Days Are Passing By (His Dark Materials, Lyra Silvertongue, PG)
Title: Days Are Passing By
Author: noblealice
Fandom: His Dark Materials
Character: Lyra Silvertongue
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Prompt: #26 "We can never go back again, that much is certain. The past is still too close to us. The things we have tried to forget and put behind us would stir again, and that sense of fear, of furtive unrest...might in some manner unforeseen become a living companion, as it had before." --Daphne Du Maurier
Summary: Lyra lives in a world of memories, afraid to fully engage with the present. She is slowly healing, forgetting her promise to Will and instead retreating within herself. It takes the interference of the Church to wake her from her hesitancy to participate in life.
Spoilers: for all three books in the HDM trilogy (Northern Lights/The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass) and Lyra’s Oxford
Author's Notes: Title is from the lyrics of Diane Birch’s song "Rewind". Apologies, this is un-beta'd and all mistakes are my own. More notes at the end of the fic.
Word Count: 6,000+
Lyra and Pantalaimon are left to go forward simply because they are not allowed to go back.
Their whole world had changed in a few short months. Governments were scrambling to clean up the mess the rift has caused, sending troops up North in their fur-lined boots to slosh around in the mud. Scholars searched for answers about this weird weather in dusty scrolls and faded photograms. They were hoping for the key to lie in the past and Lyra would have pitied their ignorance if she had the energy to care. What they really needed were ideas from the present, and only then would they find a solution to the upheaval they suffered.
During her first month back, while thousands attempted to control the damage to their world, Lyra was thinking of another forbidden world. She felt as if she were drifting aimlessly like a twig in a violent, white river, tossed about with no direction. Pan would pace the floor beside her while she stayed in bed for days, not taking any visitors.
Now, two years later, she has acclimated herself to the weight of the memories she carries around with her, but she still feels unstable as she walks through the city, like a ship untethered to its mooring, threatening to wash out to sea at any moment.
She watches the anbaric lights flicker above her as she moves from the High Street across the Thames Bridge. All anbaric appliances have been malfunctioning for years with the supply being as unreliable as it is. Three separate generating stations were dealing with problems with their engines, taxing the remaining functioning power plants. Most northern stations had suffered damage to their turbines from the overflow of flooding that was still plaguing the world.
As she walked in the shadows of the buildings, Lyra pulled her wool coat tighter at her throat; dark spaces had started to make her uncomfortable ever since the Land of the Dead. Pan weaved through her legs in an attempt to reassure her, his eyes gleaming cheerily up at her in the dark.
Lacking a proper harbour, the tips of the boats bob in the river, their uneven masts floating uneasily above the mist from the Thames. She’s received a formal summons to appear but it’s odd for the Gyptian Council to converge somewhere other than the Fens and it unsettles her. She can’t help the involuntarily shiver.
Seeing John Faa’s particular ship brings back painful memories of her return trip to Oxford. In the years since her separation with Will, she had done her best to move on and live her life. However, the voyage back to England was so soon after saying goodbye and consequently was one of mourning for a life and love lost.
On her initial voyage with the Gyptians to find Roger and rescue him from the Gobblers, she was separated from their camaraderie. Though they got on well, she was infused with a mission that few understood. She would stare out at the frothing sea and dream of a dynamic rescue mission worthy of tales and songs, no idea of the horrors that awaited her or the sorrow that would follow.
On the trip back she had been separated from them again though not because of the haughty attitude of a child but because they could recognise the grief of a woman. She doesn’t want their pity so she stayed in her cabin, curled up on the cot. She could smell the salt air through her porthole but the sea didn’t interest her then as it did once before.
The air tonight still has the sharp tang of busy waters but with the awful smell of the remains of yesterday’s catch rotting in the streets. She fiercely misses the freedom that the ocean had represented, wishing it were possible to just set sail on a fresh breeze right now and avoid whatever the Council had to tell her.
She was told that she would never get used to this new warped life of hers, that she just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and survive. She wishes for some of the alethiometer’s blunt advice as she slips and fumbles through her days.
Lyra has many companions that shade her steps through the days. The memories of people long dead or lost walk tall behind her. In her periphery vision she sees the mirage of Mary. On cold days she thinks she sees the translucent beauty of Balthamos and Baruch in the flurries of snow. In the lightning that scores the sky she sees the bright smile of Lee Scoresby and she has to stop when walking across campus to catch her breath when a jewel-toned dragonfly flies past, the memory of Tialys, and Salmakia unexpectedly overwhelming her.
Will was always out of reach, just around the next corner or waiting in the shadows. Lyra saw mere glimpses of him daily in the laugh of a trader, in the kindness of a stranger, or in the courage of a child. It is nowhere near enough for her, but he’s wrapped too tightly around her heart for her to ever be fully apart from him.
Slowly, her steps grew more graceful. She tripped less often over her words and she began to save her emotions for the privacy of her rooms. If she seemed quiet or introverted it was because over time her grief simply became a manageable addition to the framework of her body.
As she walked closer to the makeshift docks the Gyptians had erected, she felt her hard-earned peace of mind began to falter, the shades of her past too strong. She is growing younger with each step, regressing back into that heart-broken young woman who had no direction in life.
She paused at the foot of the ramp, the gentle sway of the moored ship looming in front of her like an ominous beast in this fog. Pan rears up on his hind legs to nip her hand, a steeling reminder to keep moving. She takes a deep breath before reaching out for the rope ladder, hoping she still remembers enough about sailing to avoid making a fool of herself as a landlubber but instead of the rough grip she expects, she is met with a gentle hand.
The head of a filthy young boy pops up to greet her, front tooth missing and his eyes lacking the Gyptian’s usual wariness of strangers.
"Got another pair of ‘ands ‘ere." He calls out to his parents across the busy deck, announcing Lyra’s arrival. "Nice to have the help." He winked up clumsily at her, "Being so tiny and all."
"Shush, boy. Can’t you see she aint one of us? Too fancy by half." The boy’s mother’s eyes crinkled cheerily down to Lyra. "No offence meant, young miss."
"She got strong limbs don’t she?" He smiled up at his mother, letting out an exaggerated yawn.
Despite being talked about as though she weren’t there, Lyra can’t help but grin as this child does his best to manipulate his mother and if she had to guess, he won’t be toddling off to bed anytime soon.
Ma Costa bustles over, saving her from having to speak. Her arms are full of rope and though her voice may be a bit gruff, her eyes smile sympathetically at Lyra. "Nice to see you made it, Miss Lyra, though a bit tardy. Everyone else is here already. Follow me and then the Council can convene."
---
A woman rises as Lyra enters the room, a crack of lightning serving as her introduction. The rain that was merely misting before began to fall in earnest now and she must raise her voice to combat it. Lyra imagines that this radiant beauty is rarely upstaged by the mere displays of nature. Her wild hair falls down her back in lush curls and the thunder from outside suits the fierce look in her dark eyes.
"I am Ruta Skadi, ruler of the Latvian Witches. I have heard of you, child, from my sister-Queen, Serafina Pekkala. I am honoured to meet the Eve of Prophecy. I only wish my news could be better."
