Disclaimer: I do not own Robin Hood or profit from this writing. All songs mention are from Heather Dale or Loreena McKennitt; I am not Heather Dale or Loreena McKennitt, nor do I have any affiliation with them or their studios. I am just a huge fan of their work ;) Song list is at the end of the chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a different approach to how I normally write, but I have to admit that I love this chapter; it is probably my favorite chapter despite the subject matter. I am really anxious to hear what everyone else thinks.

Chapter 37: Light and Death in the Tunnel

Jacqueline stopped midstride upon entering the library, surprised, as she saw little Marguerite and Michel sitting in the window seat. "Mes Fées?" Jacqueline asked concerned. "Qu'est-ce que c'est? What's the matter?" (a/n: My fairies/faes. What's wrong?)

"Mama is mad," Michel said. Marguerite was resting her head on her drawn up knees as Michel crossed his arms across his chest angrily, their matching white-blonde hair reflecting the afternoon light shining in through the window, illuminating their identical expressions of pain and sorrow.

"We didn't do it," they insisted.

"Do what?" Jacqueline asked. Normally she would have been amused—how many times had they heard the twins shout out, in unison, they didn't do it?—but something seemed wrong. Horribly wrong.

"We went down to the kitchens to get some cookies," Marguerite began.

"But we overheard cook say something bad," Michel continued seamlessly.

"What did she say?" Jacqueline demanded. She walked forward and peaked over the tops of their head to see their mother dragging out their cook—former cook—by her hair down the steps into the square.

It would be the gentlest part of the woman's upcoming slow torture.

"What did she say, mes petites?" Jacqueline insisted again.

"Cook said it was a shame that such a noble family would be cursed with us," Michel said as Marguerite said, "Cook said that it was a shame such a curse would befall us."

"Why are we cursed?" Marguerite asked, her tear soaked eyes imploring her big sister, tugging at Jacqueline's heartstrings.

"You are not cursed," Jacqueline said firmly wishing she was down there with their mother to aid in meting out justice. Michel and Marguerite were too young to understand the superstitions of the common folk. They were certainly too young to understand that the uneducated thought twins were a bad omen.

"Cook was talking with the serving woman. She didn't think we were cursed…" Michel started.

"…The serving woman said that one of us was sure to be damned and evil and go to hell," Marguerite continued.

"That woman was vile and an imbecile," Jacqueline sputtered out, torn between shock and anger. "You two are exasperating but you are both going to heaven." Who could think such a thing of ones who were so young and innocent?

"Jacqueline, can you make sure mama makes Michel good?" Marguerite asked as Michel implored their big sister, "Jacqueline, tell mama Marguerite has to go to heaven."

"You are both going to Heaven," Jacqueline insisted, clinching her fists as she smiled at her baby brother and sister. She didn't know what tore her heart more: the thought that her precious petites thought they were going to hell for an accident of birth, or that their twin was doomed to such a fate. Jacqueline could tell that the thought their twin was going to suffer was the worse fate imaginable. "It is our right, we are Plantagenets, Capets, and Laurents after all. Who else is more deserving for heaven? No one. Which servant said this?"

"The one with the hooked nose," the twins said in unison as they raised their finger to mimic the woman's nose.

"Did you get cookies?" Jacqueline asked.

They pointed to an empty plate sitting on the floor. "Mama gave us a whole plateful!" the twins chorused happily.

Jacqueline gave the twins a smile and glanced quickly outside again. Their mother was just warming up in her torture of the woman. Jacqueline had every intention of going out and joining her mother. Mama was a gentle, compassionate woman, but any slight against her children brought out the Viking ruthlessness of her Norman heritage.

Jacqueline stormed over to the bookshelf and found the large, gilded tome. She pulled it off and shifted through the pages till she found the story she was looking for. "Here," Jacqueline smiled as she laid it out before them. "They were twins, and they were not cursed or evil. Stay here and read it. You don't have to go to your other lessons, I'll tell your tutors," Jacqueline smiled. She watched as the twins poured over the book, detailing a story of Apollo and Artemis, in a mixture of French, English, and a language that only they could understand. Even after several years Jacqueline couldn't understand them.

