranges silhouettes mated across the length of the horizon. The streaks of clouds almost looked like chopped hunks of meat, were it not for their fragmented and disorganized pattern. They slowly drifted across the sky, shading the late evening glare. He preferred these darker colors to the brilliant white of the sun. Looking down for extended periods of time had a way of making one dizzy.

Murtagh had yet to get used to seeing everything shift and change below him.

"How fare your limbs?" Thorn asked, beating his wings once. The pale red membrane stretched gloriously, revealing the entire span of a dragon's magnificent wings. They fell down with a whoosh, whipping the gentle currents.

"How fare your wings?" Murtagh asked from the stiff saddle he sat upon. The damned thing was hard as wood, inconvenient for extend travel. It had no holds, no spurs, and nothing to rest the traveler's back.

"They sting a fair bit, yet it's your whimpers that break the silence."

"The wind dares to disagree," Murtagh sneered and muttered a few inaudible words. He could barely hear a thing among the whipping currents of what he named the lower sky.

"The sky is my realm. Nothing about the clouds or the winds displeases me."

Murtagh wanted to say the same. He sat in the same position since the sun was at his back. Of course he had the right to complain. His muscles stopped protesting a long time ago, now silently numb from toes to hips. Above that, Murtagh fared no better. Saddles offered no means of support, and he had to alternate between a stiff and straight position or the hunched stance he found himself in now.

"I shall try my hardest not to disturb your rest," the Rider said drily. "As if you can close an eye while flying."

Thorn stretched his wings and lowered into a soft dive. Long plots of farmlands stretched along the rolling hillside, bearing the green and gold of healthy crops. Forests were a rare sight, unless a few clumped trees could be called such.

"I can. No dragon ever died by crashing into the ground," he growled softly. "Yet the same cannot be said about the two legs weighting their backs."

Murtagh tightened a fist around the closest neck spike. "Is that what I am to you? Useless weight?"

"You forgot noisy."

Murtagh frowned in frustration. He liked Thorn's japes. They often made him laugh. Yet now, he wanted to growl no mirth, but frustration. Only a day ago he had the delight of fighting his brother. Again. Over the skies of some unimportant city he never heard about. He got little rest, ate even less, and spent no time in the royal forest bordering the capital city to clear his head. Plans, worries, orders and thoughts whirled in his head like savage winds, eager to tear apart any resistance.

"You don't want me to be noisy, Thorn," Murtagh said as calmly as he could manage. He poked a finger into the milky spine's tip, wincing. "There are no deserving words I want to speak."

"Praise is always deserved."

"I don't feel like praising your lustrous scales right now."

The dragon craned his neck, growling approvingly. Murtagh managed a short smile before he turned his attention towards the rapidly approaching village.

"Land on that hill. It's both a fine overlook and a place to rest away from unwashed peasants."

"If you think you smell any better-"

He slapped the dragon's neck. "I don't want to hear it."

Thorn circled the hill once, wings beating furiously above the wild grasses. Murtagh clenched his teeth. His tense back was sliced by a jolt of pain as Thorn touched the ground in a storm of dust and flying grass. The dragon ran a short distance and stopped, wings fanning before the approaching men.

"They were quick to see us."

Murtagh pulled his legs on the same side and dropped on the ground. Unlike Thorn, he couldn't remain on his feet. The dragon's snout rushed to meet him, hissing with amusement.

"Shush," he slapped a sensitive nostril, forcing rows of teeth and ropes of saliva to reveal themselves.

"Lord Murtagh," two armored men rushed to meet him.

Murtagh scrambled on his legs. He dug into a saddlebag, uncorked a water skin and drank several healthy gulps. "Don't lord me, spear guards," he said, not even looking to the men he spoke to. He cupped a palm, pouring a gentle stream of water. Thorn lapped at the liquid like a thirsty cat.

"But you are-"

" You know what I am," Murtagh shouted. "Lower," he gestured to Thorn. He crouched, ruby eyes fixed on the elevated water skin. Murtagh poked the cap between two teeth and poured healthily. The dragon swirled his tongue and swallowed, ripping and tearing into water skin when water stopped flowing.

"We'll fly to the village later after sunset" Murtagh slapped Thorn's wet snout. "Unless you die of thirst."

The dragon snarled, pushing his snout into Murtagh. The Rider sidestepped the poke and whirled gracefully towards the two men. "You were saying?"

They looked at each other, onyx spears gleaming in the dying sun. "We are most pleased to have you here, Rider Murtagh," one of them spoke.

"I'm not riding anything," he stomped the ground for emphasis.

"But-"

"Just Murtagh."

They nodded. The bark bearded stepped forward, ramming his spear into the ground. "The villagers have been sheltered in the Spire, as the lord commander requested. The keen eyed have been given control of ballistae and bows, while the able bodied are given arms and armor as we speak."

Murtagh rubbed his chin. This reeked of desperation. With most of the trained soldiers pulling back to the main cities, the villages were left to fend on their own. They had arms and equipment. Galbatorix prided himself on his resourcefulness, but even he could not supply enough men to defend every corner of his empire.

"Don't rush too hard," Murtagh said. "The Varden do not believe in quick attacks."

"You don't know that," Thorn added. The slimy tongue climbing the back of Murtagh's neck altered his grave voice to a higher pitch. He slapped it again, scraping his knuckles against countless barbs.

"I've seen their war bands as we flew over the land. They are still a good way off from this place, and I imagine they will be resting and plotting their move."

The soldiers' fingers slithered along the grip of their weapons, eyebrows twitching, eyes forward. Murtagh chuckled. The look on those contorted faces worth more than Thorn's pestering.

"You can return to your tasks now. It'll be morning before the first cries of battle will be heard."