Lyra squirms in her chair. She had never been comfortable with prophecy, preferring instead to believe that she had control over her future. However, things have happened that she could never have predicted and it made her uncomfortable to think that everything in her life was predestined. When her choice should have mattered most, it was taken out of her hands and at times her self-sacrifice felt pointless.
John Faa stood at the head of the rounded table; still as tall and impressive in his small chambers as before, even if his bushy hair was streaked with more grey than Lyra remembered. He barely raised his voice, yet it held enough authority to quiet any lingering whispers. "It is we who are honoured. Although we have no ties with your clan, we welcome you here."
"Thank you. My story begins with a journey. I had flown long and hard to aid the Lord Asriel in his quest to save us from that invisible tyranny. When I arrived it was to see him deep in battle plans but---" Here she seems to struggle with her composure, coughing once to regain the strength in her voice. "It was the last time I saw him before the battle. I followed up later reports of sightings and the information from his Field Lieutenants and Air Squadron Leaders but there had been no word of his whereabouts."
"I searched far across the mountains of the Lapp Kingdom and down through the Hindu Kush, holding out hope for years. I returned to my clan to seek the guidance of my elders. For three days we fasted, chanting to the spirits for answers. On the fourth day a vision came to me that confirmed my worst suspicions."
"I believe that he is lost to us and I offer my sincere condolences to you." She closes her eyes and Lyra was surprised to see her battle with control. Witches don’t normally show such open emotion. She and Pan look away to the grime-covered porthole. The rain battering the outside of the ship makes no difference to the grease coating the glass.
Another figure rises from the back, his voice booming. "I will speak the words no one will dare. What of the she-devil, Coulter?"
Lyra flinches slightly. She knows what the Gyptians think of her mother and the Oblation Board, but she can’t help but remember the way she held her to her breast, whispering comforting words in her sleepy ears between fevered dreams.
"I did not search as ruthlessly nor did I consult the spirits, but I believe she is dead also. They seemed to conspire together to rid us of the Enemy of Truth. Thanks to their actions, Dust is safe."
Lyra didn’t expect the loss of her mother to have felt this painful, her body tensing as though she had been doused in ice water. She did not care for these accolades and praises, not if they just glorified the fact that her parents were gone forever before she ever got to know or love them.
Farder Coram moved to Lyra’s side, squeezing her hand once gently. She fought the tears that threatened to fall and excused herself quickly.
As a child, Lyra had never needed to know who her parents were. She was from Jordan and that had always been enough. The pride she felt in Jordan affected everything about her, from her posture to the light in her eyes. She had been infected with a sense of purpose that let her feel invulnerable.
Now that she truly was the orphan she had believed herself to be all those years ago, she feels like someone has scooped everything out of her body, leaving just a hollow mannequin in its place.
She runs back to Jordan, trailing wet footprints as she winds through the halls she once called her own. She hasn’t stayed in her childhood room since she’d been accepted into St. Sophia’s so she shouldn’t be surprised that it’s no longer free, but opening the door to see her room filled with boxed packages still feels like a betrayal.
She dropped down to a sodden heap in the corner, Pan nuzzling her side before slowly climbing up her crumpled body to lick away her salty tears that she is only now allowing to fall. She doesn’t know how Ma Costa does it; how she keeps from seeing Billy everywhere she looks, in every face she sees. From the minute Lyra wakes to the second she closes her eyes, all she can think of is all that she has lost.
---
In the last few years, while she has been sheltered at St. Sophia’s there has been a shift toward science and empirical evidence. The transfer away from mysticism means that the people who believe in the alethiometer can be counted on both hands.
Yet there are still some that are desperate enough to look for hope in even the most unlikely of places and Lyra does her best to answer them.
A woman is escorted in to Lyra’s sun room where she wears her grief like a cloak. Pan curls around Lyra’s collarbone in obvious sympathy, feeling this woman’s pain radiate off her to fill the room.
Declining the offer of tea, the woman begins her tale. "My son has been missing for five months this Tuesday. I need to know if he is..." The woman’s words trail off into the unthinkable and she must choke back a sob before beginning again. Lyra’s heart aches for her and she digs her fingers into Pan’s fur for reassurance. "I need to know if I should remain hopeful."
Lyra begins the process of centering herself while simultaneously removing any preconceived thoughts. She must be an empty vessel to retrieve the message the alethiometer gives her. As if a mist falls in front of her eyes, her vision begins to blur as the delicate hands whir around the golden device. As always, she stubbornly tries to interpret the message with the same ease she once felt but after a moment of silence with no understanding; she began to silently count the rhythm of the golden needles, watching the tiny beats of stop and start that make up the code she must break. She has memorized many of the rungs on the ladder of symbols but still she must excuse herself to check her notes when stumped on the meaning of the griffin symbol.
When the answer finally becomes clear Pan has to nudge her into telling her the truth. He is right of course; false hope can be more damaging in the end.
---
She tries to keep up her strength with the tasteless slop that St. Sophia tries to pass off as three square meals a day, but she often longed for the fresh fruit that the university could not provide. She loved the hectic sounds and fast pace of the streets, remembers running down them as her unruly, tangled hair streamed out behind her. Her hair’s carefully tucked back in a bun these days as one hand fingered the coins left in her pocket and the other hefted the weight of a grapefruit from Cyprus.
Her eyes caught those of the small boy charged with minding the fruit cart and there was something familiar about him that she can’t place. His daemon still shifted, flitting from a curious magpie to a bold bronze fox cub while she browsed his wares.
The strange tugging feeling in the back of her mind telling her that she knows this boy bothers her for a few days as she sifts through her memory, hoping to force her brain into making the connection. She’d seen him before around the Gyptian boats but she’s sure that’s not it. There was something different about this boy. She shakes her head to remove that ludicrous notion, but she can’t truly evict him from her thoughts.
His face interrupted one of her sessions with someone seeking the alethiometer’s guidance, floating up to the front of her mind unbidden and she had to forcefully push it away in order to concentrate on the question but when she next visits the marketplace; she knows why she felt like she recognized his face.
He’s loudly calling out the specials to passer-bys, his hair dusty brown in the sun and a gap in his front teeth. He’s covered in freckles because he doesn’t wear the cap that rests on the wood by his elbow. He’s thin from being over-worked from a young age and the expression on his face tells her that he is used to it, and expects his life of hardships to continue.
"You gonna just stare at them apples all day, then Miss?
"What? Oh, sorry. Two please."
He was starting to stare and Lyra bent to pick up Pan, self-conscious of his scrutiny.
"I can’t just give ‘em to you."
"Right. Of course." Still a bit flustered, she dropped the coins into his hand and watched as he deftly tucked them away and out of sight after counting them. He began to advertise to the next potential customer walking down the street when impulsively, she held out her hand for a shake. "I’m Lyra."
His head turned to look at her again. "Davey," he replied, his grip firm in hers.
He flashed her a tentative smile and despite his obvious salesmanship and charm, there is an innocence underneath that reminds her so suddenly and violently of Roger that she has to make a hurried excuse to leave.
