Isis silently glided beside the young king, her face a cool mask of royal indifference, but Yami felt her fingers against the crook of his arm trembling, and a suspect glitter of moisture in her fathomless eyes. It truly was unnecessary for her to hold the Pharoah upright, but Yami at the moment needed the anchoring feel of solid flesh and the understanding of a kind friend. It was also the last gift he could give her-the belief that she had helped in some small, tangible way.

Through the spiraling corridors, the flicker of torch light,the utter stillness and the horrible waiting of the hungry quiet that was only broken by the scrape of his sandals over the floor. Past the rooms he had roamed as a child. Yami glanced backwards more than once, almost expecting a ghost appearing from the shadows to greet him, so vivid were the memories as he walked through his home for the last time. His father's warm embrace, the Egyptian sun glinting its fire over the sands. Frolicking away his days as a child, before the heavy gold responsibility, and the strange,

barren distance he had from all that he knew from his boyhood as the result.The overwhelming sadness of saying good-bye to his father far too soon. All of his memories bled their way through his subconscious, trailing after each faltering step he now forced himself to take. Yami had always wondered what a dying man's last thoughts were. It was odd, he mused. He thought that his final thoughts would be preoccupied with maintaining his cold, distant indifference to death, and he would meet Death with a stoic, majestic sneer.Now, Yami realized that was nothing more than a meer attempt to distract himself from the finality of it all. Indeed, he was intently focused on how truly short the distance was between him and the room where he would lay down his life in a few minutes. How difficult it was to keep the simple tasks of walking and breathing in sync under the crushing realization that he was walking and breathing for the last time.

And, then, they came to that dark, open door, looking like a large, gaping maw ready to consume him alive. Yami instinctively shrank away, and Isis stiffened in suprise, as she turned her head to

see Yami's wide, transfixed eyes staring numbly. She felt the tremor surge through his rigid flesh, and the sudden pant that rose to his heaving chest. Yami sagged, crumpled, his face contorted, and he gave an imploring stare at Isis.

"Help me." It was a beseeching groan as he felt her steadying hands glide towards his elbows, her fingers lace firmly into his flesh, her head stooping to meet his eyes, and the overwhelming compassion and understanding there. Yami was so grateful for that. If she was so cruel as to mock him in his fear now, he would break.

"My king..." Isis flinched when Yami's broken eyes met hers. "Courage, Yami."

His eyes flickered up at the use of his informal name, and they paused. Yami inhaled deeply,

closed his eyes, and then rose, his mask firmly in place,but his gratitude shown by the soft smile he gave her. Dropping her grip on his arm, he strode through the door without a backward glance.

His eyes fell upon the ornate stone table in the middle of the room, heavily gilted with flowing script, and his gut clenched at the glowering shackles that hung limply from the four corners. He squinted as he peered into the corners of the room, and saw the white shifts of the palace servants. He shuddered at how they looked like ghosts waiting for him. They were watching patiently, dipping their heads in respect, making no move towards him until his signal that he was ready for them to procede. Yami felt the bile at the back of his throat, and clapped a hand over his mouth as he darted away, and once again, vomited. He felt Isis drape a comforting hand over his back, making small circles, as her other hand came forward to offer him a chalice filled to the brim with a strangely warm, and sweetly scented liquid.

Isis gave him a wry smile, as she brought forth a white cloth for him to wipe his mouth.

"Thank you-' Yami coughed hoarsely, his embarassment evident in the firey blush that now graced his cheeks, as he hung his head.

"I'm sorry." The young king's queasy and often unpredictable stomach had been both the source of much concern and shame that had plagued him all of his life. It was truly a humilating burden that was more of an insult to Yami's dignity, than an actual tragedy, but it had resulted in more than one meeting ruined by Yami's adominal rebellion,and a dignitary glaring down at his newly soiled shoes. Isis had proven to be a devoted friend by conviently calling the Pharoah out for an "urgent emergency"

when the Pharoah started looking like he was going to "erupt," as he indelicately put it.

"Of all the days for my stomache to erupt-Isis, I hope that wherever Ra sends me, there is no vomiting in the after life." Yami groused irritably, as he crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes at the chalice. "What is this? Do you think it wise for me to drink when I just emptied my stomach over there, Isis?"

Isis's eyebrows climbed higher and higher until they disappeared under her dark hair, at the absurdity of the situation.