"Your word, our hands," the spearmen saluted before they turned around. Murtagh did the same.

"You need to keep that tongue in its place," he scowled at the ruby dragon. "Common men may not be as understanding as I am."

"And where would that be?"

"Inside your maw," he rubbed the dragon's chin. "If you want to lick something, find a paw or some dirty patch of scales."

"That gets repetitive," Thorn hummed with delight, a deep, throaty purr vibrating from his neck. "You know I groom myself daily."

"Yes, yes. You are clean and pampered like newborn kittens." Murtagh rubbed and scratched between the scales even at the cost of dry clothing. When he finished, his neck and everything above his chest stood coated in dragon saliva.

"Gratitude," Murtagh rested against his dragon's chest. "No Rider should ever please his dragon without a hefty amount of dragon goo as a reward."

No reply came from Thorn. He stared towards the village, still purring with contentment. What pleased him such? Touch did not fill bellies nor cured thirst. Murtagh's stomach ached for bread, stew, and anything the village could provide. Hunger pestered him for a while, yet he did not feel like leaping into that mob of peasants. Answering questions and turning down demands was worse than Thorn's slimy tongue.

"How hungry are you?"

Thorn licked his snout, "I hunted boar before sunrise."

"My thanks for sharing," Murtagh punched a front paw that just settled on the ground. Thorn lashed with his other, trapping his arm.

"You were eating with your own kin. You know how Galbatorix detests blood inside his halls."

"Fair point," Murtagh wrenched his arm with hardly any effect. Thorn snarled wickedly, a glob of saliva dripping between his fingers.

"Twenty neck rubs for..." Murtagh gestured at his trapped arm. Slime slid across his bare arm, warm and viscous. "My timely release?"

The dragon bowed his head, touching a raised claw with the tip of his nose.

"Don't be like that, you bloody lizard," Murtagh crouched across the short distance and started working on and around the smooth neck scales. Thorn hummed, barely resisting the urge to lick something. Mutual grooming was somewhat of a dragon habit, one that Murtagh started to get used to. When he paid his debt, the human settled between Thorn's forelegs, brushing off the slime of the back of his neck with a fistful of foliage.

"Why can't they listen?" Murtagh frowned. "Look at them, cramming like cattle inside an overflowing pen."

He watched the frenzy of men huddling in front of the main gate. Their foul words and desperation was heard even from the hill he sat upon. The village unfolded at its base like a long bread, with ridges and crests between every important road. Stone was the element of choice, yet wooden cottages were still a common sight near the onyx wall. Born of magic alone, the construction slithered like a snake around the village, embracing it with three coils. Its scale-like ridges were a perfect defense for arches, while the twelve surrounding towers had an assortment of small siege weapons spread around their fan-shaped ledges.

"They are afraid," Thorn's growl flared and whipped away at Murtagh's black, mangy hair.

"As should they. No magic protects them inside those walls. They can only wait and hope."

"Hope?" Thorn asked, tongue flicking from his maw.

Not again...

"They have the right to," Murtagh pushed the ground, rolling away from the crimson eel. A paw tripped him. Planting an arm on the ground, Murtagh vaulted away from another lateral swipe. The shades of red were everywhere; in the glimmering of scales, or the refreshing buffed of a wing. Murtagh jumped, sidestepped, and rolled away from every strike. He aimed a dive at under the dragon's belly, only to fall flat on his face.

"Curse your tail."

Thorn's throat rumbled with amusement.

"Again," Murtagh demanded, despite his aching muscles.

Thorn came at him, a flurry of paws, wings and claws. His front paws were certainly agile for their size. Wider than a shield and fast like a spear, they gave little pause between attacks. Murtagh danced and jumped the first few, only to be shoved by an unexpected blow from the side. And unlike the snout that poked and warmed him during the night, these blows were rarely gentle. By the time Thorn's energy was spent, Murtagh acquired more bruises and cuts than he cared to count.

"Your speed falters," Thorn raised a wing, vermilion eyes glimmering expectantly.

Murtagh crouched under it, back resting against countless scales. He muttered a few words. Magic oozed out of the dragon mark on his palm, healing the most bothersome cuts. "I've sat with my legs spread for half a day. My back is stiff and you don't want to know how a saddle feels under your- You don't even have to sit like I do!" Murtagh punched the dragon's shoulder. Thorn showed no sign of irritation. Bloody dragon. Aside from their kin, they showed indifference to any type of wound.

"Then you should ride a prey, like proper humans do."

"They're called horses," Murtagh repeated with a scoff. "And I have you to fly me around like one of your helpless hatchlings. Don't need no stupid, stinky-"

"Maybe you will. We can't always fight together."

Again that talk of separation. Murtagh hoped he heard the end of it last time. A blade provided no advantage in flight, but magic offered a much sharper edge. Saphira was a vicious opponent, a stark contrast to the man riding on her back. Murtagh hasn't seen Eragon since their last confrontation above the plains of Feinster. Thorn fought beautifully there. He slipped between claws and avoided teeth entirely. He was a frenzy of strikes and claws, exploiting every opportunity Murtagh provided. Surprised from the very start, Eragon had no choice but defend. He forgot one of the basic rules of warfare; that shields never last against repeated attacks.

"We are an effective pair, Thorn. I will not have you braving the skies by yourself."

The dragon snorted in indifference. Still a hatchling he was, in more ways than one. His great neck curled around Murtagh, pressing against his chest. The added weight made the human wince, but he didn't show it. Hands went from one neck spike to another, stopping between the horns curling behind the dragon's head. He scratched there, feeling the smooth transition between each scale.

"What concerns you so? We dragons can withstand more harm than any creature that walks this earth," Thorn said, blinking a vermilion eye.

"Yet you feel pain just the same. It can only take one wound," Murtagh sighed. "One broken bone. One rake. One bite for you to falter."