She skipped visiting his cart for three weeks after that until the pain in her chest receded. Her heart wasn’t as strong as it once was and now she found that it bruised more easily.
She missed out on getting the freshest dates shipped in from Cairo during those weeks and Pan scolded her for her cowardice.
She had never enjoyed routine as a child, preferring instead to run wild and follow her own whims. Now the idea of a set schedule calms her because when her mind is occupied, there is less chance that she will dwell on the past. In the last few years she had worked to build a new life and she doesn’t like changing her routine just to avoid a small, gap-toothed boy. She planned to go down to the market tomorrow, memories be damned.
He’s such a young and scrappy boy, used to living by his wits on the streets and she felt a strong kinship with him, immediately taking on the role of protective older sister when she and Pan showed up with hungry smiles, only to find him surrounded by bullies.
After defending him, Davey was rarely seen away from her side as she taught him the best way to lob a mud-ball across the river, how to better his aim with a slingshot and let him win at their spitting contests. She could tell that he was slowly growing to trust her and it pleased her, knowing how sacred a child’s trust can be. She hoped to never disappoint him.
She loved nothing more than the evenings she was invited to have dinner with him and his family, letting the affectionate bickering and warm smells of a home cooked meal fill up a tiny bit of the gaping hole in her heart.
By her fourth year at St. Sophia she is easily laughing at people’s jokes and with Davey by her side she finds it easier to make new friends. She sometimes stays up late talking with the other students in the library, arguing over philosophy and ethics. She felt herself greatly improving and can’t wait to brag to Will during her next visit to the Botanical Gardens.
One day, Davey’s daemon takes the shape of a small brown terrier while pleading to accompany her to visit a friend and she can’t help the startled gasp that escaped her lips at the sight. Seeing Davey grow up in front of her, she is constantly reminded that the Parslow’s will never see Roger grow from a boy to a man. She retires to her room early that day.
Despite the everyday wonders that she discovered in her new life, she never took Davey with her on Midsummer’s Day or on any of her starlit walks in the fall, when she would stare up at the familiar constellations and wonder if they have different names in other worlds.
After graduation, she asked Davey’s family for permission to take him travelling with her. The world through his eyes is just as amazing as she had once hoped long ago when staring at the maps she had tacked to her wall. Some places are so different from Oxford that she could easily believe that she had just stepped through a window into another world rather than stepped off an airship platform. She enjoyed watching his enthusiasm and easily took his hand after a long day of hiking, a sisterly affection swelling inside of her. He insisted he was old enough to look after himself but she still supervised him brush his teeth before bed and left a small anbaric lamp burning bright in the corner.
---
With the world shaken by the battle, people were starting to ask questions but with time, any rumours that surfaced would lose momentum. Lyra suspected that even the speculation would die down eventually. Things had been calm for awhile until Lady Violet Putracant’s first article came out.
Violet was from old money, with a long neck and hair a deep auburn that was always coiled up high on her head. Her voice seemed to drip condescension almost as much as her pockets seemed to leak excess coin. Her demeanour was too prickly to endear herself to any colleagues. In fact, many past co-workers tried to accuse her of plagiarism before being swiftly silenced with large bundles of cash. She had no qualms about resorting to subtle bribery to charm away any obstacles from the path ahead of her. As a new graduate from Scarberia, she was intent on making a name for herself with sensationalist material. She had already developed quite the devoted following of people.
Lyra knew from experience that an animal that was cornered is the most dangerous and she stayed far away from the mess. She felt extremely distant from the any of the petty political squabbles of the material world.
Unfortunately for Lyra petty political squabbles still cared for her. After the deaths of high ranking Church officials, a scramble for order occurred. After years of in-fighting, the vacuum of power in The Magisterium was finally filled by the ambitious Liam Precundis. He had been recently promoted to the rank of Bishop while Lyra and Davey had been travelling but they returned just in time to witness his angry speech denouncing those disloyal to the Magisterium, promising retribution for the wicked. Precundis lashed out against the heretics and sinners in public speeches and photogram exhibits in community lecture halls. None of the universities allow his demonstrations on their campuses, but people didn’t have to travel far to hear his message as he shouted from the main square of every major city.
Lyra’s role in the battle was largely unknown and she was rarely approached for anything outside of her classes. She believed herself safe but still remained shy and withdrawn, eating most of her meals with Pantalaimon in her dorm room.
She published her thesis on the Republic of Heaven but it is met with poor reviews and after a month it left the conversations of coffee houses and roundtable discussions for more popular topics. It’s a blow to Lyra’s moral to see the academic world rebuff an idea that she knows to be vital to the continued spiritual evolution of humanity. Perhaps more personally, it’s a blow to her ego to see everyone ignore something she poured so much of herself into.
She uses her summer vacation to sail a small dingy down the river to the ocean, rejuvenating herself with the fresh sounds and smells of the sea. When she was asked back to St. Sophia’s as a guest professor and lecturer she accepted graciously, feeling herself recovered from the snub and ready to work again. Truthfully, the main reason behind her acceptance was so that she could continue her private lessons on the alethiometer. She enjoyed her afternoons in the small room with the illustrated manuscripts that decipher the symbols she knew so well by now that she could draw them with her eyes closed.
She revelled in the freedom that she never experienced as a student and tried hard to remember how hectic life had felt when she is the one assigning homework, hoping she is not being too harsh or too lenient. During her first year at the college as a proper scholar, she is approached by Violet for an interview. She wanted Lyra’s comments for her second essay on Intercision. Lyra suspected that she’d use the essay for more easy recognition and celebrity so she turned her down.
It bothers Lyra to think of someone using any tragedy for renown, knowing all too well how many lives were shattered in this war. Lyra knows that she needs a diversion when Pan turns to hiss and bare his sharp teeth at Lady Violet’s badger daemon. She had begun to follow Lyra for information, asking her incendiary questions meant to provoke a response. Somehow, she knew from records salvaged from Bolvangar that Lyra had had a hand in the compound’s destruction and that she had been North at the time of the Dissolution of Worlds. Lyra booked her ticket out of Oxford that night.
She was grateful to escape to Iorek’s kingdom where the ice and snow muffled her tumultuous thoughts. Iorek intuitively seemed to know to leave her alone, saying that he did not want to disrupt the work she brought with her from St. Sophia but she suspected that he knew the reason for her sudden visit. News of all kinds travels across the wind and on the ice to the court of the panserbjørne, however separated they may imagine themselves.
Nevertheless, she found that she could breathe easier when the wind was the one cutting at her lungs instead of the pain in her heart. If she heard a name on the horizon, she ignored it.
---
When Lyra returns to Oxford, she seems to bring a sudden cold snap with her, reminding everyone what real winter weather felt like before the Dissolution melted everything. She went to visit Davey’s house, a gift from Iorek’s forge heavy in her hands. His younger sister opened the door, her eyes red and puffy.
"Miss Silvertongue! Some good news at last!"
"What’s happened?"
Although not as cold as where Lyra’s just come from, it’s obvious that Sara was having some trouble speaking as the harsh wind whipped her long hair into her face. All Lyra could make out were frantic, high-pitched noises and the garbled sound of her brother’s name.
