I do not own The Inheritance Cycle.
So there are almost as many side-stories as chapters... but whatever. I have way too much writing these silly things, and they help me keep the characters in line. So far this is my favorite side-story.
In this Rose is about 11 years old.
Enjoy,


Treasures

Rose hurried down the leafy tunnel, her silk slippers whispering over the paved path. Looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was pursuing her, she yanked the shining ribbon from her head. She saw no one, and yet, she could not shake the feeling that someone was there watching her, not far behind… She shook herself, and continued past the boxwood walls, as quietly and quickly as she could manage.

She paused once, briefly near the end of the tunnel where the light from the sun fell in dapples, painting all it touched in a soft golden light, and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. When her hair was smoothed, she tied it back with the ribbon and looked critically down at a potted vase of many colored irises. Her fingers twitched as if she were to pluck one and then formed into a tight fist. She glanced forward, running her fingers through her hair once more, before she took a deep breath and jogged to the archway.

She heard him, before she saw him.

"Good day, Rose!" a voice called to her, and she turned towards the voice's owner with a wide grin.

She rubbed her wrists fretfully. "Hello, Ilbert," she said. "What have you got there?"

Ilbert smiled back her, and Rose could have sworn that her heart skipped a beat.

"Spinning tops," he said. "Da brought them from a trader in the west. Come sit down and see." Ilbert patted the ground next to him. Rose hastily strode forward and sat close to him. "Do you still have that bracelet?" he asked.

"I have it," said Rose, tugging her sleeve past her wrist, revealing a shining gold wristlet with an iridescent banded stone in the center. It was slightly too big for her wrist, and the slack had been tightened by a colored strand of twine.

Ilbert grinned and touched the polished stone lightly. Shifting on the ground, he looked up at her. "That was fun," he said.

"It was," Rose agreed, smiling at the memory.

"We'll have to do that again sometime."

"We will."

Ilbert smiled happily at her and held up a one of the spinning tops, placing it into her hands. "Want to play?"

Rose nodded a little too eagerly, then she paused. "You'll have to show me how. I've never played with spinning tops."

"It's never too late to learn," Ilbert said, then he proceeded to show her how to play with the strange spinning tops.

It was a rather simple task, and soon she found herself watching the painted spinning tops spin hypnotically.

)(.().)(

That previous week, Ilbert had begged Rose to explore an apartment, at the far end of the hall close to where the libraries were, that had laid barricaded and unused throughout living memory. There were many closed-off rooms in UrĂ»'baen's castle, as the court was smaller than it once had been, but not many were surrounded in such legend and woe.

Some lifelong servants said that the apartments were cursed, that there had been a tragic affair that ended in a bloody death. It was said that at night a ghostly woman dressed in white sometimes appears at the window or the foot of the bed her hands extended, her loose hair floating about her face, or sometimes the sound of a wailing cry could be heard in the dark hours of the night. Others said that the rooms were simply abandoned because the wall of windows made it cold in the winter and hot in the summer. Ilbert seemed to agree with the latter.

"Stop being such a girl," he told her, as she stood nervously next to him shifting fretfully from foot to foot. "It's just a tale to keep people from snooping."

"And if it's not?" she asked looking nervously around them.

He smiled widely. "Then we're dead."

"That's an awfully cheery thought, don't you think?" said Rose, swallowing loudly.

He laughed merrily, and Rose felt her already franticly pounding heart sped to a faster pace.

When Ilbert pulled the final broad from the door and unlocked it, Rose grasped firmly onto his arm. He looked at her questioningly, but said nothing, opened the door walking into a suite of rooms. The rooms looked as if they had been frozen in time, in an endless waiting for its former occupants to return.

The public rooms were bookshelves lined chaotically with lines and lines of books, their gilt lettering on the spines glistened in the light, and curious instruments and ornaments. There was a small ash filled grate with elegant carvings of ivied flowers and fat buzzing bees, and above it a crumbling painting. A fractured inkwell was turned over its contents dried eerily across the marble floor, like ancient blood. The furniture was huddled under a dust covered drop cloth to protect it from the radiant sunlight that streamed through the grimy windows.

Ilbert shook Rose off and grabbed ahold of her hand, squeezing it lightly in comfort. The children stepped slowly inside, poised to turn and run. The silence and stillness was unnerving; their footsteps sounded too loud. Even the beating of their hearts seemed amplified. Ilbert walked toward a large divan and removed the drapes with his free hand, the fabrics gleamed surprisingly vibrant after the many years. They worked their way to the room opposite the grate without finding anything interesting.

The more Rose looked the less she liked it.

