This story began as a way to bond with my younger brother; and after many jokes, laughter, and creativity, its been written onto (digital) paper. We've explored this world, given it depth and added stories into empty spaces, in the hopes that it would expanded in my writing.

Not everything will be the same as the series as a creative liberty but I do try to remain pretty close.
Over the years, I've been updating as my writing improved. Its been a slow process but I promise you this story isn't abandoned. There's just been a lot of heartbreak over the passage of time, and other things call my attention.
It is my hope that you enjoy reading it and will also forgive any errors in spelling or grammar you might see. Sometimes my cat like to help me write or I simply miss something haha

Note: all editing is complete on the main story. There has not been any editing on the side stories. Please disregard all notes about the editing process.

Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear for you :)

I do not the Inheritance Cycle

Enjoy,


Treasures

For as long as she could remember, Rose had explored the old forgotten rooms that were encased within the walls of the castle. She would wonder at the unused passageways and rooms, tucked away behind forgotten doors, inventing their histories in her mind. Each room held its own treasure, and slowly over the years, she would tuck away a small charm from each room, and kept it hidden away from prying eyes. In her youth, she had believed herself to be a treasure hunter and great explorer, discovering and collecting lost treasures of a begone era.

It was during that time, when she had found the Shining Room. That day Rose was had been ordered to remain in her room and to study some subject she had long ago forgotten before quickly growing bored, and slipping away from any watching eyes. She had wondered away down long halls to a rounded collider with shifting shadows and locked doors, only one of which she was able to unlock and step inside.

In the blindness of her youth, when Rose had walked into that hidden room, she had been disappointed by the lack of an obvious prize but as she explored, she began to see that the greatest treasures were hidden. The Shining Room was lined from floor to ceiling with row upon row of books, their spines gleamed with golden letters in the spilling sunlight and among the books were curious figurines of alabaster and opalstone, and even a model of a ship made from wood so pale it seemed silver. Rose walked along slowly, her fingers tracing the runes on the hubs, whispering the titles as she read them. Many of them she had never heard of before nor had she after, and there were a number written in a language she did not know. Everywhere there were parchments, scrolls, and ancient papers piled on the floor, desk, and tables, and she had to step over or around them so that she didn't trip.

Rose found in the corner of the room, near a window that overlooked an overgrown private garden, a huge harp carved intricately out of polished wood and next to it, sat on a small table was a natural crystal of adamant which alone of all things had been unshaped by human hands, a ripple of sunlight passed through it throwing dapples of rainbows across the room.

That afternoon, she sat in a lone chair, her fingers strumming the tarnished metal strings of the harp, until the rainbows faded and the room grew dark, and she was forced to leave. She imagined that in the days of the room's use it had been private study, a place of quiet and contemplation. A man would stand near the fireplace, a solitary figure looking out over the garden below before striding to a chair and sitting down heavily as if the weight the world sat upon his shoulders alone. There he would sit for ages, reading tales and even writing ballads.

It is in this room, years after discovering it, that Rose sat now, looking around forlornly. The loveliness of the room was now gone, replaced with an emptiness that she had no words for. The shelves had been torn down, and their books and parchments and lovely figurines, models, and the instrument; missing. It was very likely that they were taken to a place where they were likely to never be seen again- hidden in a far-off corner, locked away to gather dust or simply destroyed. In the place of the crystal, that she had once been memorized by, was large round table on which was placed goblets of gold and a golden ewer, large plates laden with fruits and sweetened nuts, and at its center as a silver vase filled with colorful blossoms. The floor that once been suited in carpet, drab and nearly colorless from the passage of time, was now was dyed a rich blue. It was a dark, wonderful, and expensive color it was befitting of a queen. There was no royalty in the room however, perhaps once long ago, when the world was younger and more naïve, they've roamed the grand room in calm tranquility. That silence had been replaced, as well, with the bumble of chatter from young girls and women in grand gowns.

Rose didn't know what they talked about, she remained hiding in a dark shadow of an alcove which secreted her away completely. She would glance around the curtain occasionally, straining her neck, to see if any of the women of the court were making their way toward her. Should that happen, and she had to unveil herself, she needed to know so she might plan her excuse for being there. None came her way, however, and she wondered for a spare moment at the idea of just swallowing her pride and running towards her rooms. This was only the barest of a moment's thought, and as quickly as it came into her mind, it left again.

