Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Moulin Rouge, nor the Wheel of Time, nor Harry Potter...

Ok, so this story doesn't have anything to do with Harry Potter, but it does have an aspect from the Wheel of Time series. In the series there are these characters called Aes Sedai. If you've read the books, you know who they are and if you haven't, it'd take too long to explain. What's important is that they take these three binding oaths, each termed in such a way that they can be easily side-stepped. One of them is "I solemnly swear to speak no word that is not true." When I was watching the Moulin Rouge for the hundredth time or so, I noticed how Satine seemed to dance around direct lies in the scene that the DVD entitles 'Satine's Sacrifice' and I call 'Satine's Betrayal'. It was almost as if she'd taken this oath (I know, I know, she just didn't like lying to him at all. But still.) She never said, for example, "I don't love you." Or, "I want to sleep with the Duke." Or anything, really, that could only be taken one way. So I wrote this story, sort of as a revenge against her for lying at all. Don't worry though, it'll have a happy ending. And she won't die (not that I would ever say that was a happy ending).

Enjoy!

Satine was doing something she'd sworn she would never be able to do. Of course, she'd proven herself wrong before in such swearing before – only five years ago, she would've said she'd never become a prostitute. Go back another few years and she'd never become a dancer. And not long before then, her dream of acting had never been born.

But now, she was living without Christian.

It wasn't so difficult. She sang, albeit without feeling, during the day. She obediently ate whatever food Marie set in front of her – not through hunger, of course, just because it was there. And at night, she slept. Alone, upon that she insisted.

Her dreams were fitful. Every night, it seemed, she would dream of the life she now knew she'd never live – a life in which she was allowed to live as she wanted, in love with Christian. A life where she was truly happy. But every night it became the nightmare where they were once again pulled apart. She woke crying every morning, and those tears were the only emotion she ever showed.

She woke crying, that is, until the day she woke instead when a knife was put to her throat.

"Wh - !" she tried to cry out.

"Be quiet!" her attacker, whose face was hidden in shadows, whispered harshly. "Not a word, or I'll kill you!"

Satine closed her mouth, wondering as she did so whether she should. To die at the hand of another seemed more appealing to her than suicide, something she'd considered several times since Christian had left.

"I want an explanation!" The attacker hissed.

An explanation? How specific. Satine thought idly. "King John was taking too much power for himself and quarreling with the other nobles, so they decided –" she began.

"I don't want to know why they wrote the Magna Carta!" If possible, the knife-wielder's voice was even harsher, though no louder, than before.

Satine sighed. "You asked for an explanation. I was giving one." She whispered back. She noted, with some surprise, that she was not scared. Perhaps it was because she did not fear dying – after all, she hadn't exactly being living for the past few months, had she? "Who are you, anyway? I can't see a thing."

She heard a sigh, somewhat like her own a few seconds previously, and the attacker muttered, "Don't move!" The feel of metal left her skin and a minute later a candle flared in the darkness.

Satine could not suppress a gasp. "You're a girl!"

"I'm a woman. There's a difference." The woman returned to Satine's bed, still holding the knife but no longer threatening with it.

"Yes. That's what I meant – the point is, you're female." She was a rather pretty female, too, with long chestnut locks falling down her back and large, innocent-seeming brown eyes. Innocent, Satine scoffed silently. An innocent woman did not carry a knife, let alone wield it so threateningly. Although, despite her claims to womanhood, she couldn't be older than twenty. "Who are you?" Satine repeated her first question.

"My name is Margaret." That was – unenlightening. Satine knew of no one by the name of Margaret. Seeing her blank expression, Margaret grinned. "He never mentioned me then? No, I suppose not. But he's told me about you. All about you."

He? Satine repressed a shiver, suddenly cold. She could, now, guess what the explanation demand had been about. Feigning confusion, and wanting to hear his name aloud again, Satine asked, "Who?"

She was not disappointed. "Christian, of course." Margaret was still smiling, but it was not a nice smile – it was an 'I'm about to eat you alive and enjoy every minute of it' kind of smile. "I want an explanation." She then repeated. Her hand tightened on the knife as she said it, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Satine.

"If he's told you all about me, as you so adamantly say he has, then you have an explanation. There is no other." She lied quietly. The truth belonged to Christian, and – until he knew it, at least – Christian alone."Why are you asking anyway? If he wants another explanation, why not come himself? Why send you?"

"Christian didn't send me. I don't think he even knows I'm gone. Or cares, probably."

Satine, who was growing more mystified by the word, thought she heard some bitterness in Margaret's voice. "Who are you?" she asked once more.

"My name is Margaret. I want an explanation." Margaret answered. "A better one. Because frankly, yours is not good enough."