"It will not happen."

"What if it does?" Murtagh gripped a horn, pulling towards him. "I won't be there to mend your broken wing as you drop out of the sky."

"It will not happen."

"Why do you want me away? Have I-"

"No."

He let out a long breath, raising his head from the comfortable bed. "You did nothing, nor can do anything."

Murtagh gripped a horn and pulled. The dragon snarled his displeasure, but glistening teeth already became too familiar of a sight to be intimidating.

Murtagh groaned, "I can be stubborn when I want."

"So can I," Thorn jerked his neck, shoving the human in the grass. He rose in his full splendor, beating his wings in the soft evening breeze. Veins webbed across the cherry membranes, creating an assortment of dark patterns. Tucking his wings, he paced around. He was uneasy. It didn't take words to notice that in the nervous swish of a tail or the rigid steps of a leg.

"Tell me, Thorn," Murtagh crouched, waiting for his dragon. "Your burdens are my burdens. You know how useless I feel on your back. If time wasn't of the essence, I would have ridden one of those horses you feast on."

"Truly?" The grass swished and bent under and around his paws.

Murtagh chuckled. He expected this. Crouched like a cat, Thorn stalked forward. He slithered like oil, graceful and silent. If this wasn't his Thorn, Murtagh would have been wet with fright. Those eyes, locked with deadly intent. Horns curving back towards the ivory spikes rising towards his tail. Wings tucked to the side, ready to unfold. And paws kept low, eager to leap and catch their prize.

Truly, this was a bone chilling sight.

Murtagh stood straight, passing a hand through his mangy hair. "Yes, Thorn. I would ride upon a thinner beast, and my arse would be most thankful."

The dragon leapt, wings unfolded. They knew their pouncing, these dragons. Claws dug on either side of Murtagh, shocking the earth with their weight. The sky vanished, consumed by a rapidly approaching head.

"And I would catch your mount and feast on it," Thorn said. He was so close. His nostrils looked like entrances to unseen depths, and the claws...well, they looked much bigger. One of them hovered above Murtagh's chest, scratching the leather with its tip.

"I would slash its belly," Thorn slashed. The leather creaked and parted at the surface. "Tear open its insides," he pushed his snout onto the vest, nibbling at the leather. "Feast on the meat and lick at the blood."

Murtagh closed his eyes just in time for that abrasive warmth to wash from the top of his forehead to the tip of his boots. Then it returned. Murtagh gagged. For how good and warm it felt, dragon saliva reeked of stale meat and muddy soil.

"Ghah," the human rasped. "Proved point." He coughed again. "Can stop now."

It didn't. Murtagh gripped the slimy snake just as it passed his chest. Thorn blinked. For a moment, Murtagh breathed freely. Then that snout dove into him, driving the breath out of his lungs.

"You win," the human rolled away from the crimson menace. "Just...rest for a moment. And speak of what ails you."

The dragon settled on his belly with a sigh, one paw on top of another. He was beautiful. Basked in the soft golden light, wings carefully tucked to his sides, and a long tail flowing freely behind him, Thorn was the epitome of perfection.

They stared at each other for a few moments, until Murtagh decided to crawl under a wing. It was warm here, and those long hind legs were a good resting place for his own, now elevated limbs.

"So..."

Silence. Murtagh waited. The rhythmic rise of Thorn's chest calmed him. He traced a leather boot along the dragon's claws, returning to the scaly foot each time he completed a circuit. The distraction worked until there were no more claws left. Sighing, Murtagh laid a hand on a muscular flank, running his palm in no particular direction.

He knew what Thorn was thinking. He noticed it too during the last battle. Saphira lacked the vicious lust she displayed the first time he and Eragon clashed swords. Her talons rarely bit into flesh, and her bites lacked control. Why was she holding back? Eragon would never stand for this. If Riders had a common belief, it was dragons. They cared, respected, and loved their companions more than life itself.

"My brother might be here for the siege," Murtagh spoke softly. "A skirmish over a village hardly bears any significance in a war, yet..." he sighed. "I know the Varden. Fought them too many times. Strange as it is, a bond is a bond."

"What is the purpose of such bonds?" Thorn broke from his reverie.

Murtagh smiled, pulling his knees together. "It depends. Some bonds offer comfort. Others gain you allies or wealth, while some are forged of deceit and lies."

"Or they can be forced upon ourselves."

Murtagh bit his lip. Thorn had the truth of it. He hoped the dragon wouldn't get here. Not again, after all that suffering and despair.

"Few things are everlasting, Thorn. Galbatorix enslaved both of us. He wielded us as an extension of his own blade, but he was desperate. Desperate men never take wise decisions."

"You are right," Thorn's head came into sight. "I shouldn't dwell on what has already happened. I am free to stretch my wings as any dragon of old had the right to."

Murtagh embraced the dragon's snout, grasping it as best as he could inside his arms. Placing his forehead above the nostrils, he whispered, "You are free to do anything you put in that scaly head of yours."

A soft growl escaped Thorn. Warmth flowed from his open maw, washing across Murtagh's torso.

"Am I free to choose a mate of my own?"

Drawing back, Murtagh gave his dragon a comforting neck rub. "Not yet, Thorn. I wish the situation would be different. I would gladly have our race trade places with yours."

Murtagh laughed. "You know I wouldn't mind being a dragon myself! I could have my own sparkling scales and wings to soar upon. Four agile legs to rip prey with, a slapping tail, and a tongue as slimy and long as that bloody eel you have there," he parted the dragon's lips with both hands.

Thorn's tongue shot forward, pushing Murtagh on his back.

"If you were a dragon..." Thorn growled playfully. "I would lick you from day until dusk. You would know then what delight feels like instead of squirming and bleating like a dying goat."