A lady of the Urû'baen Court did not run through the vestibules. It would be scandalous. Any little act that was not prime and entirely proper was merely a call for talk behind lace fans and gloved hands, and Rose heard enough about her own doings. She was perfectly content to stay where she was until she was forced elsewhere. As a young lady of the Court herself, this behavior was unwarranted, but she would not be involved in the small, petty talk of these women. Rose had far more important activities to do, and this event was wasting what time she had left to do them. It was an unfortunate happening that she had been corned by the Lady of the Hour, Robena, that morning.

Rose backed against the wall until the rough stone prickled the bare skin of her neck. She whispered a silent prayer to Seigfrida, the goddess of protection, and let out the barest of breathes as Gwenda the Lady of Fairdi, her daughter Tristana, and Lady Eleri Siriol passed her alcove. The trio were chatting about the latest fashions. As they pasted, Tristana looked her way, her golden wine-colored eyes studied the shadows as if she knew that Rose was hidden there. Tristana did not, of course, if she had something would have been said. Something horrible that would cause Rose great embarrassment in front of Tristana's mother and Lady Eleri Siriol.

When there was only a chirp about a new-found fondness of lace hergauts, Rose knew that she was safe, and yet she waited until the women had taken a seat and were well out of earshot. She let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding, and after only quick peek around the room, she slipped into the light, having decided it was no longer safe to hide away. Rose quietly made her way to a small gathering of women and stood quietly beside a girl with a soft, round face and watery blue eyes that gleamed at the sight of sweets.

Idelle was talking with a group of young women, her face downcast, and her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was, like the other girls in the room, a lustrous glass; appealing it was to look at their gleaming surfaces, with cheery masks and hidden desires. For the longest time, they talked about flowers and gardens and the latest fashions of laces and ribbon. It was monotonous chatter, that was meant only to convince the older women nearby that she was indeed as mindless as the conversation, and after an immeasurably long time it worked. The three noble ladies seemed to grow jaded by the talk and excused themselves. Once they were out of earshot, Idelle turned and the trained masks she wore melted away.

"It is good to see that you came, Muirgheal," Idelle said, smiling wobbly at Rose. Her golden hair was held back by a band of pearls. "There has been strange tales about you as of late, and I haven't been certain what to make of them."

"It was not my plan for this day yet it is not all horrible, I suppose that there are some advantages. It is good to see you at the very least." Rose frowned, and shifted her footing. "Are these rumors anything I should concern myself with or they but wearisome blathering from nattering geese?"

"I know not," Idelle said, pushing her hair over her shoulder and met her eyes briefly before looking down. She leaned closer to Rose and said in very soft voice, "It's said that you shall be missing your season in court, yet you're not to wed as the King has other plans in place for you. Tristana said that you're to be training with the King himself, and Lady Robena heard that you're to be sent away from Court entirely. A bunch of riddles, they seem to me. But, oh! You must tell me that they're false!"

Rose looked away for a time, lost in thought, and then said in a low voice, "I have yet to know what is true myself, Idelle, yet I know that neither of us will be attend our season. A pity really for I have been enjoy the chief's new fond fondness for garlic very much!"

"Oh, yes, I suppose he does love…" Idelle said, her voice fading. She fixed her eyes on Rose and gave her a humored look before it faded back into a polite mask. "I, however, pray to never have a meal with garlic again! When you know, do tell me though I suppose you are not obliged to do so. I do consider you a friend, as you know, and would like to know that you are doing well."

There was a heavy silence as both girls found a set of empty chairs near the side of the room and sat down. Both were lost in their own thoughts of their own troubles.

"You're betrothed is not a cruel man," Rose said after a time.

Idelle leaned back into the chair, dismayed. "Yet older than my own father!"

Her engagement had been a shock to Rose when she heard of it a week before. She still thought of Idelle as the young child playing in the gardens and picking flowers to hide away in pages of books, often times she would pull Rose into her merrymaking though it would rarely last long.

