26.Jun.13, 10:02 AM
The sound of shuffled papers filled the cramped Archives, laced with the gentle padding of feet on carpet and the occasional clearing of men's throats. The first floor was always the busiest, home to the rarer, finer books of the Lord's collection, and most frequented by highborn visitors. It was unusual to see commonfolk between the shelves, idly picking through literature they likely couldn't read, but the poor were not explicitly barred from the Library. Their presence was frowned upon by the majority of the educated staff, especially the elder Harper known as the Head Curator.
The ancient Masterharper disliked the lackwit drudges putting their grubby fingerprints in places they didn't belong, and vehemently denied them access to the Restoration Room on the third floor, wheezing that he'd give them a wicked whipping if he caught a single whiff of them near the protected area. How the decrepit librarian would lift a cane higher than his knees, no one knew. At the moment he was glaring half-blind between the shelves at one of his underlings, an Archivist he typically respected for his meticulous nature, who'd been completely distracted by some pet project the last sevenday and was neglecting his work. The Head Curator grumbled as he puttered away, making a note have words with the fluffy-haired man.
Warkhim sat in one of the plush chairs of the Archives, one eyebrow cocked up to his forehead as he lounged. Today is the seventh day, he thought blandly. Surely the little minx from the kitchen wouldn't stand him up. It would behoove her to arrive in a timely manner. He waited at his desk on the first floor, a sectioned off space hidden in a nook that was not quite a suitable doored room, but offered him a modicum of privacy with his guests.
The Senior Journeyman had much to tell little Kira after beginning his search for her bloodline in the commonborn section, half perusing the official records and half scouring through his personal annals. The other librarians found little value in keeping such scrupulous notes on the general populace, but Warkhim knew any information, even on the poor, was a useful tool if properly applied. He found her lowborn father, Moran, quickly using his alphabetical cross references, but her mother, Senski, was a different story. Tracking her family tree led the Archivist to a section of his blood lines he didn't truly expect to return to-- his own. It appeared Senski the drudge was directly descended from Nisseri of Telgar, the Wayward Daughter, they called her, who abandoned her post and privileges for love of a working man.
Well, fuck me, he thought, not for the first time that sevenday. It changed very little about his opinion of her as far as sex went: half of the Lord Holder's family had slept with or married distant relatives to keep the bloodline pure, and interbreeding was just as common with the minor Holders' families. It was all a giant royal cesspool, and Warkhim pursuing a kitchen drudge for a tumble in the sheets was really the least of Telgar's worries.
Still, he was less than pleased to discover that she was his second cousin (twice removed), and had been occupied for days trying to prove himself wrong. But as he sat skimming the records again he was certain: he never made errors and he was semi-related to Kira the drudge. Warkhim tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, wondering how deterred from fucking him she'd be if he told her. He'd have to present the information delicately, stressing that they weren't properly related by Telgarian standards, and that their only connection was four to five generations back (depending on the subject's point of view. Warkhim was old enough to be her father, and it didn't bother him in the least.)
"Maybe it's enough," he sighed, leafing through the pages of their shared history.
The ancient Masterharper disliked the lackwit drudges putting their grubby fingerprints in places they didn't belong, and vehemently denied them access to the Restoration Room on the third floor, wheezing that he'd give them a wicked whipping if he caught a single whiff of them near the protected area. How the decrepit librarian would lift a cane higher than his knees, no one knew. At the moment he was glaring half-blind between the shelves at one of his underlings, an Archivist he typically respected for his meticulous nature, who'd been completely distracted by some pet project the last sevenday and was neglecting his work. The Head Curator grumbled as he puttered away, making a note have words with the fluffy-haired man.
Warkhim sat in one of the plush chairs of the Archives, one eyebrow cocked up to his forehead as he lounged. Today is the seventh day, he thought blandly. Surely the little minx from the kitchen wouldn't stand him up. It would behoove her to arrive in a timely manner. He waited at his desk on the first floor, a sectioned off space hidden in a nook that was not quite a suitable doored room, but offered him a modicum of privacy with his guests.
The Senior Journeyman had much to tell little Kira after beginning his search for her bloodline in the commonborn section, half perusing the official records and half scouring through his personal annals. The other librarians found little value in keeping such scrupulous notes on the general populace, but Warkhim knew any information, even on the poor, was a useful tool if properly applied. He found her lowborn father, Moran, quickly using his alphabetical cross references, but her mother, Senski, was a different story. Tracking her family tree led the Archivist to a section of his blood lines he didn't truly expect to return to-- his own. It appeared Senski the drudge was directly descended from Nisseri of Telgar, the Wayward Daughter, they called her, who abandoned her post and privileges for love of a working man.
Well, fuck me, he thought, not for the first time that sevenday. It changed very little about his opinion of her as far as sex went: half of the Lord Holder's family had slept with or married distant relatives to keep the bloodline pure, and interbreeding was just as common with the minor Holders' families. It was all a giant royal cesspool, and Warkhim pursuing a kitchen drudge for a tumble in the sheets was really the least of Telgar's worries.
Still, he was less than pleased to discover that she was his second cousin (twice removed), and had been occupied for days trying to prove himself wrong. But as he sat skimming the records again he was certain: he never made errors and he was semi-related to Kira the drudge. Warkhim tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, wondering how deterred from fucking him she'd be if he told her. He'd have to present the information delicately, stressing that they weren't properly related by Telgarian standards, and that their only connection was four to five generations back (depending on the subject's point of view. Warkhim was old enough to be her father, and it didn't bother him in the least.)
"Maybe it's enough," he sighed, leafing through the pages of their shared history.