"Lick me? That's all you can think of?"

Thorn snarled, teeth parting and embracing one another as he snapped his jaw. "Definitely not," his tail whipped around, trapping Murtagh's only way of escape. Surrounded by scales and muscle, he had no option but to wait. "I would tackle and trip you until you become steady on your feet. My claws would shred your hide so you can grow harder scales, and my teeth would sink into your neck after every fight. Only after you submit I will clean and tend to your wounds."

Murtagh winced, hairs rising along his arms."Only the licking seems particularly pleasant," he said. "Dragons aren't meant to be- well don't choose to be gentle all the time," he reworded his thoughts, "yet that seems more like fighting than playing."

"Fighting is just another form of pleasure. A need. Dragons become restless until they test their mettle. Blood is always spilled, yet the wounds always look worse than they feel. You two legs worry more than sheep grazing on a plain field."

Murtagh pushed Thorn away, but the dragon was stubborn. He opened his maw, nipping at the bothersome arms that went on and around it. One hand slid through the teeth up to the elbow, while the other still struggled to contain that flicking tongue.

"We aren't as battle hardened as you. Small injuries can feeeester," Murtagh grimaced, tasting Thorn's saliva upon his lips. "And deep gashes or punctures can..." he kicked a leg, hitting Thorn in the jaw. "Can be the end of us."

"Right now, my tongue seems to be the end of you."

With all defense broken, Murtagh curled in a ball. The slimy snake brushed against soaked cloth, searching for any possible breaches.

It didn't. Murtagh laughed with relief, only to feel something slither below his waist. He grabbed the bothersome tail and shoved it away.

Too late. Thorn yanked it to the side, throwing the human along with it. He rolled on the ground, low on his belly.

"Wait wait wait," Murtagh pointed at the approaching dragon. "I have a question."

"Yes?" Thorn's throat rumbled. By all the gods, he was huge. He towered above Murtagh, neck pulled back, wings only revealing half of their span.

"You can lick and fight me, but if I were a dragon..." he gestured randomly. "What else would you do?"

Thorn cocked his head, pondering the question. Tilting his head to the side, he nuzzled a wing before he crouched, bringing those slitted eyes to Murtagh's head level.

"I would mount you."

"Trul-" Murtagh gasped. Words died on his lips as the sky went black, overshadowed by the mass of scales passing overhead. The ground shook under Thorn's paws, passing on either side of Murtagh. He saw scales zipping away, until only a sliver of the darkness remained. Long and sinuous, Thorn's tail came and disappeared from view as fast as the dragon himself, revealing the violet above.

"Why would- How comes- What?" Murtagh babbled. Thorn crouched behind him, ready to spring like a cat.

"It is not uncommon for nest brothers to mount one another and assert their status."

"So it's a dominance thing?"

Murtagh swallowed. Thorn flew over him, whipping the winds into a frenzy. He landed a few tails length away from Murtagh, roaring his delight.

"It is."

"Nothing sexual?"

"Sexual?" Thorn walked around the human, poking with a paw or slapping with his tail. Murtagh did his best to avoid every hit, despite the tiredness. Practice against a dragon was a mighty valuable asset if he ever found himself on the ground, alone, facing a vicious dragoness.

"Mating," Murtagh explained, breathing heavily.

"Not as far as Shruikan told me."

Murtagh jumped over the rushing tail. Thorn turned around, growling. He lashed with a paw. A simple and predictable movement easily avoided. With the front paws out of the way, he only had to-

"Ghah!" the wing hit him straight in the face. Losing his balance, Murtagh again found himself nestled in a dragon's embrace. With a paw dropped on his legs and a head pressing against his torso, he was helpless as any prey.

"Seems agility didn't grace your species," Thorn hummed.

"Leave that," Murtagh coughed. How much could a dragon's head weight? It felt like a boulder! "Tell me about Shruikan."

"What of him?"

"Did he mount you?"

The weight finally lifted, allowing for a few breaths of fresh air before it descended once again. Murtagh swallowed. He could count the scales between the widening nostrils from this distance.

"He did not," the dragon exhaled, bits of mucus landing everywhere. Murtagh spat. As if that cave-smelling breath wasn't enough.

"Why are you like this?"

Thorn tilted his horned head. "Like what?"

"Intimidating. Big. Gross."

"Gross?"

Murtagh flung away some slime from his face. "Dirty. You're...gah. Leave it and lick me."

The dragon growled, amused. "Now you ask for it. What if I refuse?"

"You can't."

"Why?"

Murtagh pursed his lips. "Because I will ask very nicely."

Thorn sat on his haunches, wrapping his tail around his clawed paws. "Lets hear it, then."

"Will your sparkling hugeness have the privilege of lending me a few exquisite licks from your long and perfectly shaped tongue?"

"His majesty, Thorn, Dragon, hatched alone from an unknown clutch, will have the intense delight of washing away your filth. With his tongue, nonetheless."

Murtagh laughed. Blood-scaled oaf. He never gave up. "I stand in awe at your exemplary demonstration of draconic wit."

"You sit on the ground, pleading," the dragon approached his snout, lips parting to reveal the depths of his maw. "But you know I'll never refuse you, little one." He nuzzled the human affectionately before he started licking him clean.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon, retreating its light and warmth. Flaming oranges bruised to violets and blues, joining the dark hues advancing from sunrise. Clean and thoroughly soaked in varying drying stages of dragon saliva, Murtagh looked upon the spire rising from the center of the establishment. Shaped like a rising dragon, the construction had served as the first measure of defense against aerial attacks. Ballistae and spitfire crossbows latched across the length of the horns, while catapults of different sizes littered the straight wings of the onyx dragon. Inside the mouth and the eye sockets were magic-piercing spears that could be hurled along great length by the magicians sheltered inside.