She softly set the door behind her, her grip the only sign of her intense anger. She hid everything else behind a smile as she was taught but now that she wasn't in front of the twins she didn't have to hide it.

A quick look told her that her brothers waiting in the hall had overheard her conversation.

"I want to help, Henri," Jean-Paul insisted as he followed after their eldest brother.

Henri had just celebrated his 15th birthday and for all intents and purposes was running his dukedom on his own. A recent growth spurt had placed him only slightly shorter than their father.

Jacqueline caught up with Henri as they crossed the threshold into the kitchens. The servants caught a look of the furious, young future duke and tried to disappear into thin air.

Henri only had eyes for one servant. The hooked nose woman seemed to sense it as she tried to hide only to be dragged out by Henri. "Mama has her hand's busy," Jacqueline insisted. "We can deal with her," she sneered down at the woman.

Michel and Marguerite poured over the story for a third time. Some words were too big to understand so they made up their own words. Sometimes they made up words just for fun.

But this story was so grand! It was about twins who were Gods! And they were a boy and a girl just like them! They weren't cursed or evil but good. Michel and Marguerite had a good habit of hiding and listening to things little ears shouldn't hear, they had learned twins weren't very popular but didn't understand why. Even now they couldn't understand why people feared them. But here was a story showing they didn't have to be cursed or doomed! The twins took to the twin gods as others took to the saints the church fathers were always talking about.

"They are together forever and ever, Artemis," Michel said happily. They had rechristened each other after their newfound heroes and it instantly became his special name for her.

"I want to be like Artemis, Apollo" Marguerite declared. "I want to hunt, and fight with you. I hate embroidery."

"I'll teach you," Michel promised. "We'll be just like Artemis and Apollo," he promised.

"Together for ever, from womb to tomb," they recited their vow, that special vow, solemnly as they looked over the pictures again, renaming each other after their new-found heroes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She felt like everything was going so quickly by, by the time she enjoyed the memory another was ready to take its place. That vow, their vow. How many times did they pledge it to each other? Only God could keep track, Marguerite was sure. Each time a solemn promise that no force on earth would separate them. Their bond made them inseparable, but still they adored their other siblings.

They were in the study which they knew would get them in trouble. Michel and Marguerite were on look out and heard footsteps. They immediately dove for cover as did their other siblings. Even Henri, who was 16 and to old to play games, hid behind the bureau as Pierre hid under the desk, Jacqueline behind the curtain, Christophe behind the chaise, and Jean-Paul behind the suit of armor.

"Where could those children be?" their father, William, said walking in. He saw a shoe peeking out under the desk and bit back a grin. "It is as if they vanished."

Their mother placed a hand over her mouth to fight back her own laughter. "Surely Henri, mon cher, is in the practice field. He wouldn't wish to play with children," she smirked. "He goes to court next week to assume his Dukedom."

"Well, if we can't find them, then I say we split the sugar candies cook made amongst ourselves," William said. "You know I adore those pastries, and this cook is truly an artist with dessert."

"Of course I do, why else did I ask Cook to make them?"

"No!" Pierre scrambled out from under the desk. "I want some. We're here."

"Pierre!" the others complained as they climbed out of their hiding places.

Instead of anger, their parents smiled. "I give up on educating the lot of you," William laughed. "You are much more difficult than any of your cousins."

"Truly?" Michel and Marguerite asked wearing matching mischievous grins. "Tell that to John!" They had a bet with him and were eager to collect.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She forgot how happy they had been with mama. Jacqueline had been her maternal figure for so long, she had to reach far back to remember how wonderful her mama had been.

They had so many good times, just her family and the extended family. Her cousins drover her mad, but the few times they were able to all be together without threat of bloodshed had always been terrific; even the times blood was nearly spilt were entertaining.

"Come on, Marguerite, please?" Jean-Paul asked. The palace at Paris was gleaming in the setting sun as the extended family had retired to one of the upstairs parlors. "I have been bragging to Marie you would sing for us. She thinks I am fibbing when I say you have the voice of an angel."

