DISCLAIMER: I am merely a humble bard, continuing the great epic of the legendary Bard of Anglica, Philip of the Pullman Clan. (In other words, I don't own HDM.)

APOLOGIES: Sorry it took so long to get this out, it's a long one. Unfortunately, I won't be able to update again until Mid-December, by the earliest. Damn college applications. Damn Boy Scouts for making a simple camp out require so mush ****ing red tape. Sorry, I needed to vent my anger.

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READINGS AND TRUTH

Oxford is a city of history and craft. Every brick and cobblestone, every length of timber and stretch of ivy was lovingly made and placed. It was a pride of Oxford that every square inch of the city was a work of art, whose story was handed down from generation to generation.

St. Sophia's College for Women and Girls was no exception. Though it was not as ancient or grand as Jordan, it still was a cherished work of art. It's various wings and halls built with care and detail, aged to perfection.

One of the greatest of these structures was the East Tower, a great stone spire overlooking the canal. It's ancient mortar and stone were dark with lichen and ivy, while the windows along it's length were thick and rippled, crafted when each pane of glass had to be poured individually.

At the very top of this tower was a dark blue slate shingled attic, a cone thrusting to the sky. Directly below was a buttressed balcony, it's battlements high and thick, toped with gargoyles and reliefs.

A woman stood on the balcony, her gray hair tied behind her in a pony tail, while a marmoset perched on her shoulders. Her maroon robes blowing in the wind marked her as a Scholar. A Scholar of the highest regard.

She stood, staring at the great golden sunset with old, patient eyes. Eyes which held an incessant curiosity, tempered by age and wisdom into a keen and sharp mind. Before her, the molten red globe of the sun laying dying, setting in the western hills.

"His prime is gone," the woman said aloud to her daemon, "the days will shorten now. The night waxes as the sun wanes..."

She was broken from her thoughts by a load, hollow banging from within the tower's walls.

"Coming!" the woman called into the tower. A sigh escaped her lips as she turned toward the balcony door.

"Never any rest for the wearry, is there, Jakien?"

Jakien nodded his agreement as he jumped down, leading the gray haired woman inside.

As they entered the tower, the pair paused a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dark red gloom let in by the windows around the room.

It was an old, rustic room, filled with shelves and books. Not an inch of space was left open; the rooms numerous bookshelves covered most of the wall space, and where there was room, tapestries and paintings hide the walls from view. Several reading and coffee tables were scattered across the room, covered with books and scrolls. Various chairs lay about as well, all old and well used.

To the right of the balcony door was a huge, impressive desk, piled high with books and writings. Behind the desk stood an elegantly carved oak seat, perhaps even a throne; behind the seat an old, rusting iron stair case spiraled upwards, leading to the loft above. Across from the desk, on the other side of the round room, a huge and elegantly carved and arched door stood...

The woman jumped from her thoughts, as a second echoing boom emanated from the other side of the oaken door, bringing her back to reality. She strode to the door, muttering under her breath, as the marmoset trotted beside her.

Despite it's great weight, the huge door opened easily on well-oiled hinges, revealing the girl awaiting on the other side.

She had long dark blonde hair, which tumbled down in elegant curls to about shoulder length. In her arms she held a beautiful, red furred pine marten, his deep eyes filled with grace and power, while about her shoulder she carried a well-worn and soiled bag, it's contents hidden deep with the folds.

"Good Evening, Dame Hannah," Lyra said with a slight bow of her head.

"Ah, Lyra, come in and make your self at home," Dame Hannah replied as she stepped back, giving room for the girl to enter.

Lyra stepped across the threshold, her eyes slightly unfocused and lost. Yet Dame Hannah seemed to catch a glimpse of something more in those eyes, something new which was not there the last time she had seen the girl. Something calm, something not unlike tranquility.

Together, the student and teacher made their way across the room, towards the great desk at the other end. Dame Hannah paused before the desk, pulling a chair out for the girl, before walking around to her own grand chair behind the desk.

"You seem to be in a better mood than your last lesson, Lyra," the Dame commented after she had taken a seat. "Do you mind telling me why; or what's been the problem of late?"

"Hmmm...."

Lyra didn't appear to be listening. Her chin resting in her hand, she gazed out in the evening sun, staring out of the balcony door. The brilliant golden red light poured in, illuminating the girl in her own golden nimbus, highlighting and deepening the lustrous red fur of the marten on her shoulder. It almost seemed to the older woman that the girl and her daemon were casting their own golden light; like bright sparkles on the water, or dust in a sunbeam, it flowed over them, bathing them in it's light...

"I don't know," Lyra said, breaking Dame Hannah from her trance. "Over the last week or two, I've felt so... miserable. Almost drained, like I was loosing the will to live, or something was feeding off of me. Then I started to be sick in bed. I felt like I was dying. I was terrified."

Lyra paused, and with a deep sigh, turned her head towards the woman before her.

"But this afternoon... I don't know...I felt," Lyra paused again, searching for the proper words. "I felt calm; almost as if I was with Will again." A feint smile crossed her lips as she continued, " I could almost hear him comforting me, telling me that everything would be alright."

