Disclaimer: I do not own the inheritance cycle or Harry Potter.
Please forgive any eventual mistakes, English is not my first language.
To Mess with Death
It did not look good for Eragon and his fellowship. They had just arrived in Galbatorix's throne room and the king seemed to regard to be more of a nuisance than anything else. With a mere word from his lips, they were paralyzed, unable to lift even a finger. He played with them as if he had all the time in the world - which, if Eragon thought about it wasn't too far from the truth. With the mad Eldunaris protecting his mind and his magic protecting his body there was no way to attack him. At this moment Eragon understood what true power meant, be it the kings regal bearing or his haughty but disinterested tone. And yes, Eragon was afraid, no was terrified to see what and who he was against. Still, he pushed through. He had gotten too far, had sacrificed too much to stop now. His resolve suitably strengthened, he readied to merge his mind with the dragons and join the mental assault on the king. Just as he was reading his mind, the king's voice rose again.
"Have you thought about how futile this little endeavor of yours is?", he asked while taking slow and measured steps towards Eragon. "Have you? Because I don't think you realize who it is your fighting. I'm old, I had decades to train, to read and to become more powerful than your puny little mind could even comprehend. You however are like a toddler against me. If you have learned to crawl through the world of magic, I can tell merely tell magic to do my bidding. I conquered Alagesia a long time ago, magic years ago and today, today I will conquer Death". While talking his voice had gotten more and more obsessed until it seemed as if he would start cackling any minute. Galbatorix seemed to neither know nor care about Eragon's confusion at "conquering magic". He seemed entranced almost, although he quickly snapped out of it. When he started talking again, his face had morphed into a vicious grimace. "While going through book after book in my research I had a most delightful discovery. Do you want to know what it is?", he whispered condescendingly. He stood in front of Eragon now, who could feel the king's breath in his face. Uncaring for the young riders inability to actually answer, the king continued has mad tirade. "This book. I found in the most ancient texts still preserved, written in a language so old, no tongue has spoken it and still lives to tell the tales. Until I found it." At this, the tyrant procured a book out of his robe. It was bound in black, brittle leather with worn out pages that seemed to hold onto the spine with all they had. Silver letters were engraved on the front while the coppery shine of dried blood clung to a few spots of the cover. Although Eragon couldn't read the title it was clear that this book was old and had been passed from hand to hand while witnessing long forgotten history. Meanwhile, Galbatorix had opened the tome and started a solemn chant. It's tunes washed over Eragon and made him shiver. And for the first time - his hope died. So eerie was the music that even the otherwise always perfectly composed face had twisted into haunted imitations. It felt wrong, Eragon thought, to die like this. All the times we cried, all the times we thought we couldn't carry on. For nothing. And then, he thought of all the people he had met and might never see again. Roran, Saphira, Arya. It was scary, the way the nothingness had taken hold of his thoughts, but he felt at peace too, like nothing mattered anymore for he could do naught to change it now either way.
And then, in just the blink of eye, the feeling disappeared. It felt like a heavy blanket had been lifted from the earth and the first rays of sunlight could meet his eyes again. For a short moment Eragon was to shell-shocked to notice anything else but his mind was all to quick to remind him of the war they were supposed to be fighting right now. Bringing his eyes into focus again, he noticed the king had retreated to the center of the room again and there next to him stood a young man that most definitely wasn't there before. And if he thought he felt true power when meeting Galbatorix he felt like a fool now. Because next to the strange the king looked like a pretender, someone who felt like a god only to be shown the depth of his powerlessness. Yes the king for all his haughty looks and luxurious armor looked like a peasant next to the stranger who carried himself with utmost confidence. Which was strange because the stranger wore nothing but a simple robe, made out of fabric so black the light seemed to be scared of it.
The king though seemed to be blissfully unaware and spoke in commanding voice: "Death head my command and obey me as thy lord and master. Kill these intruders!" He pointed his sword at Eragon. The stranger looked up, with eyes that spoke of age and slowly as if he hadn't used his voice in a thousand years said: "I am neither Death nor are you my master. I am known as the master of Death however." Galbatorix seemed perplexed by this. "It is of no consequence. Go and kill them. Now!" He had become more enraged and spit flew from his mouth at the last order. Afterwards he spoke the word again. The word that had made Eragon lose his magic here, the word that vibrated with power so heavy the very air grew oppressing. Although he tried his hardest, the word slipped out of the young riders mind just as soon as it was uttered. It felt like trying to catch water with nothing but his hands. The master of Death, as he had introduced himself, seemed curious however and spoke in his even voice: "It is great power that this word holds. Great power that seems to have fallen into the wrong hands. Nevertheless Death is neutral and satisfied with waiting until every soul comes to him. As his master I am the same. You though, you tried to force Death into servitude. Nobody forces Death. He will come as he pleases and take who he wants to. There is nothing you can do to stop him nor do you have the power to stop me. Do not confuse yourself as powerful when you know naught of the world and the universe. Of beings bigger than you, to great to comprehend. No you in your arrogance thought yourself as all powerful and unstoppable and you will pay the price. It is only a coward who runs from death and only a fool who wants to live forever. You should have spent your time living rather than find ways to live longer. Now your thirst for power will be your doom." Throughout his speech the mans voice hadn't changed at all. He sounded neither angry nor bloodthirsty. He did not need to because the world, the very fabric of reality seemed to be happy to accommodate him and conveyed his will to the listeners. Eragon felt as if the air had suffocated him during the tensest parts of the speech even though he never was the target of the mans irritation. He was glad for that but also curious about what the man had said. He had a thousand question and then a few more. Just a made to speak up the man moved again.
Slowly, with graceful movement the stranger touched Galbatorix brow. For all the slowness and gracefulness the movement had it seemed even more predatory, like a wild beast staking out his prey. Even Galbatorix seemed to be scared as he visibly tried to move back, eyes diluted. He could not however and with a bright light the two people were replace with air. The tense atmosphere had vanished and the throne room, for all cruel history it had seen, seemed almost idyllic now. Only a warning remained.
Death should not be avoided.