"You woo your wife with me?" fifteen year old Marguerite teased. Her brother pouted and she laughed. "Fine, but if you have a daughter I duly expect her to be named Marie Marguerite," she told him.

"Promise," Jean Paul said.

"What shall I sing?" Marguerite asked her audience which consisted of her father, siblings and their spouses, all the Plantagenets (Richard, John, Joan, and Geoffrey with their mother Eleanor) and all the Capets (Phillip, newly ascended to the French throne, his wife and siblings). Unique to this setting was that the half sister who was both a Plantagenet and Capet, Alix, was amongst them.

"Sing something of the Holy War," Alix insisted.

"All those songs are sad, Alix," Eleanor chided her daughter. A quick debate amongst everyone soon turned to everyone simply calling out their favorite song.

"Fine, if I am singing, I'll pick," Marguerite announced to cut the discussion. Trying to get Richard and Phillip to agree on anything would require an act of God. Deciding that the stories of Arthur and Camelot were always popular Marguerite settled on The Lady of Shalott.

"There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay,
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott."

Marguerite's voice as clear as day, smooth as silk, filled the room. Her emotions fluctuated, punctuating each change of The Lady of Shalott's life and death.

"You truly do have the voice of an angel," Pierre's wife Marie, the Duchess and newest member of their family, compliment as the rest applauded.

"It has only been half an hour since supper, there is still plenty of evening left," Phillip insisted. "Plenty of time for Marguerite and Michel to entertain us."

"Fine, but I just sang 20 versus, someone else can sing now," Marguerite announced taking her seat between Michel and John.

"If we wanted to be board, we would get Phillip's bards in here," Richard teased.

"If we wanted to be tortured we would have Richard sing," Phillip countered.

"Don't you adore my brothers?" Alix sighed making everyone laugh.

"Didn't you learn any new songs when you went to Ireland with Christophe?" John asked the twins.

"Maeve taught them some of their stories. There was one in particular about a man who fell in love with a goddesss…" Christophe began.

"Those affairs never turn out well," Richard laughed.

"Let them sing, Chris," John insisted.

"Don't think this will make us forget about you and ta cheri Maeve," Jacqueline teased her brother from where she was sitting between her husband, Colin, and cousin Alix.

"Yes, sing, then we will tease Christophe mercilessly," Geoffrey agreed as everyone laughed.

Michel and Marguerite sighed dramatically, as if it was a great burden for them to perform in front of an audience. Everyone knew they loved it.

Marguerite stretched over Michel's seat as Michel stood to sing. His tenor voice was strong and confident as he sang of Finn MacCool leading the Fianna army in battle. Even Marguerite and her sister and female cousins who had never seen battle could feel and see the battle Michel painted in song.

Michel was about to sit when Marguerite pushed him back up. "No, I sang 22 verses, you only sang 13. Its still your turn," Marguerite teased.

Michel's tenor began again, singing of the frustration Lancelot felt with his love for Guinevere, how it compromised everything essential he thought he was.

"You're begging on your knees without dirtying your hem
You want someone to love, but not someone I can

The wilderness calls me again
A trusted friend in my exile

I'm free in my exile, I'm free"

"The two of you put my bards to shame. I'm not willing to share you with the rest of court. Well, no more than I already have to," Phillip grinned. "Now, about this Maeve," he turned to Christophe who was fighting off a blush as everyone started to tease him and throw a dozen questions at once at him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Marguerite couldn't help but smile—they had teased Christophe mercilessly. Maeve's father was a tribal chieftain; not quite as high as Christophe could marry, but since everyone else had made suitable matches William was willing to allow the attachment. Marguerite remembered how William had sent a delegation to parley with Maeve's father; Christophe had been surprised, thinking it would be an uphill battle to convince his father.

Marguerite and Michel had campaigned on Christophe's behalf; they had adored Maeve on their visit to Ireland. She became a wonderful addition to their family.