Dame Hannah looked into the girls eyes, sympathy pouring out of her. She knew what it was like to loose a loved one, but to loose so much, so soon...

"And now, what do you feel?"

"I still don't know what's happening to me," Lyra replied quietly, "And I want to know, but I feel like it doesn't matter; kinda like it's out of my hands..."

Dame Hannah's mouth twitched at the use of the word kinda, but held her correction back.

"Well, that at least provides us with a place to start," Dame Hannah said instead, "If you want to know what has been happening, what better way to find out then through the alethiometer?"

A regretful sigh escaped from Lyra as she replied, " I don't think there will be much improvement from last night, Dame Hannah."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," Dame Hannah said with a smile, "You're obliviously thinking much more clearly, and, as I told you before, the clearer and more focused the reader's mind, the more successful the reading."

With that, Dame Hannah stood, and strode over toward one of the many piles of books scattered throughout the room, rummaging through them.

"Why not?" Lyra muttered, with the tiniest hint of exasperation in her tone.

Bending over, Lyra gently opened the shoulder bag beside her chair. Slowly, reverently, it seemed, she removed a soft velvet bundle from within. Placing it on her lap, Lyra unwrapped the cloth, to reveal a beautifully crafted instrument, it's golden face etched with tiny, detailed symbols, framing four delicate and fine needles behind the glass.

By this point, Dame Hannah had returned, carrying a pile of thick, heavily bound leather tomes. Their binding scratched and marked with use, these books held up against the ages. Various symbols were etched along their bindings, most notably and common was a likeness of a cauldron or crucible. These were the keys to truth, the language of the oracle. The Books of Meanings.

"So," Dame Hannah said as she sat down once more, placing the books on her desk with a grunt.

"So, Lyra, how should the question be phrased?"

Lyra's response was direct and crisp, "Through the most direct, yet complete means possible. The question must incorporate all relevant points and references, but can only be comprised of three symbols."

"Well, at least you bothered to study," Dame Hannah replied slyly, "That's a welcome change after yesterday's lesson. Now let's see if you can apply it."

Dame Hannah reached under her desk, and, opening a drawer, removed a note book and fountain pen from within.

"Here, think about how best to ask the question, then show me when you think you have it right."

Taking the paper and pen, Lyra bent over the desk, a stray lock of hair falling in front of her face. With out a thought, Lyra brushed it aside, then, pen in hand, she began to write.

But before she was finished, Lyra paused, and reread what she wrote. Then, shaking her head, she crossed out the unfinished question and began again.

This time, Lyra took a moment or two to think through her question, then she wrote once more. But once again she stopped, and had to start over before she even finished. Two more times she wrote the question, before she was finally satisfied with her work.

Through it all, the older woman waited patiently, studying Lyra and her daemon while they worked, watching closely, observing their actions and thoughts. When Lyra handed her the completed work, Dame Hannah accepted it with out comment, and read everything the girl had written, from start to finish.

"Hmm...'Why am I constantly sick in the morning?' " Dame Hannah read aloud, "Very good, Lyra, you caught yourself several times. You changed every morning' to constantly', very good..."

The Dame handed the notebook back to her pupil.

"Very well, if you think you are ready, find the symbols to ask the question–and remember, the lower down on the ladder of meanings, the harder it is to hold the question in your mind."

Lyra nodded her head, an action that clearly said yes, ma'am, and went to work once more. Instead of opening the Books of Meaning, however, Lyra picked up the alethiometer, gently placing it in her lap. She closed her eyes, then began to stare deeply at the instrument, a look of stern concentration on her brow. She studied those symbols, the symbols she once knew so well, as Pan whispered in her ear.

After over a minuet of studying, Lyra took the pen in hand once more, and wrote a single word below the last line.

Again, she returned to the symbols, digging into the vaults of her memory, searching for their hidden meanings. Once more, after several minuets, she wrote down a single word below the question, then continued.

But her memory had failed her. When next Lyra raised her head, it was not to write down a symbol, but to take one of the Books of Meaning in hand. Vigorously, she flipped through the pages, searching on paper where her memory had failed.

About midway through she stopped, scanning the charts and words before her, her daemon's eyes following as well. Several pages later, Lyra paused, and wrote another word below the others.

Taking a deep breath, Lyra raised her head proudly. Confident in her work, Lyra's eyes held a lost pride, a set determination in her rose out once more.

Dame Hannah took the paper, read through it several times, then set it back down before the girl.

"Very good," the Dame said, a smile on her lips, "You actually used the books this time, that's definitely an improvement."

Lyra blushed, remembering last night's argument when she refused to use the books and failed miserably.

"I would suggest, however," Dame Hannah continued, "That you don't include morning' in the symbols; it's meaning is too far down the Camel's list for you to hold in the mind very easily."

"What should I use instead?"

"Perhaps you should focus on yourself, Lyra," Dame Hannah replied, "Instead of keeping I' in your mind, refer to yourself directly. You call your self Silvertongue, correct?"