"That tower can win the siege alone if the Varden don't bring their sorcerers," Murtagh said, holding one of Thorn's paws in his lap. Dragons only had three fingers, with a fourth, smaller one on the side. Murtagh knew not what purpose could that serve. Something related to mating, perhaps.

"We'll have to protect it. And the wall too. It's best if we stall their advance before they breach the only hope of defense this village has." He ran his hand along a digit length, cupping the claw in his palm. They weren't as sharp as a blade, but swung with enough force, they entered deeper than any man-made weapon. Murtagh saw men pierced and eviscerated by these ivory talons, yet never had he felt the sting of one. Thorn was always so careful and gentle.

Dropping the ruby-scaled finger, Murtagh grabbed the slim tip of Thorn's tail and pulled. The dragon seemed not to mind. His head was buried under a wing, producing the distinct sound of licking.

"Thorn," Murtagh called, twisting the arm-thick tail tip.

With a hiss, the dragon brought his head around.

"Is my tail bothering you?"

"Your silence bothers me. I want to talk."

"Talk then," Thorn said, returning to his business.

"What are you doing there?"

"Cleaning my scales."

"What part?"

"Back, just below my left flank."

Murtagh scoffed. "Oh yes. I'm sure a lot of grime must have settled there since dawn, when you had that hour long grooming in the gardens. You even made me wait on my meal."

"Could have eaten without me."

"Could have eaten without me," Murtagh repeated in a deep, raspy voice. "You know I dislike eating alone."

"You dislike many things," the dragon said.

"Such as?" Murtagh taunted.

Thorn twitched the tip of his tail. How suggestive. The human pet it gently, then carefully lay it on the ground. "I apologize for being so harsh to your tail. My brutish grip must have inflicted quite the amount of pain."

"It didn't have to," Thorn flared his wings, settling in a more comfortable position. Both hind legs lay on the same side, while his front ones crossed one another. "But you did not interrupt me from my grooming for such an important reason, did you?"

Murtagh laughed, gripping a horn to bring Thorn's head closer to his lap. "Of course not. I wanted to tell you that..." he stopped. The thought slipped from Murtagh's mind. He had to find something. Something worth mentioning...

A random reason! His mind flew through the anatomy of dragons, war talk, meals, and finally settled on...fields. Cornfields. He couldn't tell Thorn that! He'd do much worse than lick and sneeze on Murtagh. The topic of mounting then came to mind.

Murtagh smiled. "I want you to know that I am grateful for your presence," he rubbed the dragon's chin affectionately. "Not many know the kind of bond we share. After all these sieges and skirmishes and bloodshed, you deserve a moment of rest, away from all this...death."

"I care not of the death I inflict upon those who want to harm our race," Thorn nuzzled and licked between the spread digits of a forepaw. "Two legs are many. I would kill thousands if that would offer a day when I do not have to harm my own kin."

Murtagh rubbed his shortly cropped bearded chin. He didn't like how Thorn's humming acquired a mournful edge. The dragon blinked, staring at him with one vermilion eye.

"And I would do the same," Murtagh said encouragingly. "It was unfair to involve your race. Make you fight our wars. It's because of the cursed legacy of my kin that you need to meet Saphira in battle..."

Murtagh sighed. This is what it came down to. "It's because of vengeance and greed and ambition of humans that you cannot have a mate."

Thorn lifted his head. He ran his tongue over the nostrils, then gently nuzzled his Rider. "Soon. Times shift like seasons. Today gave me freedom. Tomorrow may yet earn me a mate."

Thorn's hope seeped into Murtagh like the warmth of his breath. Hugging his great snout, Murtagh pressed his forehead against the warm, cherry scales. "It will! We just have to survive, and-"

"Not just us," Thorn growled. "Saphira is the only female I know of. Should any serious harm befall her-"

"She has Eragon, Thorn. That stubborn brother of mine will never allow that to happen."

"And you?"Thorn lifted his head. "You slashed her side and broke her wing as if she's meaningless prey."

"I pressed for advantage," Murtagh said, voice heavy with emotion. He sat up, running both hands along Thorn's neck. "She's larger. Stronger. Sometimes even quicker, and fate forbids, if she ever has her teeth around your neck-"

Thorn growled. "She aims to injure, not kill."

"You don't know that for certain."

"And neither do you," Thorn rose, trashing his tail. Murtagh jumped away, but the damned thing still tripped him. "Dragons understand dragons better than any two-legs ever will."

"I wasn't saying-"

Thorn's roar deafened every upcoming word.

Murtagh found his legs under him and dashed towards Thorn. Why couldn't he understand? The dragon turned, teeth snapping together.

"I care for you, stupid beast," Murtagh gripped a pair of teeth and pulled the dragon towards him. "I care for you more than anyone and anything."

Thorn shook his neck, growling. "Then you should care for my needs too." He walked around, snapping at the air and clawing at the grasses before he settled on his belly, growling, wings still twitching restlessly.

"I do," Murtagh ran and dropped beside Thorn. He calmed his dragon with long, broad strokes along the neck. Muscles rippled below the scales, tense and hard.

"Everything about you is precious to me, Thorn..." Murtagh dropped on the hard ground, crawling towards the dragon's back. He pushed through muscular the flank, prodding and poking his fingers at the small scales below the dragon's tail. Hissing, the dragon scraped the dirt with a hind paw. The movement provided the perfect opening. Murtagh dropped on one knee, reaching deep under the pale scaled underbelly. He met only scales, until-

"I do not need to be a dragon to know of needs and desires," Murtagh said, teeth clenching with effort. He had to do it. For Thorn's safety, and for his own sake, he had to. Physical wounds hurt far more than personal pride.

And Murtagh wasn't too prideful to do what he must.

