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“You’re ridiculous,” said the scribe, but she took down what the knight said nonetheless. “Did you know, I record the stories of roughly three quests per week, and while the other knights tell me how they vanquished an enemy in combat or wooed a foreign princess, you’re the only one who talks about leading troops of tiny men from beyond the stars or communing with strange intelligence from beneath the sea?”
Sir Louis grinned and held up his hand.
“All true, and all undertaken for the privilege of telling the tale to you afterwards! Surely you aren’t going to turn me away in disbelief, not when I was jut about to tell you the story of my hunt for the white hart?”
“We have enough stories of grand hunts in the archives,” Alycia said, fighting back a smile. She wanted to hear his story, and he knew she wanted to hear it, but she wasn't about to go easy on him. Let him make a pitch for why his story was relevant and interesting enough to be recorded for future generations to read, just like everyone else.
“Ah, but mine isn’t just the story of a hunt! It’s a story of gods and spirits and hidden treasure. All true, I swear by my sword! And if they are lies, isn’t a good story worthy enough on its own to record?”
Alycia took a quick glance at the rest of the library, verifying that there was no one else waiting impatiently to have their own narrative transcribed, nor other scribes to judge how she spent her work hours. She looked back at Louis, his smile accented by the freckles dotted across his cheeks, and pretended to give him a stern look.
“Alright. But make it convincing this time!”
Louis had the deepest brown eyes Alycia had ever seen, and they almost made you want to take him seriously. Almost. She had no doubt he was a capable knight, but he should have been a troubadour or a stage enchanter, performing tricks of obvious fakery that you almost believed in because of the sincerity of those eyes. As soon as she allowed him to proceed with his story, they glistened with cheer.
“They held the latest hunt for the white hart on the last day of winter, though they never expect anyone to catch it. Did you know, in the last fifty years, it has only been caught twice? And each time it comes back to life when winter starts again!”
“I know, Louis, I know.”
“Well, I had a plan of my own this time. Certainly I would look like a figure from myth if I came back riding with his antlers as a trophy, but far better hunters than I have failed to do so. And besides, what had the white hart ever done to me? Still, I wanted to see it and know that it was real, not simply a tale invented by braggarts, and I wanted to share my knowledge with you.”
He paused, leaning so close to Alycia over her desk that she only would have had to move an inch forward for her lips to touch his. Instead she gave him an expectant look, and he proceeded with his story.
“I did not carry a bow or bring along my hound- all I brought with me was a pack and a knife, in case I myself was set upon by beasts. I put aside all thoughts of outracing or out-thinking the white hart and simply asked myself what I would do if I were in his place. This way, I found which rivers I might have drank from, which trees would have best scratched my antlers, and at last, what glad I might rest in. When I found him, daylight was long gone, but his fur shone like the stars in the dark forest. I bowed to him, and he did not move either to flee or to gore me through. When I saw he was giving me time to announce my intentions, I did the best I could.
“‘Oh great white hart,’ I said, ‘I have not come to kill you. I assure you, only reverence exists in my soul towards such a magnificent creature. I only wish to bring back proof that I have seen you. I do not ask for your antlers, only a bit of your fur that I might present to the one I love.’ I did not doubt for a moment that he understood what I said, and at last he answered me in a voice as deep as thunder and as clear as birdsong.
“‘The one you love,’ he said. ‘Who is this person that so desires the fur of the white hart?’
“And here I spoke to him of Alycia the scribe. I told him how wise you were, how many stories you knew from before writing itself had been invented, and how patient you were with me whenever I brought you a new adventure to record- and how you always wrote it down in language far more poetic than I could ever manage. I told him that you always carried the sweet smell of old paper and leather, and that I had never seen such a perfect face as yours in all my travels, nor hair that curled so beautifully. I told him nothing but the truth. In the end, he seemed to understand.”
There had once been a time when Alycia would have blushed at Louis’s flirtation, but now she turned it over in her head. She had only just warned herself about trusting his sincerity, and yet she wanted him to mean what he said. She did not think he was cruel enough to mock or trick her, but he might joke without realizing how those jokes might be heard.
“Am I really meant to believe my own appeal transcends the bounds of mortals?” she asked, and he shrugged expansively before continuing.
“As I was saying, the white hart seemed to hear and understand what I told him about you, and at last he stood and took a few steps towards an ancient oak. I saw that I was meant to follow, and he pointed to a hollow in the oak hidden in a bush. I could not say how many years had passed since anyone had last disturbed it.
“‘If your love is as wise as you say,’ he told me, ‘then she will prefer the treasure within that hollow to any hank of hair.’”
Louis lifted up his leather pack, and to her surprise, Alycia saw light scratches on his hands, as if he really had spent time scrounging among bark and briars. At last he removed something that had so grown so brown with age she almost didn’t recognize it for a scroll. When he handed it over to her, her skin grew warm with anticipation.
“Anything for you,” Louis said. Alycia’s hands shook as she pulled on her softest pair of gloves and tentatively unrolled the ancient parchment. At first she was confused by the seemingly random mixture of symbols, but when she realized what they meant paired side by side, she thought she might faint.
“The hart said it would allow you to read lost languages,” Louis said. “I’m not sure how that works, but-“
Once again, the lack of other people in the library proved fortunate, as Alycia threw herself into his arms, weeping and smiling and meeting his kiss.