Hey everybody. My name's Aislinn and this is my first fic. I love HDM, and
have always wanted to write my own version of what happens to Lyra and
Will. I'm 14 and live in Victoria, BC. I hope everybody likes this fic, and
please review! Comments and CC much appreciated, but I might have to bite
you if you flame me.
nb. All characters and places from Philip Pullman's books are (of course) © Philip Pullman. Any new characters and places, as well as the situations that all of these characters are put in, are © me. Stealing, copying or otherwise plagiarising my work will result in many bites.
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The Oxford air was thick with smog and ash that hung heavy over the vast expanse of winding alleys and canals. The moon was hidden behind choking, suffocating clouds, throwing the land below into the darkness of the night. The only light cast was from the streetlights, the yellow anbaric beams flickering every so often, threatening to go out. Shadows moved, footsteps echoed, and somewhere in the darkness, a child wailed, its daemon wailing with it. What they were crying for, no one knew, but the eerie sounds penetrated the stillness. A testament to a dying world.
Somehow, Jordan College seemed removed from the squalor that enveloped the rest of the area. The buildings, all of different sizes and shapes, stood clumped together like some modern Stonehenge, arranged carelessly and in no particular pattern. Time had weathered the stone, turned it ragged with age, but the elegance of the College had not been completely diminished. It was still there, if only a shadow of what it had once been.
Jordan was dark and still, no movement coming from anywhere within or around the College. There was only one light on, a dim glimmer coming from a small attic window, high up in one of the taller buildings. Anyone who had been there to witness that light may have thought it strange, that anyone would be up so late, but no one was there. In that small, cramped attic room, seated on her bed staring blankly at the wall, Lyra was unnoticed. Alone.
Her arms were folded about herself, her knees drawn up against her chest, and she was rocking herself gently. Her eyes, grey and empty, were full of tears that refused to fall. No matter how much it hurt, she couldn't cry. She couldn't give in to the sobs that threatened to wrack her slight frame. Sorrow had eaten away at her, but she wouldn't allow it to consume her. Never. She shuddered, and pressed her face against her knees, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders as if protecting her from the dank, cold night. She felt so alone.
And yet she was not alone. Pressed against her, warm and soft and full of love, was Pantalaimon. Her dear, her heart, her soul. She uncurled from her fetal position, allowing him to flow up her shoulder to wrap his pine marten form tightly about her neck, murmuring soft affectations of love and devotion and comfort. How dear he was to her. What would she ever do without him? They had been through so much together...spying on the Scholars in the Retiring Room, going north with the gyptians, nearly being cut apart by the Gobblers at Bolvangar, walking through the sky into another world, leaving each other behind to venture down into the Underworld, and...losing Will and Kirjava.
A fresh pain stabbed at her heart, and she whimpered softly. The agony was killing her. Pan pressed against her, sharing in her pain. It was his pain too. She knew that, knew that he missed Kirjava as much as she missed Will. Her pine marten daemon loved the beautiful, inky black cat, just as Lyra loved Will. Her Will. Her only. She sobbed softly, and bit her tongue firmly to keep from crying. Blood and bile filled her mouth, but she refused to give in to the tears.
"Lyra...Lyra..." Pan was nuzzling her, licking her face with his little tongue, trying his best to comfort her although he, too, was suffering.
"Oh God, Pan..." she whispered, her voice hoarse with pain. "I miss them so much! And I thought it'd be easy, 'cause I knew we was doing the right thing, but now...now it just hurts!"
"We did do the right thing," he replied fiercely. "We did what we had to do. We couldn't live in their world, and they couldn't live in ours!"
"And if Will used the knife to come and see us, there'd just be more Spectres made. I know, Pan. I know all that! But it doesn't make it any better!"
His only reply was to press himself even more firmly against her, shaking with silent agony. She unwrapped him gently from about her neck, cuddling him in her arms and pressing him against her breast so that their hearts beat like one entity. She said nothing, and no more words passed between them. They sat silently together, sharing in the grief and love that united them.
Lyra knew Pan was right. Giving up Will and his Kirjava had been the hardest thing that they had ever done, but it had been the right thing. They couldn't be selfish, thinking of only themselves and their happiness. They had to think about the whole world, about everyone they cared for. The Master and Scholars at Jordan, Mary Malone from Will's world, Serafina Pekkala and her witches, Iorek Byrnison, John Faa and Farder Coram, everyone they had ever loved and been loved by. But it hurt, it hurt so unfairly that sometimes Lyra thought it would kill them.