"N-not good enough?" She cursed herself for stuttering. But she'd been surprised. "I was a courtesan, Margaret! He knew that, from the beginning. I told him so myself – if he didn't understand the warning, that's his problem, not mine." She took a deep, calming breath. The breath did not manage to calm her properly, but she continued anyway. "I work for money, and –"

"Liar!" Margaret cried, half-raising her knife again. "According to Christian, he didn't give you any kind of payment! Nor any promise of it in the future!" Margaret hissed furiously.

"I am not a liar. I spoke no word to him that was not true." This, at least, was completely truthful – she had chosen her words carefully at that last meeting. "And," she added icily. "If I want to have some fun occasionally, I'm allowed."

To her surprise, Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "You don't know, do you? You can't know. If you knew, you couldn't say something like that – your heart would have to be cold as death and it's not. I know it's not." A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "I know, because Christian wouldn't – he couldn't – fall in love with someone so cold."

That was true, she supposed. "What don't I know?" she asked, a little suspiciously.

"You don't know what you did to him!" Margaret cried.

If it's anything like what it did to me… "Yes, I –"

"No, you don't!" Margaret yelled, apparently forgetting where they were and what time it was. "For weeks, he wouldn't talk to anyone, not even me!" Who is she? Satine wondered again. "He stayed in his room and wouldn't come out. We were afraid he'd starve. And when he finally did come out, he was completely different! He barely recognized me – or anyone else for that matter – and was likely to start yelling whenever someone spoke to him."

Satine let out a sharp breath. "Are we talking about the same –?"

"Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you! He's changed. He calmed down enough to tell me the story only last week, and I – I'm…" she gulped. "I'm appalled, to tell the truth. I'm angry that someone could do that to him and now – now I find that you're not even sorry!"

"Believe me, Margaret, I did guess that something like this could happen…" Satine whispered. Though not to this extent. She added silently. "But I stand by what I said before – he knew who I was, before any of this started, and if he chose to ignore it…" She could not bring herself to finish.

Margaret understood the meaning behind the statement though. The knife was against her throat again. "Take it back!" Margaret cried. "It's not his fault, take it back!"

"I take it back." She whispered, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes. "You're right! I take it back!"

Slowly, the pressure from the blade eased. "Who are you?" Satine asked, for the fourth time that during their conversation. "In relation to Christian. Why are you so fired up about this?"

Margaret studied her carefully. "I'm…" she hesitated. "I'm – his fiancée."

~break~

"Fiancée?" Margaret was slightly pleased to hear the horror in Satine's voice. Margaret nodded. You spoke no word that was not true? How far can the truth be twisted that way? She wondered, and decided to test it.

"We're to be married next month." Satine's expression did not change – in fact it froze entirely. This was, Margaret thought, her way of trying to hide shock. "You understand, I'm sure, that I would like to know why my future husband is acting like this. And don't tell me it was so you could have fun."

"But it was…" Satine murmured, so quietly that Margaret wasn't sure she'd heard it. She shook her head as if to clear it and said out loud, "If you don't like who he is now, why do you want to marry him?"

Margaret stopped herself from smiling. She'd never said anything about wanting to marry him, after all. Just that she was going to. But she didn't say that. "What does that have anything to do with it?" she asked, voice dripping with false sweetness, instead. "I was engaged to the man he was before."

Satine's eyes widened, and this time Margaret did smile. She'd finally evoked a visible response. "Oh, yes, I suppose you wouldn't know – we were going to be married before he came here, then he had that argument with his father. He left for Paris, telling me he was never coming back. He was very sorry."

"But I don't understand," Satine said. "If you were engaged – all you seem to be upset about is that I broke his heart. Don't you care that he had an affair?" she asked bitterly.

"Oh, yes, there is that." Margaret answered, choosing her words carefully. "But no, I don't really care about that at all – you see, I care more about him."

Margaret did not know what she was trying to accomplish with these veiled lies and half-truths. If Satine was who she seemed – an uncaring, evil whore – then she shouldn't be affected by it anyway. And if she wasn't, which Margaret found unlikely, if she wasn't then maybe she didn't actually deserve it.

She stood up, looking around the room for the first time. Christian had described this place – it was Satine's elephant, where they had kissed for the first time. She sighed at the memory of his description of that kiss. "Why do you live here?" she asked suddenly. "I thought the Duke gave you –"

"I don't use anything the Duke gave me." Satine interrupted harshly. "Ever." Something in her tone made Margaret turn around.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Satine certainly didn't look all right. She seemed very pale, though that might've been the candlelight. But her expression was one of cold fury, which Margaret hadn't expected, and she almost stepped backward at the sight.

"No." Satine answered, forcibly calm. "No, I'm not all right!" For the first time that night, she got off the bed. Slightly worried she was about to attack, Margaret gripped her knife harder. "What are you marrying him for?"

"For?"

"For! Why are you marrying him?" Satine half-shouted. "Is it for money, is it love? And more importantly," She continued before Margaret could answer, "What's he marrying you for?"