God, they had so many good times when they were all together. "Please, let me see more," Marguerite thought. "More of these moments; Nearly 17 years of memories, please let me stay here amongst these perfect times," Marguerite pleaded.

But there was someone missing in this one, and it was the beginning of a downward spiral for Marguerite.

Again.

Henri's body was laid out in his finest, which covered the wounds he had received in battle. He looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. Her oldest brother had always been the gentle, compassionate brother who was never to busy for any of them.

She kissed his cold cheek, knowing that she would never forget that feeling. Henri had always been warm. Loving. She knew his reputation on the battlefield: he had earned the respect of all of her brothers, cousins, uncles, other nobles and the infantrymen for his ferocity and clear-headedness in the heat of battle and compassion off the field of battle. To Marguerite and the rest of the family, though, he was also the level headed, compassionate one. Henri always had time for all of his siblings, he doted on his son, petite Henri. He was the most compassionate of all of her beloved brothers. It wasn't right for him to be so cold. How could someone kill someone so gentle?

She pulled down the mourning veil to cover the tears she couldn't hide. Her mother died several years ago when she was still a child, she had cried but the pain lessened. But Henri? He was such a strong piece of her heart, she still couldn't believe he was gone.

She looked over to Henri's wife, Rebecca. Their son, Henri, was three years old and wouldn't even remember her brother. So cruel to her brother's legacy to not even be remembered by his son, his heir. So cruel to rob petit Henri of such a wonderful father.

Michel squeezed his hand as they took their place in the procession. Their pain was the same. One heart, one sorrow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"No!" Marguerite called out, struggling to get ahead of the memories, wanting it to just all end. If she started seeing the bad memories, more would follow them; she needed to focus on the good ones because she couldn't live through the bad ones.

She couldn't live through it again. One by one, one by one, one by one.

Fate was so cruel to her once. Now she had to see the one moment she couldn't face. The moment she had died. She still hadn't recovered.

John and Marguerite simply stared at each other in the hallway.

"No!" Marguerite yelled, stepping back. "No!"

"Marguerite, I am so sorry," John said trying to step forward to comfort her, wishing they weren't having this moment in the middle of the hallway, but she pushed him away.

"No! Richard can't do this! He can't! He was mine!" she yelled. "Richard and Phillip took everyone else! Michel was MINE!"

She couldn't breath, the sobs racked her body. The room spun and she couldn't even hear John. It was as if he was in a tunnel, far far away. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"Not right now…"

"WHERE IS HE?" she demanded. She was not one to be denied, especially when Michel was concerned.

He tried to reach her again but she stepped away. "They are preparing his body…"

"No," she said storming out. She rushed down the hall, the sound of her heart pounding throughout the hall.

She pushed open the doors and threw everyone else out.

There he was. They had started to clean his body but the death strike was still clearly evident on his body.

Her lip trembled as she gazed at him. She couldn't even think. She slowly walked up as if he would jump up and pretend this was some cruel joke. She prayed it was a cruel joke. Surely God wouldn't be so cruel!

"No!" she sobbed as she reached him. She couldn't deny any longer this wasn't happening as the wound had gutted him. Her beautiful, beautiful Michel. "You promised!" she yelled, beating his chest. "You promised me!" she continued to beat him, as if it would somehow revive his corpse. "You can't leave me, Michel! How could you!" she choked as bone wracking sobs tore through her body. "You promised you would stay with me. Everyone else is gone! It was to be the two of us! Womb to Tomb, remember?" she cried as she dropped to her knees, unable to support herself before her twin's corpse. "Now who am I?" she asked as she curled up, rocking herself. "Who do I have?" Marguerite wondered, lost. It had always been 'Michel and Marguerite; Marguerite and Michel.' How could there suddenly be no Michel?

Her body heaved and convulsed with her sobs but no sound came out of her, just an endless river of tears and gasps for breath.

She reached up, clasping his hand in hers. She couldn't look at him again, not all at once. "I wish I was a man so I could go off to war," she whispered, resting her cheek in his cold palm. "Richard promised me he wouldn't take any more of my brothers. You were my most precious, Michel," she said kissing his palm. Her tears fell onto his knuckles and streamed down onto her skirts.