Returning to Jordan after letting go of Will had almost been too painful for Lyra to bear. Still, she knew in her heart that it was where she belonged. It was this knowledge that had caused her to leave Dame Hannah Relf's school after only a few months. As much as she may have liked to stay with the other girls and learn, hearing of their romances and their easy, painless lives was too much for her. At least here at Jordan among the Scholars, she didn't have to face the memories that the outside world brought her. Memories of Will. Memories of what she might have had.
Leaving Dame Hannah's school had also meant that her studies of the alethiometer had ended. Dame Hannah had proven to be very knowledgeable about the strange, truth-reading instrument, and Lyra had gained quite a bit of ground while studying with her. Now, though, she was without both Dame Hannah's expertise and the books of reading, and she could barely ask the alethiometer even the most simple questions. The natural grace with which she had read the instrument was lost to her, maybe forever. But it didn't matter. The alethiometer sat on her rickety bedside table, held inside the familiar black velvet bag, untouched.
"Pan..." she murmured. "Pan?"
No answer came. Her daemon was fast asleep, still trembling unhappily in his dreams. Lyra sighed and snuggled down with him on the bed, pulling the threadbare covers over them both. Weariness plagued her, driving away her grief and pain like some miraculous drug. She knew that it wouldn't last, that the minute she woke up without Will beside her, the hurt would return and threaten to drive her mad once again. But for now, the sweet emptiness of sleep was all she wanted. For now, it was enough.
Lyra turned off the light and lay back on the narrow bed, closing her eyes. Within moments, she was floating on the euphoria of dreamless sleep. In sleep, she looked as innocent, stubborn and wild as she had not two years before. It was as though all the cares, woes and pain of her adventures had been lifted from her. It was as though, in that moment, she was her old self. Oblivious to all around her, Lyra slept.
From outside the window, a large black bird watched the two sleeping figures. It was a raven, but a raven of no ordinary size, easily twice the size of any other of its species. It gazed intently at the girl and her pine marten daemon and clacked its beak. It watched for a moment more, before spreading its great wings and gliding off into the night as silently as it had come.
nb. All characters and places from Philip Pullman's books are (of course) © Philip Pullman. Any new characters and places, as well as the situations that all of these characters are put in, are © me. Stealing, copying or otherwise plagiarising my work will result in many bites.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------
The Oxford air was thick with smog and ash that hung heavy over the vast expanse of winding alleys and canals. The moon was hidden behind choking, suffocating clouds, throwing the land below into the darkness of the night. The only light cast was from the streetlights, the yellow anbaric beams flickering every so often, threatening to go out. Shadows moved, footsteps echoed, and somewhere in the darkness, a child wailed, its daemon wailing with it. What they were crying for, no one knew, but the eerie sounds penetrated the stillness. A testament to a dying world.
Somehow, Jordan College seemed removed from the squalor that enveloped the rest of the area. The buildings, all of different sizes and shapes, stood clumped together like some modern Stonehenge, arranged carelessly and in no particular pattern. Time had weathered the stone, turned it ragged with age, but the elegance of the College had not been completely diminished. It was still there, if only a shadow of what it had once been.
Jordan was dark and still, no movement coming from anywhere within or around the College. There was only one light on, a dim glimmer coming from a small attic window, high up in one of the taller buildings. Anyone who had been there to witness that light may have thought it strange, that anyone would be up so late, but no one was there. In that small, cramped attic room, seated on her bed staring blankly at the wall, Lyra was unnoticed. Alone.
Her arms were folded about herself, her knees drawn up against her chest, and she was rocking herself gently. Her eyes, grey and empty, were full of tears that refused to fall. No matter how much it hurt, she couldn't cry. She couldn't give in to the sobs that threatened to wrack her slight frame. Sorrow had eaten away at her, but she wouldn't allow it to consume her. Never. She shuddered, and pressed her face against her knees, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders as if protecting her from the dank, cold night. She felt so alone.
