Knight and Serpent (enemies to lovers o/o, may contain strong themes)

It had been a very long few weeks of extremely rigorous training, and while Flynn felt exhausted and in absolutely no shape to fight a dragon, he was stronger. Could physically feel it— muscles tight beneath his skin that looked about as defined as his piercing eyes.
He took hold of the hilt of his sword, now decked out in full plate armor with the exception of his helmet. He always hated helmets, and figured they weren’t honorable enough. If he were to defeat the dragon, he figured they deserved a glimpse of his face while he did so.
Though, Flynn really had no intention of killing them. At most, he would knock them down and get them to the point where they forfeit, and then stop the duel.
He clambered up the mountainside once more, stopping at the cave entrance as he drew his sword passively and waited for the dragon to appear.

Say, a few weeks ago, Flynn would have sputtered and flipped around like a scared puppy. But now, with the way his training weighed on every single part of him, he simply stayed standing. He tightened the grip on his sword, and glanced behind him to where the dragon stood.
He turned fully, bowing to them with his sword shoved into the ground below.
“Salutations,” he said blankly, eyes seeming to see right through them. He was already dreading this fight, even if the sight of the dragon made his heart race— in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

Flynn shook the dragon’s hand, bowing his head in response.
“Of course. I have armor. It’s only fair,” he replied, even though he wasn’t even banking on getting a single hit in. If anything, he’d evade all of the attacks if he could— simply waiting until his muscles didn’t work anymore.
He didn’t want to hurt this beast— if that was what he could even call them. It was a living being, and while Flynn had never been a softie when it came to the safety of his kingdom… this felt different.

Flynn just nodded, the grip on his sword growing steadier by the moment. There was something so confident in the way he stood, like he knew the worst that could come out of this was death, and that he had made his peace with it. In all reality, he had made his peace with that. While he was training physically, he had also said his goodbyes and made it a blunt fact in his mind that there should be no hope of getting out of here alive. So why was his heart beating so fast? It couldn’t be nerves, could it? Couldn’t be the way the dragon looked at him, like he was some kind of petite little boy under the wing of a wizened man…? Or the little twinkle in their eye that almost seemed like something else— something Flynn couldn’t put a finger on.

Flynn stayed where he was, for a moment lost in his mind completely. He could feel the heat of the volcano, as well as the weight of his full armor, pressing down on his body. While it was so excruciating, it was nearly comforting— like a giant, full-body hug that brought the false promise of security.
He stared off, in a sort of brooding or grizzled manner, cutting his sword through the ground absently.

Flynn could feel the sweat already begin to drip down the lengths of his neck, hair messed and ruffled by the long trek up the mountain. He could feel his lungs tighten with each smoky breath. Or maybe that was just the way his heart beat too fast for his liking. Or perhaps the combination of both which— frankly— he wasn’t too thrilled about.
“First, I would love to know your name,” Flynn replied, his voice steady. He tried to speak with the same leverage, tone equal and emanating from his chest like a growl. “Simply for formality purposes. I think we both deserve certain… ignorant pleasantries.”
He shoved his sword into the ground, giving the dragon a full bow and staying there, continuing, “My name is Flynn Scotts. I’m a soldier for the Kights of the Crown. Son of Sullivan, and worshipper of the Serpent God Isdis.”
He flicked his fiery amber eyes back up to the dragon, like they were almost filled with magma themselves. He stood slowly, keeping his sword where it was lodged into the rock below.

As will I, Flynn thought to himself, quickly dislodging the sword. Now, with his talk, his only goal was to procrastinate. Delay the duel as long as he could, for the sake of… not getting injured, or worse— injuring the dragon.
Again, he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared. “Maker Crow” was a monster, right? It was in the kingdom’s best interest that he took the beast down, or died with justice fighting it. So why did he care so much to avoid this?
“Maker Crow,” Flynn repeated, nodding. It was either the name itself or the way the dragon had said them that sent the shivers down his spine. He made his best attempt to not show it at all.
“I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…. that wouldn’t matter, would it? I don’t think you would believe me.”