"And he will die all the sooner and his estate shall fall onto you until a time comes that his heir is old enough. That is assuming you will provide him an heir before the old croon writhers away," Rose whispered with a slight grin. "There are worse matches that could have been agreed upon. If you would think of Lakan for instance, that brute has yet to maintain a wife who lives long enough to have produced him an heir. Marrying him is a sentence of death, and a much worse marriage proposal."

"I suppose you are right but you really shouldn't say such things. Of course, I shall begin my husband an heir as is my duty. It would be preposterous not to! Yet if the excitement were too much due to his age, well, I suppose…" Idelle's voice faded and she fought a smile. "And our dear Lord Lakan has yet to return to court since Lady Theralle passed. Do you believe him to be ill? I dearly hope he's not yet I pray he doesn't not return anytime soon. His is not a face I shall ever miss."

Rose agreed, she too prayed that he would never set foot in the capital again or at the very least; that she would never have to see the displeasure that he brought to the halls or the air about it- the vile old man that he was. The topic then moved on to less important matters, such as those they had likely learned listening at the doors, as a girl with scarlet colored hair joined the pair. After some time, silence fell over them as a pair of women in matching gowns joined them and conversation shifted to fabrics and jewels once more.

Rose shifted her focus towards the walls, her mind wondering over Idelle's words and the rumors that cycled through the courts. Much of what Idelle heard was true, she would be doing many things these coming months, and perhaps it was both fortunate and tragic that she would not be joining these girls in their merry-making and leaden natters. She would be elsewhere, doing and learning skills that, to her, seemed inadequate and very ill timed. Once more she wondered at the King's decisions. What exactly was he trying to do? And why now, of all times?

As she pondered over her thoughts, a woman, a servant if truth were to be told, walked into the room and stood silently behind her. A folded paper was placed in Rose's lap and the woman walked out without a sound. Rose peered at the thick parchment, taking it into her hands and quickly reading over it. She smiled and excused herself, though she doubted that the women heard her over their debate about what type of fabric is best for a ball-gown in springtime. She tried not to rush too quickly out of the room or slam the door but she had a feeling she failed at doing both. It didn't matter, truly, in a few months' time these events would be trivial.

Once out of room, Rose turned to the woman who stood waiting for her, and smiled widely. "I thank you, and all the gods and saints, for your daring rescue!" she said.

The servant smiled lightly at her and shook her head. "Surely it was not that bad."

Rose disagreed but kept her disagreement unsaid, instead she gave the woman a doubtful look.

"Then I am honored to be your savior if only for the briefest of moments," Ailis laughed, stepping away from the door, "however do not give me your thanks, for that you will have to go to Tornac."

Rose ran her fingers over the folded parchment. The excitement that had begun to bubble inside her, quickly became overwhelming. The smile on her face widened. "He is truly back then?"

"He is," she said.

Ailis was a woman somewhere in her middle years, though she did not always seem to be. She often seemed younger. Th woman had a lovely face; kind and merry and wise, and yet sad all at once. The woman would often look on with a forlorn expression, and Rose wondered what caused it. Now however Ailis smiled, and she did, a piece of her silken brown hair fell between her eyes.

"Where is he?"

Ailis began to walk as a group of men turned the corner and came into sight. "In his usual hideaway," she said softly, when Rose fell into step just ahead of her. "He had asked after you."

Rose began to wring her hands. "And what did you tell him exactly?" she asked.

"The truth," said Ailis. "Oh, please, stop with giving me that face. You look as if you bit into sour fruit."

Rose turned away and set her face to express no emotion. A mask. "I would rather you hadn't told him anything of the matter," she said softly. "I am perfectly fine."

"I may work here under the King's housing but Tornac is my employer," Ailis hissed as the men came closer. "I cannot simply lie to him nor should you. It'll only make it worse when he finds out the truth."

With a huff, Rose fell into silence. Her gratitude towards Ailis for saving her fell away into annoyance. She didn't need this, not today of all days. Her emotions were already running high and her thoughts, oh, her thoughts were very tangled indeed! It was like unraveling a pile of knotted yarn, trying to think of what she was feeling and thinking, and with each day the tangle only got bigger and bigger until there was no hope of finding which end was which. In short, it was horrible and truly terrible mess.

"You should clean yourself up before you go and see him," Ailis whispered when the men were out of earshot. "I mean no affront but you look a bit off-color."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "I seem to look off-color often as of late. It's a statement of fashion," she muttered. "I know not what I could do to make myself look otherwise in a few moments. Thank you, though, for the suggestion."