"Come inside, Sara. I’ll make you a cup of tea."
"You’ve got to save him. They say they’re after saving his soul but they’d got the eyes of the devil when they took him and it’s been too long. You know he woulda sent word to Ma by now if he were safe. I’m sure that he’s a goner."
"Talk plainly. Where’s Davey?"
"I don’t rightly know. No-one will let us see him."
"Who took him?"
"Priests wearing the Bishop’s emblem, ma’am. They busted in not four days ago and dragged him out the way they came."
"What would the Magisterium want with Davey?"
"That’s what I said at first, but that’s when Ma noticed that Lady Scholar from the papers watching it all happen. She seemed pleased and it took everything in me to keep Ma from snatching her eyeballs outta their sockets."
"You did well, Sara. Any attack on Violet would have just made things worse. Thank you for telling me this."
"You’ll help him, won’t you?"
"I’ll ask the scholars at Jordan and St. Sophia for help. They have some contacts in the Church and maybe one of them will have access to the Bishop. We can make a formal appeal."
"An appeal won’t stop them from killing him! This is a disaster! I’ll have to take care of Ma and work the cart every day, I’ll have to quit school and..."
Lyra moved to collect the teacups, leaving Sara to entertain herself with her gruesome thoughts. She had always been prone to melodramatic fits and if Lyra wanted to do something, she needed the quiet to concentrate.
She wrapped her scarf around her head before she left, wishing she could bundle up Pan into her hood like the old days; for warmth and for comfort. She doubted that Sara could hear her quiet goodbye amidst her own tearful theatrics.
Once back inside the college where she can catch her breath, Lyra looks into Pan’s eyes. He’s silently pleading with her not to place blame on herself but it’s far too late for that.
"He’s like the little brother I never had, Pan. What do we do?"
"We find him and then we protect him."
---
She walked around, unsure of her surroundings and pausing at the slightest noise. She waited in the bushes outside this door for hours until someone left, her quick reflexes allowing her to stop the door from closing completely. She had no idea which direction to go and wandered purely by instinct. She rounded a corner only to swallow a gasp when a lynx daemon stepped out of the shadows, startling her.
"What are you doing here?" He questioned disapprovingly.
Lying once came so easily to Lyra but when she thought of being trapped and alone, her words failed her.
A female figure followed her daemon out of the shadows, her face twisted down. "It’s too dangerous for you to be here. We have to leave."
This woman wasn’t wearing the robes of the Magisterium and Lyra hadn’t seen a female since the last gated checkpoint. The Church is still very much a male domain and all nuns are segregated to the outer circles of the building complex. When she saw the woman’s turquoise earrings and bold tattoos, she knows for sure that she is not someone who will drag Lyra out in chains. Lyra breathes out a sigh of relief before straightening her back. She still had work to do.
"I’m not leaving without my friend."
"I think we can help each other. I think that together, we can help the world."
"I have bigger concerns than the world right now."
"I know. Little David Baies, isn’t that right?"
"What do you know about that?"
"I can tell you over tea. Walk with me?"
"I don’t have time. I need to-"
"They’re feeding him. Keeping him hydrated. You don’t have to worry about that. The Church has ruled against Intercision so he’s safe from that as well. He’s probably just scared and tired now and there’s nothing you can immediately do to help him. Come with me and we might be able to change that."
"Have they hurt him? Tortured him for information?"
"I can’t be sure. There are ways to inflict pain that leave little physical trace. But he is rarely visited and I’m not sure they’d even know what to ask."
"Then why?"
"To lure you into the open. You’re the one they’re interested in. They were hoping you’d do exactly this. Right now, your friend’s best chance of survival is for you to be far away from here."
It took Lyra a moment to scan her surroundings, but she saw the sense in this woman’s logic. She had no chance of finding Davey alone and hoped that by helping this stranger, she might be given a map or directions. She barely had time to decide before she was pulled along the brick corridor by her elbow.
Now that Lyra has time to think, she tried to place this stranger’s accent. Her voice had the same rounded twang as Lee Scoresby, although softened by spending time trying to hide it. She might have been successful if Lyra weren’t so familiar with outsiders. Pan stayed close by her side, sizing the lynx up from the corner of his eye. Her steps were padded by soft leather cowboy boots, barely making a sound as they directed Lyra through the labyrinthine passages of the Church’s basements. She carried no torch and seemed to navigate by touch.
Once they have exited through a creaking door that makes Lyra nervous, the woman began to speak. "I have read your treatise on The Republic of Heaven."
The sudden change of subject takes Lyra aback, "I was very young when I wrote that. No one cared at the time; I thought it prudent to move on."
"It was brilliant."
"It was my old thesis, written by an idealistic young woman who thought she could solve the problems of more than one world. Quite a task to take on."
"It is still as true today as it was then. I believe in the Multiple Universes Theory, first put forth by Lord Asriel, and that the worlds you spoke of still need saving."
"You might be the only person who thinks so." She glances over at this curious woman. She knows the small impact that her thesis had when it came out and is surprised that anyone would care now of all times. "How did you even find it?"
"People call me Scavenger; it’s my job to find things."
"Job? Who do you work for?" Her head was spinning with the speed of the information being fed to her and Scavenger’s pace as they raced down the busy street.
Just as abruptly as Scavenger had started, she stopped, whirling her dark, tight curls around behind her. "It’s a small but effective operation. You might be pleased to know that I’m not the only person who thinks this way. If you have the time, we’d like to hear your stories."
Lyra knows she doesn’t have the time for long discussions, but then she pictured a solo confrontation with Violet and its dangerous consequences. She couldn’t afford to play it safe anymore.
"Can these people help me free Davey of the charges laid against him?"
Scavenger only nods, offering no more reassurance than that.
Lyra agreed reluctantly although she knew the time for running is past. She followed this woman and her daemon into the building because Davey deserved better from her than a half-baked rescue mission and she vowed not to lose another friend to her carelessness.
She stepped forward into the unknown for Will, to whom she promised that she’d never give up, never stop trying despite however difficult it would be. It was time to make good on that promise.
Finally, she entered that room for herself, knowing she would just add it to the list of regrets she has made in her life if she didn’t. Closing the door behind her, she vowed not to add anything else to that list.
Lyra is strong and though the past was hauntingly close at times, she had never succumbed to its siren song. She and Pan fought to live in the present and eventually they didn’t have to try as hard to see the beauty that remained in the world around them.
note: This fic is not meant to be part of a larger story and I apologize if it feels as though I left it on a cliff-hanger (Davey’s fine). When I got my quote, I thought of Lyra obsessing over going back to those few happy moments shared with Will and I wanted my fic to end with her finding a reason to finally move on from the past and live her life again in the present without reservation. I believed that she would continue to work, eat, sleep and function but that there would always be a part of her that held back, perhaps due to fear of being hurt again. I wanted Lyra to overcome her depression, her disappointment at the academic world for initially rejecting her ideas and to get back on the horse. She may have had a lapse in determination, but now I am confident that she’s going to work hard to create the Republic of Heaven from now on. With Lyra’s resolve back, the fic I had planned to write was finished.