Squinting with effort, Murtagh rubbed and prodded around Thorn's underbelly. Luckily, he wasn't pushed away. Yet. Mumbling to alleviate his uneasiness, Murtagh stretched his arm further under. Then he felt it. First, with a finger, then with the rest of his hand. He circled the scaly ridge, poking two fingers inside the hard, fleshy depths. A shiver traversed the length of the dragon's body, ending with a crisp hiss.

"I know how it is be denied the touch of a mate. To never feel the warmth of her depths..." Murtagh said. His voice broke a bit, heavy with indecision. Muscles clamped around his fingers, and something twitched from within. He was pleasing Thorn. His own dragon. Though he caught sight of his emerging sex once in a while, he never touched it. Least stimulated it! He thought of an explanation. Anything.

Then scoffed. Words? What good were they? As if they felt any more honest than what he was doing now.

Murtagh sighed. Perspiration oozed from every part of his body. It dribbled down his eyebrows, stinging his eyes. Wiping the salty liquid away, he rubbed and scratched around the much softer scales.

The stimulation came too sudden, too fast. Scales and flesh alike shifted underneath his fingers to reveal a warm, fleshy tip. Murtagh touched and felt around it. Slime coated his fingers, allowing them to slide on and around the now throbbing tip. Biting his tongue and his own increasing arousal, Murtagh rubbed, prodded and pushed, revealing more of the emerging snake. It was warm. Too warm, too moist.

Thorn growled, a long and thinner sound than the deep vocalization he usually made. His hind leg scraped along the ground, wings beating twice. He leaned more on the side, exposing his underbelly and the crimson member jutting and throbbing a short distance away from where his tail started. A few colorless drops trailed down his bulging slit, finding purchase among the short grasses.

Murtagh paused, wiping his forehead. He watched the clawed foot dangling in the air, fingers clenching slightly. Then he looked lower. His heart thumped wildly, blood quickening at the sight presented before him. A glistening tip led the charge, flanked by veins and small ridges. They ran down towards the base, a wider fortification with two noticeable bumps on each side. And it was long. Almost as long as one of his own arms.

Murtagh's breaths became quicker. Thorn revealed his underbelly. He wanted Murtagh to continue. He desired release as much as any male. Licking his arid mouth, Murtagh kneeled before the fully erect member. It was almost as red as the dragon's scales, tip glistening and dripping with an invisible sheen. The smell of arousal rose all around him, making the air thick with the scent of dragon.

The human sneezed, rubbing his nose. "Lust is a burden, a distraction. The Varden will be upon us. Men, sorcerers, and who knows what else..."

He looked past a wing, catching no sight of Thorn's head. He probably didn't even listen, too lost in his own unquenched needs. What to do? Murtagh cursed his weakness. What good would Thorn's confirmation do? He could hear the dragon's quickening breaths, feel the shivers claiming his body, and the warmth rising from beneath his scales. Arousal was a heavy burden. A wild fire, calmed only by the riptide of release.

Murtagh blinked. Breeches became tight and distracting, tenting around stiff member. Damnation. The thought of Thorn's spilling seed made him flush all over. He licked his dried lips, then reached with a trembling arm and touched the throbbing mass of flesh, cupping it inside his palm. Thorn hissed like an angry viper. His tail swiped through the vegetation, and the claws on his hind leg clenched, mating one another.

"If we fight...your instincts have to be sharp, and your focus crisp, absent lustful desires," Murtagh coughed. His throat felt like sand, cracked and arid.

He stroke once. His hand slid on the slick, tense member. The fleshy protrusion twitched, ramming the encroaching hand against the hard scales. Murtagh gasped, fingers clenched against the feisty spear. He felt every vein, every flare as he climbed up to the slightly barbed tip. Thorn yowled and thrust into the ground, tensing like the earth beneath him. Murtagh's skin simmered. Lustful thoughts passed through his head, accompanied by vivid images. Thorn's delight pushed the human's own member into a frenzy, flexing again and again, poking its moist tip against the oppressive leggings.

"Desires are a burden. A heavy weight. They need to be released, and forgotten..." Murtagh pushed his back against Thorn's belly. The slimy snake pushed into his chest, throbbing. Murtagh pushed it away, both hands gripping the raging erection. One trailed down to the base, clenching fingers around the slimy flesh. The other took to the front, rubbing until it reached the tip. Murtagh delved an index finger inside the cavity, rubbing two others around the edge.

It tensed, spurting three quick waves of warm, translucent ooze. Thorn hissed, almost yelping. After only a few strokes, Thorn's whole body shook. Roaring his need, the dragon was brought on the brink of release. His wings shot towards the sky, stretched and tense as if they were about to pop from their joints. His tail swished, slithering beneath the flank and wrapping against the budging base of his flesh like a snake. Murtagh's heart beat once. THUD. Everything happened in an instant. A swarm of scales whipping around Murtagh. A ruby eye fixed on the throbbing member. A pink tongue, poking, licking, and coiling around the member's violet tip.

Murtagh winced. Barbs met his hand, scrapping against his flesh. Unyielding in his stance, Murtagh griped and flexed his fingers, feeling the flesh beneath tense and tremble.

The throbs came without a warning, hard and unyielding. Thorn's member stopped twitching. It tensed, acquiring the strength and texture of stone. The dragon moaned, slurping around the tip. Murtagh gulped silently. Was he- Was he going to-

With a quick thrust and a loud splash, the first spurt burst forth. Thorn roared weakly, eyes closed against the erupting goo. The first splashed his snout, right between the nostrils. Thorn snarled and bowed his head against the relentless assault. His whole frame shook, and his throat vibrated with a continuous growl like that of a wounded beast. Seed rushed forth in ivory ribbons, coating, then dribbling down the dragon's snout and neck.