"You could sleep tonight instead of spending the night reading," Ailis suggested. "You might find that you feel much better come morn."

"You know that it likely that I shan't not sleep a wink."

Ailis sighed. "Try," she said. "Just for tonight."

"I will," she lied. Just how many times had she repeated that lie now? She couldn't recall.

"You best do so," said Ailis sternly, her hands resting on her hips. "I shan't be around tonight to check in on you."

Rose briefly wondered where and what Ailis would be doing. It was none of her business. She turned around and looked at the woman. "I shall see you in the morning, then, yes?"

"Yes," said Ailis, and then she disappeared into a doorway. "I shall see you then."

Stopping, Rose fingered the stout doorway Ailis disappeared through before turning away. She had always wondered at the winding hallways and staircases the servants took to but has always felt that if she went through that door, she would never make her way out. She preferred the halls of the main castle. They were enough of a maze for her.

Rose walked away eager to see Tornac. It did not take her long to find the room that he had holed himself into as she had been there many times. She opened the thick door without knocking and shut it with hardly a sound. The only person in the room was Tornac. He stood facing a crackling fire with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at a painting of the sea. Rose did not remember it ever being there and for a moment she studied it.

She hadn't been in this room since Tornac left to make a journey many months prior, but the high-ceilinged chamber looked the same. The dreary earthen walls were painted with a soft brown, and from the ceiling hung an oil lamp shaped that defused a gentle golden light. Comfortable high-legged chairs were arranged how they always have been, in a half circle around the fireplace. An elegant bookcase filled with leather-bound books lined the wall opposite. Rose saw that a few of the titles she remembered were missing and she wondered where they had gone to.

Taking a step into the room, she smiled widely and rushed to embrace him, tossing her arms around him from behind. He took a sharp intake of breath as he rocked forth on his feet, and then twisted himself around so that they properly embraced. They remained this way for a long time.

"You said you would not be back before winter," she said they broke away. "What has brought you back so early?"

His eyebrows wiggled, fighting each other across the bridge of his nose. "Unexpected events," he said, cupping her face in his hands. Tornac studied her for a long moment, and she took the chance to study him as well.

He was a stern-looking man with a scar across his cheek to his sharp nose which drew the skin tightly under his left eye which made his face unusually expressionless. His hair was longer than she remembered and was held back with a thin strap of worn leather. There were new creases near his eyes and his cheekbones seemed much sharper. His heavily hooded eyes where the same bright blue, like the color of a robin's egg.

For as long as Rose could remember, this man had been a part of her life. He had been many roles in her life; a protector, a father-figure, a guardian, and friend. None of these were the reason that he was introduced into her life, however, Tornac had been hired when she was a small child after an assassin broke into her nursey. He was meant to be in charge of her protection and nothing more. Tornac had, however, found that the small, quiet child who was more than a little terrified of him to be the biggest challenge of his life. Watching from the side lines and charging others with her protection would not do, not when he could hardly keep an eye on the girl himself- how was he supposed to charge others with her care? And so, his role changed, though he often said he was merely leading by example.

Rose didn't know the truth herself but she suspected that it had more to do with who Tornac was rather than who she was. The mere thought of the man charging others to her care was, to her, laughable. Tornac was a rare man. He was the person she trusted most in this world and he had always there, always reliable, she could tell him anything without the fear of judgment. He was steadiness when nothing else was. No one could compare to that. Well, he had been until a year or so ago, that it when everything seemed to change in her life.

Tornac's dry lips thinned and he shook his head. Slowly, he drew her towards the sofa, before releasing and sitting himself on a chair across from her. "You look unwell, my girl. Is there something you wish to talk about?"

Rose shook her head. She knew perfectly well how she looked: tired. At least that's how she felt. So very tired. Over the last months she had found that sleep was a hard thing to come by, and would instead stay up with a book late into the night. The only time she fell asleep was in the wee hours of the morning when her eyes burned and salty tears fell down her cheeks, and she could keep them open no more. Even when she did sleep, she got very few hours of it, and this left her skin a deathly pale and dark half circles under her eyes. In the morning, without fail, Ailis would tut over her state and caution her to get some rest. She would agree to try, as she had earlier but it would be a lie to please the woman and nothing more. Despite her slow mind, she found her less than pleasing state to be a sound excuse, a very good reason to excuse herself from a number of unpleasant gatherings like the one today. She had been truly unlucky to get trapped into it.