Author: noblealice
Fandom: His Dark Materials
Character: Lyra Silvertongue
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Prompt: #26 "We can never go back again, that much is certain. The past is still too close to us. The things we have tried to forget and put behind us would stir again, and that sense of fear, of furtive unrest...might in some manner unforeseen become a living companion, as it had before." --Daphne Du Maurier
Summary: Lyra lives in a world of memories, afraid to fully engage with the present. She is slowly healing, forgetting her promise to Will and instead retreating within herself. It takes the interference of the Church to wake her from her hesitancy to participate in life.
Spoilers: for all three books in the HDM trilogy (Northern Lights/The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass) and Lyra’s Oxford
Author's Notes: Title is from the lyrics of Diane Birch’s song "Rewind". Apologies, this is un-beta'd and all mistakes are my own. More notes at the end of the fic.
Word Count: 6,000+
Lyra and Pantalaimon are left to go forward simply because they are not allowed to go back.
Their whole world had changed in a few short months. Governments were scrambling to clean up the mess the rift has caused, sending troops up North in their fur-lined boots to slosh around in the mud. Scholars searched for answers about this weird weather in dusty scrolls and faded photograms. They were hoping for the key to lie in the past and Lyra would have pitied their ignorance if she had the energy to care. What they really needed were ideas from the present, and only then would they find a solution to the upheaval they suffered.
During her first month back, while thousands attempted to control the damage to their world, Lyra was thinking of another forbidden world. She felt as if she were drifting aimlessly like a twig in a violent, white river, tossed about with no direction. Pan would pace the floor beside her while she stayed in bed for days, not taking any visitors.
Now, two years later, she has acclimated herself to the weight of the memories she carries around with her, but she still feels unstable as she walks through the city, like a ship untethered to its mooring, threatening to wash out to sea at any moment.
She watches the anbaric lights flicker above her as she moves from the High Street across the Thames Bridge. All anbaric appliances have been malfunctioning for years with the supply being as unreliable as it is. Three separate generating stations were dealing with problems with their engines, taxing the remaining functioning power plants. Most northern stations had suffered damage to their turbines from the overflow of flooding that was still plaguing the world.
As she walked in the shadows of the buildings, Lyra pulled her wool coat tighter at her throat; dark spaces had started to make her uncomfortable ever since the Land of the Dead. Pan weaved through her legs in an attempt to reassure her, his eyes gleaming cheerily up at her in the dark.
Lacking a proper harbour, the tips of the boats bob in the river, their uneven masts floating uneasily above the mist from the Thames. She’s received a formal summons to appear but it’s odd for the Gyptian Council to converge somewhere other than the Fens and it unsettles her. She can’t help the involuntarily shiver.
Seeing John Faa’s particular ship brings back painful memories of her return trip to Oxford. In the years since her separation with Will, she had done her best to move on and live her life. However, the voyage back to England was so soon after saying goodbye and consequently was one of mourning for a life and love lost.
On her initial voyage with the Gyptians to find Roger and rescue him from the Gobblers, she was separated from their camaraderie. Though they got on well, she was infused with a mission that few understood. She would stare out at the frothing sea and dream of a dynamic rescue mission worthy of tales and songs, no idea of the horrors that awaited her or the sorrow that would follow.
On the trip back she had been separated from them again though not because of the haughty attitude of a child but because they could recognise the grief of a woman. She doesn’t want their pity so she stayed in her cabin, curled up on the cot. She could smell the salt air through her porthole but the sea didn’t interest her then as it did once before.
The air tonight still has the sharp tang of busy waters but with the awful smell of the remains of yesterday’s catch rotting in the streets. She fiercely misses the freedom that the ocean had represented, wishing it were possible to just set sail on a fresh breeze right now and avoid whatever the Council had to tell her.
She was told that she would never get used to this new warped life of hers, that she just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and survive. She wishes for some of the alethiometer’s blunt advice as she slips and fumbles through her days.
Lyra has many companions that shade her steps through the days. The memories of people long dead or lost walk tall behind her. In her periphery vision she sees the mirage of Mary. On cold days she thinks she sees the translucent beauty of Balthamos and Baruch in the flurries of snow. In the lightning that scores the sky she sees the bright smile of Lee Scoresby and she has to stop when walking across campus to catch her breath when a jewel-toned dragonfly flies past, the memory of Tialys, and Salmakia unexpectedly overwhelming her.
Will was always out of reach, just around the next corner or waiting in the shadows. Lyra saw mere glimpses of him daily in the laugh of a trader, in the kindness of a stranger, or in the courage of a child. It is nowhere near enough for her, but he’s wrapped too tightly around her heart for her to ever be fully apart from him.
Slowly, her steps grew more graceful. She tripped less often over her words and she began to save her emotions for the privacy of her rooms. If she seemed quiet or introverted it was because over time her grief simply became a manageable addition to the framework of her body.
As she walked closer to the makeshift docks the Gyptians had erected, she felt her hard-earned peace of mind began to falter, the shades of her past too strong. She is growing younger with each step, regressing back into that heart-broken young woman who had no direction in life.
She paused at the foot of the ramp, the gentle sway of the moored ship looming in front of her like an ominous beast in this fog. Pan rears up on his hind legs to nip her hand, a steeling reminder to keep moving. She takes a deep breath before reaching out for the rope ladder, hoping she still remembers enough about sailing to avoid making a fool of herself as a landlubber but instead of the rough grip she expects, she is met with a gentle hand.
The head of a filthy young boy pops up to greet her, front tooth missing and his eyes lacking the Gyptian’s usual wariness of strangers.
"Got another pair of ‘ands ‘ere." He calls out to his parents across the busy deck, announcing Lyra’s arrival. "Nice to have the help." He winked up clumsily at her, "Being so tiny and all."
"Shush, boy. Can’t you see she aint one of us? Too fancy by half." The boy’s mother’s eyes crinkled cheerily down to Lyra. "No offence meant, young miss."
"She got strong limbs don’t she?" He smiled up at his mother, letting out an exaggerated yawn.
Despite being talked about as though she weren’t there, Lyra can’t help but grin as this child does his best to manipulate his mother and if she had to guess, he won’t be toddling off to bed anytime soon.
Ma Costa bustles over, saving her from having to speak. Her arms are full of rope and though her voice may be a bit gruff, her eyes smile sympathetically at Lyra. "Nice to see you made it, Miss Lyra, though a bit tardy. Everyone else is here already. Follow me and then the Council can convene."
---
A woman rises as Lyra enters the room, a crack of lightning serving as her introduction. The rain that was merely misting before began to fall in earnest now and she must raise her voice to combat it. Lyra imagines that this radiant beauty is rarely upstaged by the mere displays of nature. Her wild hair falls down her back in lush curls and the thunder from outside suits the fierce look in her dark eyes.
"I am Ruta Skadi, ruler of the Latvian Witches. I have heard of you, child, from my sister-Queen, Serafina Pekkala. I am honoured to meet the Eve of Prophecy. I only wish my news could be better."
