Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2019-12-26
Words:
883
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
16
Kudos:
157
Bookmarks:
20
Hits:
2,210

Worlds And Worlds Away

Summary:

Lord Asriel and Marisa Coulter feel Lyra’s “death”.

Notes:

THIS IS JUST SELF-INDULGENT BULLSHIT 'CAUSE I WANTED EMOTIONS. ✨✨✨ PLEASE ENJOY.

Work Text:

 

*

Worlds and worlds away.

She has been taken worlds and worlds away from Lyra.

The head of the General Oblation Board. Inventor of their sadistic, tormenting methods. Fanatical persecutor of children. A vicious agent of the Holy Church now realigning themselves into a form called the Magisterium. A serpent is a serpent, Asriel thinks. Naming it something utterly different won't strip away the venom.

Marisa eventually calms herself, arranging and petting her own soft, dark curls. Lyra's hair, he realises.

Lyra.

His child.

Brazen and wild-spirited. Clever. Far too trusting for her own good, and yet, she can manipulate a lie so heartfelt that even kings themselves will fall into ruin. She's outfoxed every spy Asriel has sent to watch and protect her. To secure her, convince her, to lead her back to Asriel.

Lyra loved with every fibre in her unlike himself and Marisa.

She's herself without a moment's apology.

There's a ghost of Lyra, there, there — there, on the very tilt of her mother's lips. Marisa walks briskly round his under-officers hastily bowing to her. Her nose lifts in the air regally. She ignores them and their flattering words. Ignores Asriel ignoring her.

He welcomes King Ogunwe and several other leaders, rolling open his maps, detailing another possible strategic move against the angels surrounding the Clouded Mountain. Taking a mouthful of strongwine, Asriel feels a dull, persistent ache rising in the back of his throat. It spreads behind his eyes. It grows within his chest cavity and innards and even in the muscles of his legs.

"Lord Asriel?" Xaphania murmurs tonelessly. Her bright, winged silhouette pulses in low, soft cascades of light.

All eyes in the war-room turn on him.

"Lyra," Asriel grumbles, inhaling sharply. "What have you found out about my daughter?"

*

His fortress remains unnamed.

It triumphs upon a huge, mountainous territory of dark basalt rock. They're all beyond canyons walling up all directions against enemies and steep slopes and volcanic lakes purging out tremendous amounts of heat and sulfur-tinged gases.

In the highest rampart, and deep, deep within Asriel's tower, Marisa overhears murmurs about battlements and weaponry. The security plans to where the Consistorial Court hid their loyalest and most esteemed dignitaries. Intentional crafts. And the voice of Lord Roke fading in and out. He hasn't heard a word from Chevalier Tialys and Lady Salmakia — the spies guarding Lyra. Lyra has vanished.

She overhears Asriel quietly dismissing everyone, waiting until they're out of range before he upends a table, scattering papers like snowfall.

*

The dull ache heightens.

He lets out a frustrated half-growl, Asriel's breathing going shallow.

There's no telling how or why Lord Roke's lodestone resonator won't allow communications. But for now, he must focus on other tasks.

Stelmaria pads alongside him, bumping into his fingers with her muzzle and staring up with intent. He smooths a hand over the top of her great, silvery head. Her warmth brings what a million braziers of flaming coal-burn could never achieve.

"Something is happening," she tells him, her voice edging with animal-like rumble. "I can feel it too, Asriel."

He nods.

In his quarters, Marisa lies on her back to Asriel's bed, straight-legged, her arms folded across her middle. She stares at the darkness above. Her brow furrows with silent, grim thought. Marisa did this the night she told him of her pregnancy with Lyra. Hardly spoke after confirming this was his child. Asriel enters, glancing away promptly as she sits up, watching him. Her pale face lined in the warm naphtha lamplight.

This woman will always be more trouble than she's worth, but he cannot throw Marisa out. Lyra wouldn't.

A quick, tightening pain flares up, slicing Asriel between the ribs. A loud moan escapes him. To his horror, Asriel finds himself doubling over from his stand, one of his hands slamming on top of a walnut-wood desk. Marisa's daemon chitters nervously, flinching.

"What is it—" Marisa whispers to him, stunned. She jolts forward while sitting, clutching a hand over her heart and gasping. Her dark eyes widening.

Pain.

Pain inside her, Asriel thinks dazedly. Crawling like hot, angry insects inside her flesh. In his.

His other hand wraps to his middle, as Asriel gruffly exhales, trying to fight whatever this is. Something ripping apart from him —

Then it hits him without warning.

He hears Stelmaria yowl mournfully, hunching over. The golden monkey whimpers, curling down with its tail secured between its paws. Marisa stares at Asriel in a kind of hushed devastation, blinking out all of the tears gleaming on her cheeks.

Asriel says his child's name like a plea. For it to not be true.

"Lyra—"

Marisa witnesses the harsh, unmistakable shudder, deciding for the both of them. She approaches him. Her hands lowering. Asriel's expression distorts from terror into a savage wrath, and finally into miserable, mournful awe, his lips curling back slowly from his teeth. Blue eyes wet.

He only stares, as a forlorn Marisa reaches for him, hooking an arm to him. Her crimson fingernails scrape gently into his hair.

She half-tucks Asriel's head under her chin, rocking them, gulping and looking around helplessly to the nothingness. The wetness in Asriel's right eye trickles out, searing hot against his jaw. Lyra has been taken worlds and worlds away from her parents…

From everything…

*