"I am here whenever you feel the need to talk," Tornac said.

"I thought that Ailis already told you." Rose looked down at her finger, picking at her nails.

Tornac covered her hands with his before drawing away. "She had, but all the same, I would prefer to hear it from you," he said.

Rose nodded, folding her hands in her lap but didn't look up.

For a long time neither of them spoken, and then Tornac stood up and walked towards a small table in the back of the room. He poured himself a glass of golden wine from a crystalline pitcher. "I understand that the King had made up his mind, that much is clear, and there is little the that either of us can do about that. I know how this troubles you, Rose, to know that once more you're being considered as something you are not," he said after sipping from his goblet.

Rose huffed and squeezed her eyes shut. "Not yet," she retorted bitterly. "The King grows impatient and I can only delay him for so long. He will demand an answer soon enough, and he will get what he wants. He always does!"

Tornac stared into the fire for a long moment, completely lost in thought, which was fine by her. Her excitement at seeing him was now gone, a part of her suddenly wished he had taken a little longer to return. Finally, Tornac stirred and returned to his seat. "Do you still have that necklace I gave you?" he asked.

She started, her eyes shot to Tornac's and she hastily opened her mouth "I- Oh, yes, of course," she stammered.

"I would be delighted to see you wear it," he said, sipping from his goblet. "I gifted it to you to be worn, my girl, not to be hidden in a box with all your other knickknacks."

Rose bit her lip. "I've worn it a few times," she noted. "It's lovely, Tornac, however I've struggled to find an outfit with it."

"Do wear it for me, won't you?"

Rose nodded, and said, "Oh! I nearly forgot to ask; what happened while you were away?"

Tornac gave her a hard, unyielding look and her shoulders dropped with disappointment. "Very little worth noting, it is best if no more is said." His face softened and he said, "Now why don't you grace my ears with your playing, it is something I have long missed and I could use a distraction."

Rose raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question. Tornac knew as well as she that she had not an instrument to play and that her singing voice was that akin to the screeching of a great horned owl. However, before she could resort, he bent down and pulled out a large cloth covered package. In a smooth motion he handed it to her, she took it carefully, not use to such gifts from the old swordsman. The package sat across her lap hanging little more than two feet off and it was as not as wide as her waist. Rose carefully undid the rough strings and unfolded the thick cloth, and took a sharp breath. Inside sat a viol.

The viol was a bowed musical instrument of dark golden wood that sat on the lap or in between the legs when played, it was a rectangle that curved in halfway into its frame, a long polished neck ended in a fine curve that held seven strings that when struck with a bow made a pleasing sound, it had a flat back, and an integrant carved pattern that sat under the strings. It was truly a beautiful instrument.

"I happened to come across it in a small village, the poor merchant who owned it had the bad luck of ignorance as to what treasure he held," Tornac said. "I pray you still have your old bow else I'll have search for one which would be a long and pitiless."

Rose frowned, her hand hovering over the seven strings. "I do. Tornac, this is grand gift. I cannot thank you enough."

"However?" Tornac said, his eyes remaining on her face.

"I'm afraid I have never played a voil with seven strings."

Tornac nodded, understanding the problem, "Come to me when you learn and I'll listen then."

Rose smiled and nodded happily. It was because of Tornac's insentience that she had acquired such a taste for musical instruments. He was the one to introduce her to the bard Brage, who took the hardy task of teaching her to play the stringed instrument. Playing had not come naturally to her and she began to loathe the time she spent with the bard, until one winter day when she found she took pleasure in the challenge, and his tales. Since then, she spent much of her leisure time playing songs in her chambers when her mind became too conflicting to do anything save for music. That is until sevenal months ago, when her beloved viol fell from her bed and cracked. It was completely unplayable and she was forced to set it aside.

"I'll come to you then," Rose said, happy to have such a test to face. Perhaps if she wondered in the music room there'd be a soul willing to teach her.