Lyra squirms in her chair. She had never been comfortable with prophecy, preferring instead to believe that she had control over her future. However, things have happened that she could never have predicted and it made her uncomfortable to think that everything in her life was predestined. When her choice should have mattered most, it was taken out of her hands and at times her self-sacrifice felt pointless.
John Faa stood at the head of the rounded table; still as tall and impressive in his small chambers as before, even if his bushy hair was streaked with more grey than Lyra remembered. He barely raised his voice, yet it held enough authority to quiet any lingering whispers. "It is we who are honoured. Although we have no ties with your clan, we welcome you here."
"Thank you. My story begins with a journey. I had flown long and hard to aid the Lord Asriel in his quest to save us from that invisible tyranny. When I arrived it was to see him deep in battle plans but---" Here she seems to struggle with her composure, coughing once to regain the strength in her voice. "It was the last time I saw him before the battle. I followed up later reports of sightings and the information from his Field Lieutenants and Air Squadron Leaders but there had been no word of his whereabouts."
"I searched far across the mountains of the Lapp Kingdom and down through the Hindu Kush, holding out hope for years. I returned to my clan to seek the guidance of my elders. For three days we fasted, chanting to the spirits for answers. On the fourth day a vision came to me that confirmed my worst suspicions."
"I believe that he is lost to us and I offer my sincere condolences to you." She closes her eyes and Lyra was surprised to see her battle with control. Witches don’t normally show such open emotion. She and Pan look away to the grime-covered porthole. The rain battering the outside of the ship makes no difference to the grease coating the glass.
Another figure rises from the back, his voice booming. "I will speak the words no one will dare. What of the she-devil, Coulter?"
Lyra flinches slightly. She knows what the Gyptians think of her mother and the Oblation Board, but she can’t help but remember the way she held her to her breast, whispering comforting words in her sleepy ears between fevered dreams.
"I did not search as ruthlessly nor did I consult the spirits, but I believe she is dead also. They seemed to conspire together to rid us of the Enemy of Truth. Thanks to their actions, Dust is safe."
Lyra didn’t expect the loss of her mother to have felt this painful, her body tensing as though she had been doused in ice water. She did not care for these accolades and praises, not if they just glorified the fact that her parents were gone forever before she ever got to know or love them.
Farder Coram moved to Lyra’s side, squeezing her hand once gently. She fought the tears that threatened to fall and excused herself quickly.
As a child, Lyra had never needed to know who her parents were. She was from Jordan and that had always been enough. The pride she felt in Jordan affected everything about her, from her posture to the light in her eyes. She had been infected with a sense of purpose that let her feel invulnerable.
Now that she truly was the orphan she had believed herself to be all those years ago, she feels like someone has scooped everything out of her body, leaving just a hollow mannequin in its place.
She runs back to Jordan, trailing wet footprints as she winds through the halls she once called her own. She hasn’t stayed in her childhood room since she’d been accepted into St. Sophia’s so she shouldn’t be surprised that it’s no longer free, but opening the door to see her room filled with boxed packages still feels like a betrayal.
She dropped down to a sodden heap in the corner, Pan nuzzling her side before slowly climbing up her crumpled body to lick away her salty tears that she is only now allowing to fall. She doesn’t know how Ma Costa does it; how she keeps from seeing Billy everywhere she looks, in every face she sees. From the minute Lyra wakes to the second she closes her eyes, all she can think of is all that she has lost.
---
In the last few years, while she has been sheltered at St. Sophia’s there has been a shift toward science and empirical evidence. The transfer away from mysticism means that the people who believe in the alethiometer can be counted on both hands.
Yet there are still some that are desperate enough to look for hope in even the most unlikely of places and Lyra does her best to answer them.
A woman is escorted in to Lyra’s sun room where she wears her grief like a cloak. Pan curls around Lyra’s collarbone in obvious sympathy, feeling this woman’s pain radiate off her to fill the room.
Declining the offer of tea, the woman begins her tale. "My son has been missing for five months this Tuesday. I need to know if he is..." The woman’s words trail off into the unthinkable and she must choke back a sob before beginning again. Lyra’s heart aches for her and she digs her fingers into Pan’s fur for reassurance. "I need to know if I should remain hopeful."
Lyra begins the process of centering herself while simultaneously removing any preconceived thoughts. She must be an empty vessel to retrieve the message the alethiometer gives her. As if a mist falls in front of her eyes, her vision begins to blur as the delicate hands whir around the golden device. As always, she stubbornly tries to interpret the message with the same ease she once felt but after a moment of silence with no understanding; she began to silently count the rhythm of the golden needles, watching the tiny beats of stop and start that make up the code she must break. She has memorized many of the rungs on the ladder of symbols but still she must excuse herself to check her notes when stumped on the meaning of the griffin symbol.
When the answer finally becomes clear Pan has to nudge her into telling her the truth. He is right of course; false hope can be more damaging in the end.
---
She tries to keep up her strength with the tasteless slop that St. Sophia tries to pass off as three square meals a day, but she often longed for the fresh fruit that the university could not provide. She loved the hectic sounds and fast pace of the streets, remembers running down them as her unruly, tangled hair streamed out behind her. Her hair’s carefully tucked back in a bun these days as one hand fingered the coins left in her pocket and the other hefted the weight of a grapefruit from Cyprus.
Her eyes caught those of the small boy charged with minding the fruit cart and there was something familiar about him that she can’t place. His daemon still shifted, flitting from a curious magpie to a bold bronze fox cub while she browsed his wares.
The strange tugging feeling in the back of her mind telling her that she knows this boy bothers her for a few days as she sifts through her memory, hoping to force her brain into making the connection. She’d seen him before around the Gyptian boats but she’s sure that’s not it. There was something different about this boy. She shakes her head to remove that ludicrous notion, but she can’t truly evict him from her thoughts.
His face interrupted one of her sessions with someone seeking the alethiometer’s guidance, floating up to the front of her mind unbidden and she had to forcefully push it away in order to concentrate on the question but when she next visits the marketplace; she knows why she felt like she recognized his face.
He’s loudly calling out the specials to passer-bys, his hair dusty brown in the sun and a gap in his front teeth. He’s covered in freckles because he doesn’t wear the cap that rests on the wood by his elbow. He’s thin from being over-worked from a young age and the expression on his face tells her that he is used to it, and expects his life of hardships to continue.
"You gonna just stare at them apples all day, then Miss?
"What? Oh, sorry. Two please."
He was starting to stare and Lyra bent to pick up Pan, self-conscious of his scrutiny.
"I can’t just give ‘em to you."
"Right. Of course." Still a bit flustered, she dropped the coins into his hand and watched as he deftly tucked them away and out of sight after counting them. He began to advertise to the next potential customer walking down the street when impulsively, she held out her hand for a shake. "I’m Lyra."
His head turned to look at her again. "Davey," he replied, his grip firm in hers.
He flashed her a tentative smile and despite his obvious salesmanship and charm, there is an innocence underneath that reminds her so suddenly and violently of Roger that she has to make a hurried excuse to leave.
She skipped visiting his cart for three weeks after that until the pain in her chest receded. Her heart wasn’t as strong as it once was and now she found that it bruised more easily.