She didn't know how long she sat with him. She barred the door to everyone, even their father. Michel was hers. No one else would tend to him. No one else would see him before he was proper. She would take care of him. It was the least she could do. It was her only chance to say goodbye.

She cleaned his body and dressed him in his finest clothes, his rings and cornets laid on the table nearby for the viewing. "Remember the song Jacqueline always had me sing? Of Arthur and his death?" she asked as if he was there, able to converse with her. "I hated it because everyone always said we were Arthur and Morgaine—the world revolved around us, we didn't need anyone else. We thought we were the immortal Apollo and Artemis," Marguerite said, choking on their own pride and audacity. They had really thought no force would ever be able to separate the two of them. Certainly not death, the permanent, painful divide. "But now, here I am preparing you as Morgaine did for her beloved Arthur," she said. She had long stopped wiping away the tears falling down her cheek.

They were as constant as the stars in the sky, and apparently just as endless.

She clasped his hand in hers as she studied his face. "I have no heart left, certainly not for singing. But it seems only appropriate, my love, that you are the last one to hear," she said squeezing his hand. She kissed the palm of his hand and then lifted herself onto the table next to him, brushing back a lock of his hair, resting his head in her lap. She wiped away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks onto Michel's forehead.

"Sink into your sister's arms, the womb you need not know.
Let her fire consume the frame of what you were before.

Let her take you in her arms, let her take you home.
Leave to her the mysteries of maiden, mother, crone…"

She song softly, her voice cracking, sounding nothing like her beautiful voice use to. She couldn't help but think that the verse was more appropriate:

Sleep, my snowless winter,
Let me warm you once before I go,
And I'll pretend to know and understand.

Sleep, my flameless shadow,
Let me cool the lingering fires of old,
And carry only ashes in my soul.

She kissed his forehead one last time. "You didn't break your promise," she told him. "Together from womb to tomb," she repeated. "Sleep now, ma moitie," she whispered, kissing his temple and laying next to him, an arm around his chest as if trying to warm his cold body. "A promise is a promise," she whispered as her grief drove her into the abyss. (ma moitie means my other half)

~*~*~*~*~

"Come back, Marguerite," a voice as dark as the night surrounding her whispered. She couldn't see the source but it sounded familiar. Like a dream she had where she was the fairytale princess and he was the black knight.

"Go back, Marguerite," Michel said.

"I want to go with you!" Marguerite insisted. "Why can't I be with you?"

"I am with you," Michel insisted.

"You are gone," Marguerite argued. "Why do you have to go?"

"It is required of me," he said, cupping her cheek. "Goodbyes aren't forever. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you, Artemis."

She frowned at her twin. Not even the use of their special names for each other would dissuade her. "I don't like being separated, Michel. It never feels right. Especially now."

"I know, it never feels right to me either. We will be reunited soon," he promised. "I will regale you with such tales you will think you were there beside me all along."

"I wish I was! If only I was born a man, your equal. I could go off and follow you…"

"You are perfect, Marguerite. My other half. You were born my equal. Between the two of us, no man or woman in England or France is safe!" he joked as he stroked her hair. "I'll be with you again soon. We will all be together again soon. For now, go back."

"Don't leave me," Guy's voice echoed her plea to Michel "Don't leave me."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "We are the same heart, the same soul. We can't be separated." He kissed her forehead before taking the hardest step he had ever taken: away from her. "Promise."

"Promise," she agreed.

Songs used in this chapter, in order of appearance (none of which are mine): Lady of Shalott by Loreena McKennitt (The Visit); Exile by Heather Dale (May Queen); Three Queens by Heather Dale (May Queen); Tarnished Silver by Heather Dale (Trial of Lancelot)

Huge thanks to Jessica, Blondey, Fireheart93, and Momto5 for reviewing! I was beginning to despair no one was reading this any more! To all my readers, please review and let me know what you think of this chapter.