"I am not certain that we should be all that concerned about the state of your stomache now, my king. That will be rather ...unimportant soon, will it not?"

Yami allowed himself a wry, bitter chuckle, as he shook his head. "I believe that you are right, my dear lady. As usual, your wisdom surpasses mine. What is in that cup you bear?"

"It is what I promised you. To ease your passage, and soothe your way." Yami gazed deeply into her eyes, tears rising as he took the cup between his trembling hands.

"Thank you, Isis. For your kindness, and your courage. For your understanding, and your help. I thank you for all that you have done for me and my people."

Yami took a deep, shuddering breath, and gulped the liquid down, in one swig. It tasted sweetly of honey, and bitter as acoane, but it settled warmly in his gut, and he felt his quaking stomach relax. Indeed, his whole body seemed to be relieved of its aching tension, somehow lighter, somehow less afraid. Maybe it was the fact that his burden would soon be permanently removed, or that Isis had worked another miracle in her mysterious drink. Yami didn't know, and it seemed to be of little importance now. His eyes fell upon that large, empty table, then raised a questioning glance to Isis. Isis bit her lip, her face twisted, her throat clenched. But, she swept her hands in a wide flourish over the table, with a deep bow.

Yami offered her a sad smile, and whispered, 'Be brave, my lady."

Yami began slowly stripping himself of all the golden ordiments he wore. The rings, earings, the glittering collar that encircled his neck, the bracers, and even the jeweled belt that he wore across his slight waist, until all indications of his role as king lay in a shining pile at his feet. Yami shivered at the alien sensation of his bare skin no longer touched by the cool gold, or his limbs burdened by all the pomp and ceremony all that jewelry signified.

But, there was one more task he had before he offered himself up. Hesitantly, his hands traveled upward, and settled against the steadying glint of the crown that encircled his head. He closed his eyes, and slowly lifted it from his brow, gently running his thumbs over the glittering eye of Horus, as he paused, to drink in the feel of the familiar metal, the essense of his father, the hope and the people he was responsible for. The reason he was laying his life down when he had not lived all that many years. It was a bittersweet fate, but better to know that it had counted for something, than watch his years fade to oblivion, and count them as waste.

"Isis, come forth." His voice carried like thunder in the quiet, the rich command jolted her to the core, as she stumbled forward, her skirts pooling around her as she dipped into a curtsy. "Yes, my king?"

Isis grew paler as Yami held the crown aloft with reverence, then bowed his head with a warm smile. "Isis, hold out your hands, please. Or at least kneel! I cannot reach you from my height."

Isis dumbly held her hands out, as Yami gently lay the crown into her shaking fingers. He clasped his hands over hers, gave them a quick tightening, comforting grip as he relinquished his crown.

"My lady, I give you the crown and the authority of the Pharoah. I charge that you rule Egypt with wisdom and compassion, with mercy instead of cruelty."

Softly, he cupped her cheek in his hands, his thumb smearing a tear across the quaking flesh, as he whispered the words meant only for her.

"I am leaving this world in peace because I know that Egypt will be in very good hands. You are worthy of this honor, Isis."

Isis could not speak, could not breathe, and she was shaking so hard she nearly dropped the golden crown.

Yami gave her one last look, then turned his gaze to the table, his lips twisting in earnest consideration, before speaking again.

"It is time."

Isis nearly wept when she saw her king clad only in his pristine tunic, and it hurt to see him looking so small against the overwhelming dark and the fear.

With a solemn nod, his expression betraying none of his thoughts, Yami gave the table a long, considering look, and then, slowly clamoured up, and lay himself down on his back. His eyes were firmly fixed upon the vaulted ceiling, and he was no longer trembling. Blessed assurance had given him the strength to die as a Pharoah. His breathing was slow, and steady, and he waited with regal patience, his limbs relaxed, his bright bangs glinting in the wanning light, and haloing his peaceful face in soft gold.

He nearly winced at the bite of that cold stone against his flesh, the chill of the room, and his thin tunic hardly gave him much warmth. Yami supposed it was a minor issue, now.

It was so indifferent, so calculating, and mundane in its ritual, as if there were nothing amiss about a young king, barely into his majority now laying himself out like an offering on that cold, stone slab, and raising his chin to expose his heaving throat.

"You may begin."

I