And yet she was not alone. Pressed against her, warm and soft and full of love, was Pantalaimon. Her dear, her heart, her soul. She uncurled from her fetal position, allowing him to flow up her shoulder to wrap his pine marten form tightly about her neck, murmuring soft affectations of love and devotion and comfort. How dear he was to her. What would she ever do without him? They had been through so much together...spying on the Scholars in the Retiring Room, going north with the gyptians, nearly being cut apart by the Gobblers at Bolvangar, walking through the sky into another world, leaving each other behind to venture down into the Underworld, and...losing Will and Kirjava.
A fresh pain stabbed at her heart, and she whimpered softly. The agony was killing her. Pan pressed against her, sharing in her pain. It was his pain too. She knew that, knew that he missed Kirjava as much as she missed Will. Her pine marten daemon loved the beautiful, inky black cat, just as Lyra loved Will. Her Will. Her only. She sobbed softly, and bit her tongue firmly to keep from crying. Blood and bile filled her mouth, but she refused to give in to the tears.
"Lyra...Lyra..." Pan was nuzzling her, licking her face with his little tongue, trying his best to comfort her although he, too, was suffering.
"Oh God, Pan..." she whispered, her voice hoarse with pain. "I miss them so much! And I thought it'd be easy, 'cause I knew we was doing the right thing, but now...now it just hurts!"
"We did do the right thing," he replied fiercely. "We did what we had to do. We couldn't live in their world, and they couldn't live in ours!"
"And if Will used the knife to come and see us, there'd just be more Spectres made. I know, Pan. I know all that! But it doesn't make it any better!"
His only reply was to press himself even more firmly against her, shaking with silent agony. She unwrapped him gently from about her neck, cuddling him in her arms and pressing him against her breast so that their hearts beat like one entity. She said nothing, and no more words passed between them. They sat silently together, sharing in the grief and love that united them.
Lyra knew Pan was right. Giving up Will and his Kirjava had been the hardest thing that they had ever done, but it had been the right thing. They couldn't be selfish, thinking of only themselves and their happiness. They had to think about the whole world, about everyone they cared for. The Master and Scholars at Jordan, Mary Malone from Will's world, Serafina Pekkala and her witches, Iorek Byrnison, John Faa and Farder Coram, everyone they had ever loved and been loved by. But it hurt, it hurt so unfairly that sometimes Lyra thought it would kill them.
Returning to Jordan after letting go of Will had almost been too painful for Lyra to bear. Still, she knew in her heart that it was where she belonged. It was this knowledge that had caused her to leave Dame Hannah Relf's school after only a few months. As much as she may have liked to stay with the other girls and learn, hearing of their romances and their easy, painless lives was too much for her. At least here at Jordan among the Scholars, she didn't have to face the memories that the outside world brought her. Memories of Will. Memories of what she might have had.
Leaving Dame Hannah's school had also meant that her studies of the alethiometer had ended. Dame Hannah had proven to be very knowledgeable about the strange, truth-reading instrument, and Lyra had gained quite a bit of ground while studying with her. Now, though, she was without both Dame Hannah's expertise and the books of reading, and she could barely ask the alethiometer even the most simple questions. The natural grace with which she had read the instrument was lost to her, maybe forever. But it didn't matter. The alethiometer sat on her rickety bedside table, held inside the familiar black velvet bag, untouched.
"Pan..." she murmured. "Pan?"
No answer came. Her daemon was fast asleep, still trembling unhappily in his dreams. Lyra sighed and snuggled down with him on the bed, pulling the threadbare covers over them both. Weariness plagued her, driving away her grief and pain like some miraculous drug. She knew that it wouldn't last, that the minute she woke up without Will beside her, the hurt would return and threaten to drive her mad once again. But for now, the sweet emptiness of sleep was all she wanted. For now, it was enough.
Lyra turned off the light and lay back on the narrow bed, closing her eyes. Within moments, she was floating on the euphoria of dreamless sleep. In sleep, she looked as innocent, stubborn and wild as she had not two years before. It was as though all the cares, woes and pain of her adventures had been lifted from her. It was as though, in that moment, she was her old self. Oblivious to all around her, Lyra slept.
From outside the window, a large black bird watched the two sleeping figures. It was a raven, but a raven of no ordinary size, easily twice the size of any other of its species. It gazed intently at the girl and her pine marten daemon and clacked its beak. It watched for a moment more, before spreading its great wings and gliding off into the night as silently as it had come.