The room was a private chambers, there were more books piled high on the stand next to the bed. A doll dressed in an old-fashioned gown, her blue eyes glazed out sadly from a shelf in the corner. Graceful combs and silver brushes cluttered the dressing table, their bristles frayed by mice, and perfume bottles stood on a silver mirror, their contents evaporated many years ago. A large wardrobe squatted lazily across from the curtained bed.

Ilbert walked eagerly to the wardrobe, and opened its front, Rose peering curiously over his shoulder. There were gowns from a lost age hung neatly for a tall willowy girl with a narrow waist, when Ilbert touched the fabrics they crumbled under his touch. White fungus grew cleverly in one of the wardrobe's corners, next to a polished wooden box. Rose move beside him and reached for the box and she pulled it out, the wood was smooth and felt like silk.

"What do you think is inside it?" said Rose.

"Probably the weapon that killed the White Lady," he said in jest.

"Ilbert!"

He looked at her, his hazel-green eyes gleaming merrily with mischief. "I know my name, Rosie," he said. "Now, are you going to open that box, or will I? I'd like you to open so that you can prove me right, since you don't seem to believe me."

"I never said that I didn't believe you," said Rose narrowing her eyes at him.

"You didn't need to. Please open it, the day is wasting away."

She gave him a withering glare, and looked uneasily down at the box. It felt wrong to meddle through someone's personal belongings, even if they were long ago died. Rose bit her lip, and despite her feelings she unclasped the box. She pulled out its sole article from inside with the tips of her fingers and held it up to Ilbert.

"You're correct," Rose said, seriously. "This is the murder weapon. How very fearsome, it is."

"Very funny," said Ilbert, grabbing the bracelet from her fingers and looked at it over with critical eyes.

Then he suddenly barked a harsh cough and slowly lowered himself onto the ground, Rose franticly looked around, before sitting down beside him to wait, there was little she could do. Having seen him in a worse state before, she placed her hand lightly on his arm and looked around the room noting each detail she saw.

Rose had met Ilbert in late winter two years previously. A calm, adventurous small boy with twisting dull brown hair and bright, lively eyes, Rose had liked him on sight. Little time had passed before the two of them became fast friends, sharing many secrets and much time together. He was a sickly boy who wished for very little sympathy, and in this Rose could relate as she sought no pity for her being parentless. Many of their peers shirked away from them, and when the children of the Court did speak with them it was an uncomfortable exchange brought on only by politeness, perhaps, this was why the two children got on so well, or perhaps it was because they had little one else to turn to.

After a long time his coughing subsided, he turned towards Rose. His lips were slightly blue from his former struggle to breath, and his face was so paled that it was almost translucent.

"Do you need something to drink?" Rose asked.

He wiped the drool from around his mouth with his sleeve, and stood up. "Not at this moment," he said in a rough voice.

Rose nodded. "What are we to do with the bracelet?" Rose asked as she stood up. "Shall we put it back?"

"I think you should wear it," he said.

"Wear it?!" She nearly shouted, stumbling back. "I can't wear that, it belongs to some died person," she continued in a calmer voice, "and besides, it looks far too big for me."

"It wouldn't be so big if you didn't have wrists the same size as a chicken's leg," Ilbert retorted.

She glowered at him. "Thanks for the kind complaint."

"I'm sorry," he said in a kinder tone, looking taken aback. "Please, forgive me. What I mean is..." He paused. "I don't know what I mean, however the previous owner probably has no use for it, but you do."

"No, I don't," she argued.

"We'll figure a reason out," he said, pulling feebly at her hand. "Here let me put it on. Hold still. Really, Rose, it is not as the person would care, they'd probably be happy someone wants to wear it."

"Or be in a fit of murderous rage," Rose said, watching as Ilbert fastened the clasp.

"If the former owner's ghost kills you tonight, than you can tell me that I was wrong."

"That's real comforting," Rose said. "Thank you for the offer, Ilbert, but how about I just haunt your dreams instead."

He shrugged. "That sounds good too."

"So it's a deal?"

He made a face. "I am done making deals with you," he said, as the clasp clicked close. "There it's on. A little big like you said, but eat a couple pasties at night for a year and it won't be." Rose glared at him and he laughed at her. "Come now, Rosie, let us see what other treasures we can find!"


A/N: My thinking onto some of the reasons why I created Ilbert: in 'Eragon' Murtagh said he stayed at friend's estate in the country, and from much of what Murtagh did say he was truly stuck inside the capital, so who did he meet his country friend? I don't know, but in this for Rose's sake: Ilbert is her friend who lives in the country. When Rose turned 13 and Ilbert 14, he moved to a country side estate with his Aunt and Uncle due to his poor health. I plan on him showing up later in the storyline itself, and I can't wait to write that.
I had fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it.