She missed out on getting the freshest dates shipped in from Cairo during those weeks and Pan scolded her for her cowardice.
She had never enjoyed routine as a child, preferring instead to run wild and follow her own whims. Now the idea of a set schedule calms her because when her mind is occupied, there is less chance that she will dwell on the past. In the last few years she had worked to build a new life and she doesn’t like changing her routine just to avoid a small, gap-toothed boy. She planned to go down to the market tomorrow, memories be damned.
He’s such a young and scrappy boy, used to living by his wits on the streets and she felt a strong kinship with him, immediately taking on the role of protective older sister when she and Pan showed up with hungry smiles, only to find him surrounded by bullies.
After defending him, Davey was rarely seen away from her side as she taught him the best way to lob a mud-ball across the river, how to better his aim with a slingshot and let him win at their spitting contests. She could tell that he was slowly growing to trust her and it pleased her, knowing how sacred a child’s trust can be. She hoped to never disappoint him.
She loved nothing more than the evenings she was invited to have dinner with him and his family, letting the affectionate bickering and warm smells of a home cooked meal fill up a tiny bit of the gaping hole in her heart.
By her fourth year at St. Sophia she is easily laughing at people’s jokes and with Davey by her side she finds it easier to make new friends. She sometimes stays up late talking with the other students in the library, arguing over philosophy and ethics. She felt herself greatly improving and can’t wait to brag to Will during her next visit to the Botanical Gardens.
One day, Davey’s daemon takes the shape of a small brown terrier while pleading to accompany her to visit a friend and she can’t help the startled gasp that escaped her lips at the sight. Seeing Davey grow up in front of her, she is constantly reminded that the Parslow’s will never see Roger grow from a boy to a man. She retires to her room early that day.
Despite the everyday wonders that she discovered in her new life, she never took Davey with her on Midsummer’s Day or on any of her starlit walks in the fall, when she would stare up at the familiar constellations and wonder if they have different names in other worlds.
After graduation, she asked Davey’s family for permission to take him travelling with her. The world through his eyes is just as amazing as she had once hoped long ago when staring at the maps she had tacked to her wall. Some places are so different from Oxford that she could easily believe that she had just stepped through a window into another world rather than stepped off an airship platform. She enjoyed watching his enthusiasm and easily took his hand after a long day of hiking, a sisterly affection swelling inside of her. He insisted he was old enough to look after himself but she still supervised him brush his teeth before bed and left a small anbaric lamp burning bright in the corner.
---
With the world shaken by the battle, people were starting to ask questions but with time, any rumours that surfaced would lose momentum. Lyra suspected that even the speculation would die down eventually. Things had been calm for awhile until Lady Violet Putracant’s first article came out.
Violet was from old money, with a long neck and hair a deep auburn that was always coiled up high on her head. Her voice seemed to drip condescension almost as much as her pockets seemed to leak excess coin. Her demeanour was too prickly to endear herself to any colleagues. In fact, many past co-workers tried to accuse her of plagiarism before being swiftly silenced with large bundles of cash. She had no qualms about resorting to subtle bribery to charm away any obstacles from the path ahead of her. As a new graduate from Scarberia, she was intent on making a name for herself with sensationalist material. She had already developed quite the devoted following of people.
Lyra knew from experience that an animal that was cornered is the most dangerous and she stayed far away from the mess. She felt extremely distant from the any of the petty political squabbles of the material world.
Unfortunately for Lyra petty political squabbles still cared for her. After the deaths of high ranking Church officials, a scramble for order occurred. After years of in-fighting, the vacuum of power in The Magisterium was finally filled by the ambitious Liam Precundis. He had been recently promoted to the rank of Bishop while Lyra and Davey had been travelling but they returned just in time to witness his angry speech denouncing those disloyal to the Magisterium, promising retribution for the wicked. Precundis lashed out against the heretics and sinners in public speeches and photogram exhibits in community lecture halls. None of the universities allow his demonstrations on their campuses, but people didn’t have to travel far to hear his message as he shouted from the main square of every major city.
Lyra’s role in the battle was largely unknown and she was rarely approached for anything outside of her classes. She believed herself safe but still remained shy and withdrawn, eating most of her meals with Pantalaimon in her dorm room.
She published her thesis on the Republic of Heaven but it is met with poor reviews and after a month it left the conversations of coffee houses and roundtable discussions for more popular topics. It’s a blow to Lyra’s moral to see the academic world rebuff an idea that she knows to be vital to the continued spiritual evolution of humanity. Perhaps more personally, it’s a blow to her ego to see everyone ignore something she poured so much of herself into.
She uses her summer vacation to sail a small dingy down the river to the ocean, rejuvenating herself with the fresh sounds and smells of the sea. When she was asked back to St. Sophia’s as a guest professor and lecturer she accepted graciously, feeling herself recovered from the snub and ready to work again. Truthfully, the main reason behind her acceptance was so that she could continue her private lessons on the alethiometer. She enjoyed her afternoons in the small room with the illustrated manuscripts that decipher the symbols she knew so well by now that she could draw them with her eyes closed.
She revelled in the freedom that she never experienced as a student and tried hard to remember how hectic life had felt when she is the one assigning homework, hoping she is not being too harsh or too lenient. During her first year at the college as a proper scholar, she is approached by Violet for an interview. She wanted Lyra’s comments for her second essay on Intercision. Lyra suspected that she’d use the essay for more easy recognition and celebrity so she turned her down.
It bothers Lyra to think of someone using any tragedy for renown, knowing all too well how many lives were shattered in this war. Lyra knows that she needs a diversion when Pan turns to hiss and bare his sharp teeth at Lady Violet’s badger daemon. She had begun to follow Lyra for information, asking her incendiary questions meant to provoke a response. Somehow, she knew from records salvaged from Bolvangar that Lyra had had a hand in the compound’s destruction and that she had been North at the time of the Dissolution of Worlds. Lyra booked her ticket out of Oxford that night.
She was grateful to escape to Iorek’s kingdom where the ice and snow muffled her tumultuous thoughts. Iorek intuitively seemed to know to leave her alone, saying that he did not want to disrupt the work she brought with her from St. Sophia but she suspected that he knew the reason for her sudden visit. News of all kinds travels across the wind and on the ice to the court of the panserbjørne, however separated they may imagine themselves.
Nevertheless, she found that she could breathe easier when the wind was the one cutting at her lungs instead of the pain in her heart. If she heard a name on the horizon, she ignored it.
---
When Lyra returns to Oxford, she seems to bring a sudden cold snap with her, reminding everyone what real winter weather felt like before the Dissolution melted everything. She went to visit Davey’s house, a gift from Iorek’s forge heavy in her hands. His younger sister opened the door, her eyes red and puffy.
"Miss Silvertongue! Some good news at last!"
"What’s happened?"
Although not as cold as where Lyra’s just come from, it’s obvious that Sara was having some trouble speaking as the harsh wind whipped her long hair into her face. All Lyra could make out were frantic, high-pitched noises and the garbled sound of her brother’s name.