Margaret paused, contemplating her answer; she half-wondered whether she should end the charade now and tell the complete truth. It would be easy enough, with a question like that. No. She decided. Not yet. "If you are asking whether there is any feeling between us…" She hesitated, and Satine nodded, breathing heavily. "Then I'd have to say yes, there is."

"So, you love him. And he loves you?"

You said it, not me. "Yes." It was even true, to a point.

This was apparently a breaking point for Satine; she sank to the floor, sobbing – almost screaming – in anguish. She was trying to say something, but the words were lost in her tears.

Margaret watched her, trying to remain cold. This was, she told herself, no worse that what Christian had gone through, if a bit louder. Still, she hadn't expected the woman to break down like this. She'd expected argument and defense, not tears. "Look," Margaret said, almost desperately. "Why do you even care so much? It shouldn't matter to you that he's marrying me, not if you didn't love him –"

"But I did!" Satine exploded. "I do! I do – love – him…" her words subsided and the tears returned with a fervor.

After a few seconds of silence, broken only by the continued crying, Margaret sat down on the floor next to her. "Explain."

Choked with tears as she was, Satine couldn't answer, but she shook her head. Evidently, Margaret was getting nothing more out of her.

Margaret did not know how long they stayed there for. When Satine finally looked up again, however, the candle had burned low and it was no longer the only light in the room. "It's dawn." She said, speaking for the first time in what must've been hours.

"Mm-hmm…" Margaret agreed. She hesitated. "You know, I was still hoping to get an explanation."

Satine shook her head again. "No. It's none of your business." She stood up with some difficulty and Margaret followed suit. "Go back to England and bring Christian if you really want to know. I'll tell him."

"Perhaps you would, but he wouldn't come. You know that."

"I know." Satine began getting dressed. "I guess you'll just have to give in to disappointment then. Good-bye."

Margaret scoffed. "You think I came all the way here to give up now? Oh no, I'm not leaving. You may not want to tell me, but you can't be the only one around here that knows. I'll get it out of someone else."

"Good luck with that." Satine was trying – and failing miserably – at sounding cheerful. Then again, Margaret realized, she had spent a good part of the last few hours crying. It couldn't be easy to sound cheerful after that "Uh…were you planning on threatening them too?" she nodded to the knife that Margaret still held.

"Oh!" Margaret had nearly forgotten she had it. "No, that was reserved for you."

Satine seemed startled. "I feel so...honored."

Margaret choked back a laugh, remembering how she'd bought the knife. At the time - only hours after Christian had told her his story - she had been furious at Satine. There was no excuse, none at all, for doing what she'd done. Had Satine been standing outside the shop where Margaret had procured the weapon, she wouldn't have hesitated before killing her then and there.

The trip to France had mellowed her a little and given her time to think things through. She'd come to the conclusion that there had to be something that Christian didn't know, because, as she'd explained to Satine earlier that morning, she knew her life-long friend could not have possibly fallen in love with someone like that. Someone so shallow - not to mention cruel.

So, instead of stabbing the girl in her sleep as she'd originally planned, Margaret had chosen to wake her and demand an explanation. She hadn't gotten one, but she had gotten confirmation that there was more to this story than there seemed to be. Girls who are just playing with men do not sob for hours upon learning that their former lovers are about to marry someone else. At least, she didn't think they did. She'd never actually met any others, so she could be wrong.

Whatever the case, she wanted to be sure before returning to England. Margaret left the elephant in search of someone who would tell her what she wanted to know.

~break~

Satine watched Margaret leave the elephant impassively, at least to all outward appearance. Inside, she was boiling with emotion toward the woman who had brought such news to her. Remembering Margaret's startling revelations brought tears to Satine's eyes again and because she was alone she let them fall.

She'd been selfish, she realized. To think that her suffering at lying – or even half-lying – to him was at all close to what he would've felt at being lied to. She, at least, could be consoled in the knowledge that he had loved her. That it had been real, for however short a time. Except -

Except Margaret said she loved him. That he loved her as well. She said they were engaged and had been even before Christian had ever come to the Moulin Rouge. And yet he'd never mentioned her, or anything else from his past for that matter. Satine pondered what this could mean; whether, perhaps, he actually had loved her...

"No!" Satine had spoken out loud, to the reflection she had been staring at. "I won't believe that. I can't believe that. She can marry him if she wants," her breath caught, but she continued determinedly, "But that will not change the fact that we were in love. And that I still love him."

Somehow, saying the words aloud had help her convince herself that they were true. What Margaret had told her changed nothing. She finished getting ready, forcing herself to think of nothing more than the rehearsal that afternoon.

Please review! I was going to make this into a one-shot, but kind of lost enthusiasm after awhile. It probably won't be more than two or three chapters total. However, your reviews will regain my enthusiasm! Thank you!