Murtagh's palm hovered over stone hard tip. He cupped it, flinching against the pent up pressure of the spurts. Such strength! Seed crushed against his palm with the force of a wave.

Murtagh let go of the swollen tip with a gasp. Warm and viscous seed drenched his hand, his wrist, his forearm. And the spurts had yet to cease. Increasingly weaker jets flew across noticeable length, splashing on the base of a wing and even coating the surface of a forepaw before Thorn's snout moved in its path, licking with quick, frenzied slurps. Pearlescent slime dribbled between his teeth, splashing on the parched ground.

And also on a silent, petrified Murtagh. The slime mixed with his sweat, falling down his drenched body, adding even more to the lust raging below his waist. The splashing slowly subsided, as did the mighty throbs. Raising his neck, Thorn licked his nostrils and roared at the skies, allowing the last few spurts to splash weakly against Murtagh's stretched hand.

Clenching his fingers, Murtagh mindlessly trapped some of the milky slime. He raised his hand, sniffing. For its strange scent and caressing warmth, something about a dragon's seed was particularly arousing. He briefly thought of tasting it, like Thorn. The image of his snout overflowing with fresh seed was still vivid in Murtagh's mind. His tongue poked forth...

...and remained frozen as Thorn's horned head came back into view. He dashed the tip of his tongue carefully along the retreating member until it disappeared beneath the scales. It almost looked like nothing happened, were it not for the copious amount of puddles soaking grass, scales, leggings, and everything along the dragon's side.

Murtagh released his pent-up breath. He didn't feel relieved. Quite the opposite. He turned his beet-red face away from Thorn, avoiding his piercing gaze. What words could he form? Every reason that passed through his mind felt selfish. He wasn't helping Thorn vent his frustrations and lust. He was just merely unloading his own burdens and fears.

Though the slime coated grass and the scent of seed demanded at least a smile, Murtagh summoned none. The dragon could pleasure himself well enough on his own. What if he didn't want this?

Murtagh clasped his hands together, jaw tight with anger. Worries stormed his head, and he had questions. So many questions. The trust between Rider and dragon ran beyond what normal words could express.

And Murtagh broke it. Dragons relied more on their instincts. They guided them like their tails during flights. Abusing such instincts and forcing Thorn's release felt wrong. Abusive. Murtagh coughed, suddenly feeling his stomach turn inside out.

A sneeze caught his attention. Thorn bared his fangs, tongue dangling from his mouth. Another sneeze came.

"Tharr," Murtagh coughed. Curse that dried mouth. "Thorn," he said again. "I want to-"

He froze. Thorn looked at him, slits wide in the retreating light. Murtagh opened his mouth to speak.

Then gasped. Thorn shot forward, pressing his snout against Murtagh's breeches. Warm gusts of air passed through the material, reviving the flaccid member.

"Th-Thorn!" Murtagh rasped, pushing and kicking the invading snout away. It barely budged. Something pressed against his breeches. Something warm and slick.

He dragon growled stubbornly, tongue flicking around Murtagh's rapidly throbbing member.

"What are you-"

He licked twice, tongue twisting in different direction. Gods, that felt beyond the edge of bliss. Even through cloth, the licks brought Murtagh on the brink of release. He huffed, still pushing against the scales and horns and anything he could grab onto. Though lust demanded he threw his breeches away and gave in to Thorn's magnificent tongue, the thought felt wrong. Dragons were majestic. Dragons were beautiful. They had nothing in common with those lowly pleasure maidens infesting the brothels.

"NO!"

Murtagh dropped on his belly and crawled, much to his protesting member. He found his legs quickly. A stride. Two. Three. He tripped before he took the fourth, falling flat on his face. A paw slithered under him before he could react and shove. Murtagh rolled twice, coming face to face with a set of ivory teeth dripping with saliva.

"Your scent betrays you"

"Wh-"

Thorn resumed his assault before Murtagh could answer. He pressed and poked, licked and prodded at the increasingly wet breeches.

"Thhhaaagh," he human groaned blissfully. He felt the barbs touching and brushing his sensitive tip, flaring that undeniable pleasure.

"I don'- don't want-"

"You do."

It was too much. Murtagh closed his eyes, bracing for that eruption of delight. His legs shivered, thrusting deeper into the promise of moisture and warmth.

"Ghaah aaaah," Murtagh moaned with every stroke of tongue. Seed burst forth like a caged beast, besieging the cloth and the tongue lapping above it. Spurred by the change in taste, Thorn pushed his snout, trapping the oozing member between his own tongue and Murtagh's loins.

"Aaah ack. Can stop now," Murtagh pleaded, voice weak in the aftermath of release.

Lifting his head, Thorn ran his tongue along his snout, "You are soiled."

"Mhm?"

A tongue ran over his breeches.

"Those extra pelts prevented me from cleaning you. Dispose of them."

"I won't."

"Will you meet your kin in the village like this?"

"I don't have other options, do I?" Murtagh planted a hand on the ground to rise. Thorn covered the short distance, crouching in front of him.

"You can let me clean you."

"Your barbs aren't exactly gentle."

The dragon hissed, "My fangs are far less so."

Murtagh dared not argue. Whether this was part of some strange dragon bonding or just Thorn's perverse desire, it didn't matter. Anything worked better than talking about pleasure and release. Untying his slimy belt, Murtagh pushed down his wet breeches up to his knees.

Thorn wasted no time in sniffing around his member and the seed coated hairs. He poked the flaccid flesh, then pushed it, sniffing beneath it. Murtagh couldn't watch. Having his own dragon smell his privates felt far too odd. He focused on the sky, now a huge of dark blues, then on a twitching wing. The right one. Underneath it were wide streaks of milky dragon seed, still dripping between his scales. The bastard talked of grooming, yet he didn't even lick himself.