"Yes, Iorek gave me the name"

"Ah, yes, the King of the Bears. Well, perhaps the Marionette for grace, or the Serpent for guile."

"Guile," Lyra said firmly, as she crossed out the Camel and replaced it with the Serpent. When she had finished, she looked up pleadingly into the Dame's eyes.

"May I?"

"If you believe you are ready," Dame Hannah replied with a slight nod of her head.

Smiling, the girl placed the notebook aside, and picked up the alethiometer gently in her hands. The same stubborn lock of hair fell in her face once more, and with just as much grace as before, Lyra pulled it back behind her ear.

As Lyra turned the dials lovingly, almost as a mother caressing her child, Pan climbed down her arm, seating himself decide the instrument, his face the same mask of concentration and determination as the girl's.

Taking a deep breath, Lyra prepared herself, clearing her mind, removing all distractions. Then, without giving herself time for doubt, she set her eyes determinedly on the face of the golden instrument.

Ten minuets passed quietly, and the bright golden glow of the setting sun had turned a dull blood red by the time Lyra looked up from her trance.

Dame Hannah watched calmly, waiting for what she knew would come.

A deep sigh escaped from Lyra, her shoulders rose and fell heavily beside her.

"I can't do it," she said finally, shaking her head, "I can't hold the question in my mind."

Dame Hannah could see the disappointment in the girl's eyes. Lyra Silvertongue Belecqua had failed. The Dame knew that even progressing to this level was an amazing feat for a 13 year old, but she say how hard it hurt the girl to fail where she had once excelled. Excelled with so much ease, but now she couldn't ask one simple question.

"Don't worry, child," the gray haired Scholar said soothingly. "The question incorporated several deeper meanings, and you have only just begun your training here. Not many would be able to accomplish what you have done." The woman paused, a gentle smile on her face. "It took me two years before I could even begin to understand the alethiometer's meanings, and you have accomplished that in less than a month!"

Lyra looked up at the woman, her eyes filled with a new surge of pride. It wasn't the same arrogance that she held months before, where she believed she could do anything better than anyone, but it was pride none the less. A pride which could never be broken.

"Here," the Dame continued, extending her hand, "Even though you can not ask the question, perhaps you can read the answer."

Wordlessly, Lyra handed the golden instrument to the Scholar, then stood, and made her way around the desk, to stand beside the oaken chair and watch as Dame Hannah began her reading.

The Dame's movements were sure and steady, well practiced and filled with a wisdom and intuition honed by years of learning and study. The woman set the dials, then taking her daemon in her lap, closed her eyes and focused on the question at hand.

Lyra watched, focused entirely on the jerking hand below.

Tree, tree, tree, pause.

Madonna, pause.

Then the hand picked up its continual swinging, lost in the tides of Dust.

Blinking in surprise, Lyra looked up from the instrument. She had followed it! She actually could read the answer! But then again, it was a simple question.

Lyra turned to face the woman, expecting to see Dame Hannah's ancient and kind eyes ready to question her on what she read. Instead, she was surprised to see the Dame's eyes wide with shock staring at her with something close to disgust.

"Umm...Dame Hannah?" Lyra asked uncertainly, "The third meaning for the Tree is fertility, right?"

The question seemed to snap the Scholar out of her shock, but she continued to gaze at Lyra in an odd way.

"Yes, it is," the woman replied in a quiet, almost strained voice.

"And the Madonna means motherhood..." Lyra's brow bent in confusion. "A fertile mother... What does that have to do with me being sick, Dame Hannah?"

Behind her confusion, a hint of worry began to creep into Lyra's voice; the answer was beginning to dawn on her, yet it was still out of reach.

"Mothers often have vomiting fits during the first months of their pregnancy, Lyra," Dame Hannah replied, her voice now softening to a sympathetic tone.

"But that means..." Lyra stopped in mid-sentence, looking up at the teacher. The full weight and implications of the message had hit her right at that moment.

"Your pregnant, Lyra," Dame Hannah finished quietly.

Lyra just stood there, her jaw open and eyes wide, just staring at the woman sitting before her. Her daemon's shaking body wrapped tightly around her neck, as her shoulders rose and fell in short breaths. Her heart beating heart pounded against her chest as Dame Hannah continued.

"I'm sorry, Lyra, but that's what it means."

Suddenly Lyra's knees collapsed, unable to hold up the sudden weight of this simple truth. Kneeling there, her eyes wide with shock and worry, Lyra's shoulders began to quake, as sobs strained to escape.

"Who... Ho... How?" Lyra asked, unable to say more in between her sobs.

Yet even as the words left her lips, Lyra realized how it happened, realized what this meant, and suddenly, she knew that it was right. A smile came to her lips as she moved her hands to her stomach, to where beautiful life now grew within her.

"Will," was all she said, as hot burning tears of love and joy fell down her cheeks.

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Please Review! Did I do a better job at dialog this time? I hope it's better than Ch. 3... I need to redo that chapter.