Disclaimer: "His Dark Materials" trilogy is Philip Pullman's, as are all the characters, situations, and dialogue used herein. I don't presume to match that, that's why it's fanfic.
Marisa Coulter's thoughts about her daughter during a few, pivotal moments.
Absolution
She had suspected for weeks. Known really, though she had hoped she was wrong. For a few moments, she entertained a fantasy of leaving Edward, of raising the baby with Asriel, and society's disapproval be damned. The next moment she had dismissed that as ridiculous and reigned in her wayward thoughts…there was no room for childish fantasy now. Her dæmon paced around, tail swishing, agitated.
"I know," she snapped, though he had not actually said anything, his thoughts on her situation were clear. "There is no reason I cannot make Edward think the baby is his."
And what of Asriel?
"He will want nothing to do with it," she said, ignoring the golden monkey's disapproval.
"No, send her away. I don't care- just away. She'll ruin both of us."
"Calm down," he said, perfectly calm himself, watching the baby.
She never wanted to be a mother, she didn't want the child, the wailing baby who looked so like him that her husband would know in an instant. He was no fool, and he was a jealous man. After all she had done to rise to her position, she would not be ruined for the sake of a child she cared nothing for. She didn't even want to look at the girl. It would be easier to just send her away, to let the whole thing be over. She didn't care if she never saw her daughter again. She didn't care if she never saw him again.
"Take her if you will, Asriel. I don't want her."
And so this was Lyra. This was her daughter, for whom she'd hardly spared a thought in eleven years. In the late afternoon light of the drawing room, Lyra sulked, polite only because she was forced to be, as the Master trotted her around among the guests.
Then, "Lyra, come and say hello to Mrs. Coulter."
"Hello, Lyra," she said as the scowl turned to a slightly dazzled smile. It was an expression she knew. Lyra was under her spell, glowing at the attention. Through dinner Lyra talked, eyes bright and animated, talked about Jordan College, the games she played with the children who lived there. And she realized her daughter didn't lack courage…Lyra wanted adventure, and now that Asriel could not interfere, she knew exactly how to draw her.
"We might have to go to the North…"
Lyra's smile was enchanted.
She enjoyed her daughter's presence, for a few weeks. Dazzled by the grace and glamour of London after the austere gloom of Jordan, Lyra was distracted by pretty softness into being agreeable. Starved for feminine attention after eleven years without a mother, Lyra was easily kept engaged with being pretty, with glamour and fashion, with the scented beauty of the world she inhabited.
She sensed Lyra's restlessness…she had promised adventure, a journey to the North…but it took only a gentle touch of Lyra's hair, a pretty dress, a dinner somewhere with soft lights and silk napkins…to distract her from the promises made at Jordan.
She should have known better, should have sensed how unhappy Lyra's dæmon was. She should have known Lyra was hiding the alethiometer. She should never have been outmaneuvered by her own child…but Lyra was a little girl, she would find her eventually.
In the blazing, sterile light of the room, she saw the blade, rising ominously with an anbaric hum. She heard the screams of "Never! Never!" and something in her snapped when she saw Lyra's terrified, tear-streaked face. With an instinct she had never imagined she had, she caught Lyra as she tumbled away from the cage reaching for her dæmon, gasping back sobs. She stroked Lyra's hair as she dismissed the men, told them to leave the child alone, caught her trembling daughter up in her arms and wondered, for just a moment, what had come over her. When she had gone to Jordan, she had thought of Lyra only as a means to lure children…and now?
Lyra sobbed, and her tears were real, though she tried to stop them, through the story of how she had come to Bolvangar. It was possible, it was so reasonable. It could have happened.
So when Lyra escaped yet again, she could not help but feel a grudging admiration. Her daughter had lied with such skill and conviction…perhaps they were more alike than she ever would have imagined.
It was not an unpleasant place, and the child from the village kept her supplied with at least the most basic necessities. What bothered her was not physical discomfort, but the worry that nagged at her as Lyra slept and slept. No guilt for that, Lyra would never spend a second in her presence if she had the choice…there was no guilt for keeping her in a drugged sleep if it kept her safe. Since the moment she had learned from the witch what Lyra was, who she was, it had become clear. She must keep Lyra from the Church, from the men who would kill her before there was a chance that Eve might fall again.
No longer a religious fable in a dusty Bible, it was real now, the story of Eve. It was Lyra, and so she had to be protected, she had to be hidden. Even badly hidden in a mountain cave, kept in a drugged sleep, at least every moment she was safe from them was another moment.
It was hot in the cave, and she smoothed back Lyra's damp, dark blond hair with something that resembled affection, which surprised her. She knew, deep down, that someday they would find her, either the Church or the boy and she wasn't sure which was worse. Then, Lyra would be on her own. Until then, she would be here, safe, with her mother.
Save Lyra, was all she could think of.
She no longer wondered if she would survive this; she guessed she wouldn't. The soldiers, the rifles, the crackle of current in the air, none of it mattered as her universe narrowed to the little lock of golden hair that would train the bomb to Lyra. Flashes, the hum of anbaric current, explosions all around, smoke and steam she hardly saw, thinking only of the daughter she thought she cared nothing for.
Lord Roke came back to her with a key, captured from the sergeant, and then she was the only one who could stop it, and there was no fear- no fear of intercision, no fear of dying. Through gunfire and tear gas…her dæmon carried Lord Roke away from the battle only for him to join it again and die, and then, the flash of white-hot current that would destroy Lyra.
And Asriel was there, lifting her out of the chaos, and she tried to ask him if it had worked. Face set in a mask, he said nothing, and she could only watch the destruction vanish behind them.
A lifetime of lying, and she wasn't sure she could do it now, convincingly. Facing Metatron, everything depended on lying with every inch of herself, with more conviction than she'd ever known. Was this what her life had been meant for? Everything, for this? Everything she had done, wrong as it might be, had come to this, and she was glad, because it would make him believe that she would betray Lyra without a second thought, that she would take him now to Asriel and the children's dæmons. She had never expected she would care about Lyra, and so, perhaps, neither would he.
"So you see," she said, "I can betray him easily…"
She was afraid, more afraid than she had ever been, under that searching gaze. His eyes looked through her, and she met his gaze, not thinking of Lyra, not thinking of Asriel, thinking only what he expected of her- desire for power, betrayal, corruption. And he moved toward her, she felt a rush of triumph- He was as weak as any man, he wanted her, and so he was blind to her lie.
Dust floated around them, settling over everything, covering it in lightness and gold. She wanted only to be in Asriel's arms, to bury her face in the rough fabric of his coat, but Metatron was near, waiting, and so they had little time, a few moments only.
"Is Lyra safe? Has she found her dæmon?"
He told her they would be…Lyra would find Pantalaimon and be whole again, Lyra would fulfill her destiny, and this…this was their destiny.
He kissed her, and it was with a sense of finality. Because she needed him to know now, in the end, she told him how she loved Lyra, and he listened…she told him how she never expected it, never wanted it, and yet the child had somehow changed her, brought her here, to this point. He understood.
"Yes, Lyra will be safe, and the Kingdom will be powerless against her. Call him now, Marisa, my love."
In the end, Lyra was her last thought, and her absolution.