"..."

Others were stepping in for her. Sir Fionn. Sir Rolan. Either attempting to convince the apprentice mage, or standing up for her.

But if she couldn't do this herself, what sort of captain was she?

They faced a dragon. Not just any dragon, but Thrinax himself. The legendary companion of Prince Erion. They needed everything at their disposal. Fanilly couldn't understand how someone in this situation could even threaten not to help.

Had she done something wrong down the line in dealing with the mage? The Knight-Captain searched through her memories. The fact Gisela reprimanded her certainly didn't help, but they were still facing a dragon. It had to be more than that, given the situation, didn't it?

Fanilly took a deep breath.

"... We can talk after these tests are over, Lady Gertrude," she began, "But---"

She paused for a moment, trying to choose her words carefully. As much as she was starting to feel frustrated, she also had to secure the other girl's assistance to help with forcing the dragon to remain grounded. Without her, she still had faith in her knights, but at the same time she couldn't ignore the just how much a mage could assist in battle against a dragon.

Even if death was not permanent here, Fanilly had to act in the way she thought would secure victory with the least potential for casualties. That meant trying to utilize every advantage she could possibly think of.

And that meant leaning on Gertrude's capabilities as a mage.

"But right now---"

The glimmering scales were like jewels.

Thrinax had taken off.

He was approaching.

"Down!" Fanilly cut herself off, "Get down the hill now!"

Already she was running, sprinting to the nearest edge of the hill as swiftly as she could. She could already imagine it, see what could happen playing out in her mind.

Slashing claws. Snapping jaws. Lashing tail.

Sheer size.

A dragon was dangerous for all of these reasons.

But they all paled in comparison to the most unique and terrifying weapon of their kind.

Dragonfire.

Searing, scorching, devastating flames that could melt away even dwarven steel in seconds. That could burn the hides of trolls to a cinder. That could leave scars upon the land that would remain for hundreds of years.

Fanilly's greaves hit the side of the hill, and her momentum allowed her to slide down, air rushing past her.

She could feel the heat behind her. Any closer, and it would have singed her cape and possibly even the back of her neck.

This was it.

They had to win.

They had to wound a dragon.