Disclaimer: I do not own the His Dark Materials series or any correlating elements.

A/N:Bonjour, tout le monde! Here's the next part of the story. I thought it's time we heard a little more from our friend Asriel. Anyway, I have no idea where this is going yet, so I'm just going with the flow. Of course I still want and need to delve further into the complex relationship between Mrs. Coulter and Lyra, but there are always sub plots to any good story, right? :)

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

o8.

Predominant Pasts

Panting against the cruel sting of the arctic while reaching out to pull Stelmaria up the last bend of a particularly lopsided hill, Lord Asriel remembered the first time he saw her.

She was twenty-one years old, and at the time, he had never seen anything so beautiful. It was at one of the semi-annual scholar venues at Jordan College back in Oxford. Gathered from all around the world, scholars of various disciplines and fields met to discuss and brag about their numerous accomplishments and findings. Lord Asriel had recently returned from one of his preliminary trips to the deep regions of northern Greenland, and as much as he grimaced at having to put up with elderly, arrogant men consumed with an overwhelming amount of alcohol, he knew that he had to in order to keep his funding. Jordan had been outstandingly generous, but it still deemed a certain amount of service from its eternally grateful disciples.

He had expected to meet old, has-been men trying to relive their glory days along with the occasional rookie desperate to glean a bit of attention from the scholarly world, but what he didn't expect was to run into Marisa Coulter, whose brilliant blue eyes seemed to capture his soul the moment they looked at him.

She was leaning against the end of the stair railing, her golden dress shining in the soft naptha lighting. Her earrings were composed of sparkling diamonds, and her long, flowing blonde hair arched neatly around her perfectly oval face. She was holding a glass of bubbling white wine while her free hand stroked the luminous fur of a handsome golden monkey. Stelmaria purred, and before he knew what he was doing, Lord Asriel went up to her, finding himself lost in the radiance of her presence.

As he approached her, her eyes swiveled from some point to the distant left over to his face. Blue bore into gray, and for a moment, Lord Asriel was irrevocably dazed. He stood right in front of her, continuing to stare into the beautiful pits of her eyes, and he then extended his arm for her hand, which she offered and which he kissed.

"Lord Asriel Belacqua," she mused, her mouth moving to form a perfectly-aligned smile. He was surprised that she already seemed to know who he was, but in a way, that wasn't to be unexpected. Stelmaria let out a low, soft chuckle as Lord Asriel wondered what exactly she knew about him and what kind of preconceptions she had in her pretty little head.

"Greetings, my lady." He gave a small sort of bow, evoking another smile. "To whom do I owe this lovely pleasure?"

He was being outlandishly formal, he knew, especially since he wore hand-stitched trousers made of walrus skin and a cheap white dress shirt encased by an exotic African blazer, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed rather amused, and she raised her eyebrows and continued to gaze into his eyes. "Marisa Coulter, an under-study at St. Sophia's College in experimental theology."

"You don't say?" said Lord Asriel, smiling in spite of himself. It was well known that women scholars, especially those at St. Sophia's, weren't the most ambitious and respected of all prominent thinkers. They were undoubtedly shrewd and capable, of course, but something always held them back in a way that allowed men to surpass them. Lord Asriel held nothing against them, but society wasn't as quick to catch on.

Marisa, however, was different. By just looking at her, Lord Asriel knew that Marisa Coulter was exceptionally bright and extraordinarily talented. Her charm alone could do wonders for any traveling researcher, and if her studies were as impressive as her elegance, she would make one hell of a scholar.

"You're quite deep in thought," Marisa remarked, her golden monkey shifting to peer over at Lord Asriel's face. Shaking himself slightly, Lord Asriel gazed back, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Indeed I am. The field of experimental theology gives one much to ponder about, which I'm sure you know all too well, Miss Coulter."

Though her lips moved to form a smile, Marisa's eyes remained expressionless. "It's actually Mrs. Coulter. My husband is Edward Coulter, a recent graduate of Cambridge and a soon-to-be candidate for the position of Oxford's Magisterial Minister of the Commons."

If he'd been intrigued by her before, Lord Asriel's fascination only tripled. Married? At her young age? And to some kind of politician? Stelmaria let out the softest of snorts, and Lord Asriel found himself smiling at her again, already captivated by the mystery that was Marisa Coulter.

"A worthy wife." He reached out for her hand again and kissed it once more, his lips lingering until she pulled her hand away, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"You're quite the puzzle, you know." Her voice was soft and melodious yet strong and confident. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're flirting with me."

Lord Asriel merely continued to smile at her. "May I tempt you for a stroll along the courtyard?"

If she was offended by his blatant audacity, she certainly didn't show it. In contrast, she dipped her head in agreement and then turned towards the door, setting her half-empty glass on the tray of a waiter, glancing once behind her. Dazzled, Lord Asriel followed, jogging a bit to catch up.

As they exited the ballroom, the late autumn air nipping at their necks, Lord Asriel found himself quite content yet quite restless. Marisa, it appeared, was enjoying the fresh air, and as they turned the corner of the stone staircase and set down a brick-latten lane, her hand swung dangerously close to his own.

"It's a lovely evening for a ball," Lord Asriel said, risking a glance at her. She was looking up at the sky and the stars with an immense amount of concentration and grace. "Does your husband care much for dancing?"

"Not really," Marisa answered, letting out a hint of a laugh. She turned away from the sky and looked over at Lord Asriel. He thought he caught a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "Edward is more of the serious type. All work and no play. It's hard to even get him into bed."

Thoroughly surprised at her candor, Lord Asriel turned to stare at her, feeling himself grow increasingly curious and impressed at her appealing, mysterious lure. He'd never met anyone quite like her, especially one so bold while so married, and in a way, he yearned to get to know her even more, though he recognized the possibility that he might never see her again after that night.

"I'm sure you live a rather different life," Marisa continued, her eyes swiveling over to him in a playful fashion. "All of that researching and exploring. You must live for the heat of any moment you encounter."

Pausing to gaze at the grandeur of a fountain, which was one of Jordan's finest, Lord Asriel turned to gaze instead at her, taking in the sweet scent of her perfume and the soft glow of her skin. He leaned closer to let it wash over his nostrils, which almost made him sway right there on the spot.

"I like to live on the edge." Gray eyes connected to blue. "A life without a little risk is never any fun."

It's been nearly fifteen years since their first encounter, but Lord Asriel remembered it well. Even as he marched along the frozen banks of one of the Arctic's deepest tundras in search of his daughter and his former lover, he could still see it all so clearly. He could feel the moist softness of her lips as he leaned in to kiss her, aware all the while that her husband could appear at any moment, and he could still see the hunger and contentment mirrored on her face.

As he fully came back to the present, lost and abandoned without any clear sense of a plan, Lord Asriel couldn't allow himself to fall back on such weak, petty feelings. Urging Stelmaria forward as they made their way through, he knew that he had to forget and move on.

But thinking ahead to when he finally found her, and perhaps when he'd finally see her in a weakened, helpless state, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen. He thought about what she'd say and what she'd do, what she'd throw or what she'd threaten, but most strikingly, he thought about how chapped and cold her soft, tender lips would be after all this time in the barren north.