Without thinking twice, Flynn steadied his sword before him, feeling the sheer adrenaline rush through every single vein. His breath was steady, nearly as much as his sword, even and consistent despite the fire burning in his chest. It almost matched the external heat, and he narrowed his eyes, stepping back and angling his body for combat. While it may not have been the best tactic, Flynn offered the dragon the first move. While he was a knight, he was also one of the few respective people he knew.

_{(No worries at all!)}

Flynn’s mind worked overdrive, moving faster than his body to launch himself out of range of the sword. It nicked just the side of his armor, sending a deep crack through the metal on his pauldron. Flynn skittered to the side, kicking up rocks from below as he huffed.
They’re fast and strong? he thought to himself, keeping his posture low and his sword before him to counter before making his next move.
An unreadable glint in his eyes, Flynn kicked off from the ground below, sending himself flying sword-first toward Crow.

“Had enough?” Flynn repeated mockingly, still kneeling. He had landed on his feet, although slightly off balance, and had stayed there.
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” he uttered, breathing steadier than he thought was possible. “You barely got a nick in, love. You really think humans are so fragile, don’t you?”

Flynn made a futile effort to dive out of the way, twisting himself into safety as he frantically lifted up his sword. But the collision and the fact that he held it one-handed left his sword scattering to the side and his wrist nothing better than absolutely broken. There was a visible wince as Flynn bit back the pleasure of cursing. Nonetheless, he was happy to still have his heart in his body. If the blade hadn’t been set aside by his own sword, it would have pierced directly through his chest.
Flynn grabbed the hilt of his sword with his other hand, jumping aside and wiping the blood from his face. He could tell his left arm was out of the picture— the wrist was a mess of broken bones and sheered tendons.

Flynn, with as much strength as he could muster, parried Crow’s sword aside. It didn’t hold enough power to send it flying or barely even knock it out of Crow’s grasp, but it worked enough for him to dodge out of the way of a follow-up.
His entire method of just dodging didn’t seem very achievable now. Crow was faster than he had expected, so Flynn either had to speed it up of start countering, and fighting back.
With a last begrudging huff, Flynn sliced forward once, then another, but his movements were never desperate. Each one seemed calculated and intentional, even with one less hand.

Flynn kept himself stagnant, squinting slightly as Crow began his ascent. He nearly choked as the pain flooded through his body, the adrenaline going hand in hand with the way it felt. The cut on the underside of his chin stung, his wrist overpowering it even more.
With gritted teeth, Flynn stuck his sword in the side of the rocks and began climbing, too. He was much quicker now, energy stemming from fear and anticipation. He didn’t care where it came from, as long as he was keeping himself alive and distracted. One-arm climbing was too difficult, so he simply bit down on his lower lip and latched on, trying to ignore the piercing white throbs.

Flynn shook his head, breathing too heavy to reply as he continued his ascent. He wanted to bit back with some kind of snarky remark— something that would bite into Crow’s skin under his armor. But he couldn’t find the right words, the right voice, that held the right defiance and the right bite. So he simply kept climbing, biting down on his lip so hard it began to bleed. So be it, if it took any attention away from the situation at hand.
It had been longer than he wanted when he finally got to where Crow perched. It was difficult, and he nearly hung off the side of the cliff as he viciously stuck his sword in the ground on top and pulled himself up. In another futile attempt to steady himself, he stood upright, looking piercingly into Crow’s eyes.

It was probably too long before Flynn caught up to the dragon again, and he could feel his wrist worsening by each rock he grabbed on to. His chest heaved with each ashy breath and it hurt, everything burning into his skin. He could barely see through the maroon haze of his own mind, but as he got up once more and stared Crow right in the eyes, he found the courage to speak.
“What game are you playing?” he choked out in short breaths, barely audible. “I thought this was a d-duel. Not a chase, dragon.”