"Come inside, Sara. I’ll make you a cup of tea."
"You’ve got to save him. They say they’re after saving his soul but they’d got the eyes of the devil when they took him and it’s been too long. You know he woulda sent word to Ma by now if he were safe. I’m sure that he’s a goner."
"Talk plainly. Where’s Davey?"
"I don’t rightly know. No-one will let us see him."
"Who took him?"
"Priests wearing the Bishop’s emblem, ma’am. They busted in not four days ago and dragged him out the way they came."
"What would the Magisterium want with Davey?"
"That’s what I said at first, but that’s when Ma noticed that Lady Scholar from the papers watching it all happen. She seemed pleased and it took everything in me to keep Ma from snatching her eyeballs outta their sockets."
"You did well, Sara. Any attack on Violet would have just made things worse. Thank you for telling me this."
"You’ll help him, won’t you?"
"I’ll ask the scholars at Jordan and St. Sophia for help. They have some contacts in the Church and maybe one of them will have access to the Bishop. We can make a formal appeal."
"An appeal won’t stop them from killing him! This is a disaster! I’ll have to take care of Ma and work the cart every day, I’ll have to quit school and..."
Lyra moved to collect the teacups, leaving Sara to entertain herself with her gruesome thoughts. She had always been prone to melodramatic fits and if Lyra wanted to do something, she needed the quiet to concentrate.
She wrapped her scarf around her head before she left, wishing she could bundle up Pan into her hood like the old days; for warmth and for comfort. She doubted that Sara could hear her quiet goodbye amidst her own tearful theatrics.
Once back inside the college where she can catch her breath, Lyra looks into Pan’s eyes. He’s silently pleading with her not to place blame on herself but it’s far too late for that.
"He’s like the little brother I never had, Pan. What do we do?"
"We find him and then we protect him."
---
She walked around, unsure of her surroundings and pausing at the slightest noise. She waited in the bushes outside this door for hours until someone left, her quick reflexes allowing her to stop the door from closing completely. She had no idea which direction to go and wandered purely by instinct. She rounded a corner only to swallow a gasp when a lynx daemon stepped out of the shadows, startling her.
"What are you doing here?" He questioned disapprovingly.
Lying once came so easily to Lyra but when she thought of being trapped and alone, her words failed her.
A female figure followed her daemon out of the shadows, her face twisted down. "It’s too dangerous for you to be here. We have to leave."
This woman wasn’t wearing the robes of the Magisterium and Lyra hadn’t seen a female since the last gated checkpoint. The Church is still very much a male domain and all nuns are segregated to the outer circles of the building complex. When she saw the woman’s turquoise earrings and bold tattoos, she knows for sure that she is not someone who will drag Lyra out in chains. Lyra breathes out a sigh of relief before straightening her back. She still had work to do.
"I’m not leaving without my friend."
"I think we can help each other. I think that together, we can help the world."
"I have bigger concerns than the world right now."
"I know. Little David Baies, isn’t that right?"
"What do you know about that?"
"I can tell you over tea. Walk with me?"
"I don’t have time. I need to-"
"They’re feeding him. Keeping him hydrated. You don’t have to worry about that. The Church has ruled against Intercision so he’s safe from that as well. He’s probably just scared and tired now and there’s nothing you can immediately do to help him. Come with me and we might be able to change that."
"Have they hurt him? Tortured him for information?"
"I can’t be sure. There are ways to inflict pain that leave little physical trace. But he is rarely visited and I’m not sure they’d even know what to ask."
"Then why?"
"To lure you into the open. You’re the one they’re interested in. They were hoping you’d do exactly this. Right now, your friend’s best chance of survival is for you to be far away from here."
It took Lyra a moment to scan her surroundings, but she saw the sense in this woman’s logic. She had no chance of finding Davey alone and hoped that by helping this stranger, she might be given a map or directions. She barely had time to decide before she was pulled along the brick corridor by her elbow.
Now that Lyra has time to think, she tried to place this stranger’s accent. Her voice had the same rounded twang as Lee Scoresby, although softened by spending time trying to hide it. She might have been successful if Lyra weren’t so familiar with outsiders. Pan stayed close by her side, sizing the lynx up from the corner of his eye. Her steps were padded by soft leather cowboy boots, barely making a sound as they directed Lyra through the labyrinthine passages of the Church’s basements. She carried no torch and seemed to navigate by touch.
Once they have exited through a creaking door that makes Lyra nervous, the woman began to speak. "I have read your treatise on The Republic of Heaven."
The sudden change of subject takes Lyra aback, "I was very young when I wrote that. No one cared at the time; I thought it prudent to move on."
"It was brilliant."
"It was my old thesis, written by an idealistic young woman who thought she could solve the problems of more than one world. Quite a task to take on."
"It is still as true today as it was then. I believe in the Multiple Universes Theory, first put forth by Lord Asriel, and that the worlds you spoke of still need saving."
"You might be the only person who thinks so." She glances over at this curious woman. She knows the small impact that her thesis had when it came out and is surprised that anyone would care now of all times. "How did you even find it?"
"People call me Scavenger; it’s my job to find things."
"Job? Who do you work for?" Her head was spinning with the speed of the information being fed to her and Scavenger’s pace as they raced down the busy street.
Just as abruptly as Scavenger had started, she stopped, whirling her dark, tight curls around behind her. "It’s a small but effective operation. You might be pleased to know that I’m not the only person who thinks this way. If you have the time, we’d like to hear your stories."
Lyra knows she doesn’t have the time for long discussions, but then she pictured a solo confrontation with Violet and its dangerous consequences. She couldn’t afford to play it safe anymore.
"Can these people help me free Davey of the charges laid against him?"
Scavenger only nods, offering no more reassurance than that.
Lyra agreed reluctantly although she knew the time for running is past. She followed this woman and her daemon into the building because Davey deserved better from her than a half-baked rescue mission and she vowed not to lose another friend to her carelessness.
She stepped forward into the unknown for Will, to whom she promised that she’d never give up, never stop trying despite however difficult it would be. It was time to make good on that promise.
Finally, she entered that room for herself, knowing she would just add it to the list of regrets she has made in her life if she didn’t. Closing the door behind her, she vowed not to add anything else to that list.
Lyra is strong and though the past was hauntingly close at times, she had never succumbed to its siren song. She and Pan fought to live in the present and eventually they didn’t have to try as hard to see the beauty that remained in the world around them.
note: This fic is not meant to be part of a larger story and I apologize if it feels as though I left it on a cliff-hanger (Davey’s fine). When I got my quote, I thought of Lyra obsessing over going back to those few happy moments shared with Will and I wanted my fic to end with her finding a reason to finally move on from the past and live her life again in the present without reservation. I believed that she would continue to work, eat, sleep and function but that there would always be a part of her that held back, perhaps due to fear of being hurt again. I wanted Lyra to overcome her depression, her disappointment at the academic world for initially rejecting her ideas and to get back on the horse. She may have had a lapse in determination, but now I am confident that she’s going to work hard to create the Republic of Heaven from now on. With Lyra’s resolve back, the fic I had planned to write was finished.