"I will wait eagerly until such a time passes," Tornac said grimly, as he stood. His old bones cracking like the fire. "Now, I'm afraid that I must excuse myself as I am quite weary."

Rose stood as well. "Rest well, Tornac."

"And you, my girl, best get more than a wink of sleep tonight," he said, clasping his large hand on her shoulder.

"I shall try."

He nodded. "You best do more than try."

They walked out of the room and went their separate ways. It with a shock that it was almost nightfall. She hadn't eaten anything that day, there had been no time break her fast that morning. Hungry, Rose made her way to kitchens, hugging the viol close to her chest. After reaching the large kitchens and charming a meal out of the cooks, she ate hastily as she made her way back to her chambers.

While traversing the curving halls, Rose came across the sound of voices in one of the many stone walled rooms that were rarely used. Curious, she stopped to listen, ignoring all the manners that had been ingrained into her.

"I've had enough of this talk," a man said, impatience seeping from his voice. "There is much to be done and I precious little time to do it. I've everything you've asked of me and more." A beat of silence. "Take this, it is yours."

There was the sound of rustling leather and footsteps, and then an exclaim of surprise It sounded feminine. "It's heavier than they claimed it would be."

Someone snorted, as if they were humored. "You should have seen my surprise when I was given it by that misfit of yours."

Rose, entranced, stepped closer to the closed door and pressed herself to its cool surface. For a moment she wondered what was the people talking about? Then she realized why the voices were familiar, and who it what that was talking, and went still with shock.

"Hush you!" the woman hissed. "Humans aren't the only things that have ears around here, and if we get caught in the storm everything up until now best be forgotten."

Squeezing the instrument closer to her chest, Rose slowly walked backwards to the nearest corner, careful to make no sound. She didn't wish for them to hear her. Should they hear and catch her snooping, she would have to explain herself, and at the moment she was certain she wouldn't be able to come up a convincing lie.

"I know," it was Tornac's voice that replied. "Though I must ask while we are risking our necks: when the storm will land?"

"Two days time," the woman said lowly. "It is not too late to with draw to higher land."

With the corner only a few feet away, Rose picked up her pace, tossing all former precaution away.

"I'll see to it that I'm well prepared."

The creaking sound of the door opening startling Rose and she turned on her heel and ran around the corner, her loud footsteps echoing behind her. With a deep breath she peeked over the corner.

"Do you believe someone heard us?" Tornac asked his shaggy white hair falling into his eyes.

The woman, Ailis, looked up at him, her face twisted in a way that Rose had never witnessed. "Aye, someone did hear us. Tread carefully, Tornac," she said. "It'll be some time before we're out of these dark waters." With her warning said, she stormed away, her dark skirts billowed behind her, like dark clouds.

Rose didn't wait for anything more to happen, instead she turned and hurried to her rooms, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest. Had anyone seen her she would no doubt be the subject of gossip for the next week for running about the halls like a savage boar, fueling the rumors that she seemed to the subject of. She felt like cursing and crying. and as soon as she turned the corner she slowed to a steady walk until she reached her rooms and locked the door to her bedchamber.

Her gaze swept across her bedchamber; it was a neat disarray of books and scrolls, many of which belonged to the castle's library, though it quite unlikely they would return to their proper home any time soon. A fire flickered in the grate and through an arched window the bubbling voices of a fountain could be heard. A bed draped with a brocaded cover stood in the corner and near it, a lush arm chair burdened with heavy books faced the heavy oak door. Colored perfume bottles of all shapes and sizes sat across a long, thin table with a wood framed mirror and a hard stool was tucked underneath the table. An intricately carved wooden chest for clothing was pushed to the far wall.

She thought of the Shining Room once more, and what it had once been. A resolve began burning into her being. She would not allow the hunter who raze that treasured room, destroy her as well, if only she could find an answer as to how.

Rose picked up a thick book which was decorated cover of mother-of-pearl and gold leaf edging. It was the very same book she had discarded the night before. She flipped through the thick, ivory pages until she came across the place where she had stopped and push the conversation she had heard into the back of her mind. Not bothering to move to a chair, she sunk down onto the floor, her gown bellowing around her form. The viol sat beside her, forgotten in her sudden need for answers. That night she finished the book, and the small pile of notes that she had been taking over the last weeks, grew beside her.