This story belongs to its author and creators, the respect and love necessary to write a tribute belongs to me.
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Lyra watched the early dawn, barely awake. She was heading to her father. She had not seen him in what seemed so long a time, but was really so short, it was just that so much had happened since then. Jordan and that cloak-closet seemed ages ago. Besides, the last she'd known him it had been as her uncle.
She had thought herself an orphan, and as far as her mother went, she considered herself one, still. But now, now, the man who'd been her only relative - her secret comfort of really belonging - he was her father. No longer was that name belonging to merely a figure made of shadows, someone's who's identity and motivations had been hidden in the dim mists of strange things adults did, and she felt warm hope blooming in her chest.
She did not want to become a lady, grow up in a white house with too many adults telling her what to do, but she'd like it growing up in the north, with her father. Her father.
She sat up and leaned against the railing of Mr Scoresby's airship to watch the dawn. The sky was beautiful up north, the deep purple and soft pink of sunrise conquering the dark and light blues slowly, taking possession over a sky which had never been truly dark. The shifting northern lights, in all of their shimmering greens and silver, too, occupied the skies, and she wanted to learn all about them. Were they to do with Dust? What was known about them? Soon, she hoped, and knew somehow, she would be with her father and could ask him. She was determined, after all, to find him, and she had no doubt she, Roger and Iorik would solve also this mystery.
Concluding to ask her father all of her questions, just as soon as she'd brought him the Alethiometer, Lyra leant back against Iorik and fell back asleep. Not quite yet. They'd be there all the quicker if she slept.