"Ack," Murtagh yelped. Thorn's eyes bore into his.

"You smell intriguing," he said, licking Murtagh's exposed flesh. "And reek. I can scent-"

"Don't want to know," he laid his head on the ground, eyes closed with embarrassment.

"Pride..." Thorn's gusting breath sent a shiver across Murtagh's spine. His tongue was soft and warm, passing over his skin like silk dipped in hot water. He licked on and between his legs, and thoroughly cleaned his waist. Murtagh hoped he finished soon. His heart was already beating faster than it should at the thought of something slick and moist curling around his member.

Slick and moist...

His member stirred. Murtagh bit his tongue. No. No. Not now... Why did that damned tongue have to be so enticing?

Thorn parted his jaws, hissing softly. The onrushing air surrounded his member and seeped into his flesh. Too unbearably warm!

Slick and lithe, Thorn's tongue wrapped its tip around the enlarging member, tightening and brushing the exposed flesh with short, delightful strokes. Too delightfully moist!

Murtagh tensed. He felt the familiar pressure racing from the depths of his groin. No. Not now! Not inside Thorn's maw.

And not all over his cleansing tongue!

"Ghh..." Clenching his teeth, Murtagh surrendered to the riptide of pleasure. His eyes became unfocused as pleasure took him in its warm and delicate fetters. Throb after throb sent his seed on and inside Thorn's half-opened snout until his muscles finally relaxed.

Humming softly, Thorn unwrapped his tongue and ran it over his now dirty snout.

"Satisfied?" Murtagh asked drily.

"Not quite like yourself," the dragon answered, flashing his teeth. He had a way with mocking. Turning his serpentine neck, Thorn licked at the half-dried seed coating his scales. The resilient ooze dropped like porridge in the grass.

Shaking his head, Thorn sniffed the air. "Water will cleanse my scales better than my tongue," he crouched low to the ground.

Murtagh sighed. He wanted to stay here and enjoy the blissful, cool wind.

"Three heartbeats."

When Thorn growled, Murtagh jumped on his feet. He picked up his breeches, watching Thorn's fanning wings.

"Wait!"

Another growl.

Murtagh cursed and vaulted himself on the dragon's back, naked from waist down. Thorn leaped, bringing his wings down with the force of a hurricane. Tightening his hands on a neck spike, Murtagh passed over the village. He was low enough to attract stares, but this time darkness was his ally. He flew past the wall, above dark fields of almost even shapes. With each beat of his wings, Thorn jerked. With each jerk, Murtagh was reminded -painfully- of why dragons were saddled. Scales scrapped his flesh again and again, poking his flesh raw.

Fortunately, the lake wasn't far. Thorn pulled into a soft dive, passing the grassy bank.

"Don-!" Murtagh shouted as Thorn pierced the water's surface in a mighty splash. Water rushed all around, trying to claim him. Murtagh kicked his legs, stretched his arms and pulled himself away from the roaring mass of wings, scales, and slapping paws. Coldness surrounded him and pelted from above. His breath cut. Then, with a shove, Murtagh took his first breath.

Unlike Thorn, he sought the comfort of the shore much faster. Trembling like a beggar, knees pulled to his chest, Murtagh waited. He wanted Thorn's warmth. Needed it. But he needed only to be reminded of his reason here to swallow his words. He bit his lip and endured until the relentless shivers made him reconsider.

"Thorn!" Murtagh called.

The dragon favored him a quick glance. Only his head and a quarter of his neck rose above the water. He looked ridiculous, a head flanked by two awkwardly limp wings. Water rippled around his neck, barely making a splash. His chest rose, then his wings straightened. His shoulders almost came into sight before the dragon leaped, shaking the water from his lustrous hide.

"You look like-"

"I don't care," Murtagh's hand shook as he beckoned. "Come here."

The dragon offered no objection. He dropped on the ground, nestling his Rider inside a protective wing. He was so warm... Murtagh huddled near a foreleg, hugging it like a desperate urchin.

"You shiver like a newly hatched whelp."

Murtagh's teeth clattered. He welcomed the approaching snout, guiding it towards his chest. Thorn hummed, exhaling his warmth. He nuzzled, moving his snout up to ruffle Murtagh's mangy hair.

"It'sss bloody cc-cold."

"Is it?" Thorn hummed.

"Slightly less ss- so, nnow that-" Murtagh allowed his touch to speak for him. When the shivers subsided and his blood resumed its normal flow, the Rider rose. Night fell in all of its dark glory by now. Only the deep blues remained ahead in the west, soon to be swallowed by the starry sky.

"Thorn."

He looked at him, nostrils flaring. Even in the absence of light, he was a startling sight, with that relaxed pose and eye slits almost the size of Murtagh's fists.

"The siege tomorrow. Or fight. I don't know what will happen, but I hope you know why I did..." his tongue twisted for a moment. "Why I did what I did."

Thorn's tail curled around one of his hind legs, wings twitching.

"I trusted your touch, just as I trust you, Rider of Dragons," Thorn scratched the dirt. Murtagh remained silent, biting his lip. Waiting for a rebuke or something to-

"Through me, you have been given the freedom to conquer the skies and wield magic as you please. We share a bond unlike any other earth or sky dweller, yet even with the gifts and the position you've been given, you cannot fill the gap of a mate."

His words were raw. Lustful. Primal. Thorn looked towards the lake as Murtagh started to approach.

"Your hands damped a smolder, but they cannot contain the blaze that urges us to seek our kind and mate."

Murtagh sighed. He wanted to hug Thorn. Squeeze his scaly head against his chest and say the same promise he made again and again...

Only to break it at the sight of Thorn's promised mate and the man riding on her back.

***

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