(Original) Author's Note: Bonjour, everyone! Here's the start of a story about a different and perhaps more aware and reflective Mrs. Coulter. Little things could have changed the plot entirely, and here's a look into one of those potential changes and the aftermath.

NOTE: Revised 11/10/19. Trying to make sure it reads well and stays consistent with later chapters. This is a multi-chapter story centering on the relationship between Lyra and Mrs. Coulter. New adventures and situations present themselves along the way, and it's truly a quest both across the North and inside Mrs. Coulter's heart as she fights over what she really wants and what she has to do to get it. Part One: Into the North is chapters 1-44, while Part Two: After the North will begin on chapter 45.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it all of these years.

Luxurious Lies

PART ONE: Into the North

o1.

Prevailing Pretenses

Watching Lyra play with her chapped hands while her ermine daemon nibbled nervously on her left ear, Mrs. Coulter wondered how she had ever underestimated the strength of her daughter.

It was preposterous to think that she could ever fool Lyra. On that fateful day back in Oxford, however, Mrs. Coulter didn't know that. She'd never met or talked to Lyra prior to that, after all. She had decided to take Lyra from Jordan College and with her to London out of an insatiable curiosity of how her child had turned out, and of what use she could be in the future. It was detached, really—more like an experiment, a follow-up.

At least that's what she had told herself.

Beneath that, though, was something… else.

In a way, Mrs. Coulter had been afraid of Lyra being captured in the grimy streets of Oxford. Mrs. Coulter had spent her life ignoring and pretending to forget about her daughter, but something—some strange, foreign sensation—had caused her to reconsider this absence as she started her work with the Oblation Board, which had spread to Oxford and other smaller cities outside of London. With each child she helped snatch, there came an internal consequence, a resounding doubt in Mrs. Coulter's heart.

You have a daughter, she would tell herself, freezing as the children pressed against the soft comfort of her furs. You are a mother.

But sitting there in the chair across from said daughter, Mrs. Coulter didn't feel any better about herself. On the contrary, she wondered what she was doing by taking all of these extremes to help her. She wondered if Lyra even realized what was being done for her, what Mrs. Coulter was risking by intervening so directly in Lyra's life. Children, it seemed, never appreciate or understand anything. They were inherently selfish and relied on everyone around them to be inherently selfless.

Lyra, of course, was no different. She had spited Mrs. Coulter by disobeying and abandoning her back in London, and she had stirred a mountain of trouble by possessing that dreadful alethiometer. Even now as Mrs. Coulter rescued her from the separating chamber, Lyra wouldn't even look at her. Had she been raised with no manners or dignity? Was she completely and utterly wild and hopeless, as her informants had warned her?

But, she's your daughter…

"Lyra, dear, will you please look up at me?" Mrs. Coulter gazed down at the girl, whose blue eyes—the very same shade as her own—glared fiercely up at her. "I know you've just been through a terrible ordeal." She paused just then, biting her lip. Because of me and the work I've authorized these people to do. "But it won't ever happen to you, and I promise that you'll always be safe with me. Please don't ever worry, my love."

It was the only thing she knew how to do, really—charm and comfort a child in order to get what she wanted. Was that what Mrs. Coulter had become? Was that all she was good for?

As she reached forward to place a hand on the side of Lyra's head, it happened.

"You're my mother, en't you."

Mrs. Coulter froze, her hand stilling mid-air and the fur on the golden monkey's pelt sticking straight up.

For a moment, no one said anything. No one moved. No one breathed. This child, Mrs. Coulter's own child, was staring up at her as if she had never been more disgusted and revolted in her twelve years of life. Her eyes were hard and her face was firm. Her daemon was growling, now a pole cat that appeared ready to pounce.

Was that it, then? Was that how it was finally going to happen?

"How did you find out?" Mrs. Coulter finally whispered.

"The Gyptians," Lyra answered, matter of fact. "They told me all about you and Lord Asriel and the Church. And they also said how you didn't want nothing to do with me."

The slightest bit of a tremor surfaced in Lyra's voice as she finished. It was small, but it was there, building up like residue. And her stance softened ever so slightly.

As Mrs. Coulter stared at her, noting the hesitation and doubt that flickered through the girl's eyes, she felt something. Looking at her daughter, at how scared yet brave she was, Mrs. Coulter couldn't believe what she was feeling. In a way, she almost felt bad for Lyra. She must feel so lonely and afraid, yet there she was—blatantly embracing the very thing she was the most upset about. Mrs. Coulter was aware that Lyra had grown up in the ways of the wild and as an unruly, foul-mouthed tomboy, but nothing, not even independence and survival with the filthy Gyptians in the North, could prepare a child for an emotional blow such as this.

And as Mrs. Coulter sat there, the revelation of her maternal role out in the complete open, she felt something that almost resembled guilt.

You fool! The golden monkey thought to her, his tail thrashing wildly. You soft-hearted fool!

Brushing him aside, Mrs. Coulter leaned forward and looked directly into Lyra's eyes. There was no going back now.

"So, where does this leave us?" she asked. The tip of Pan's tail twitched, and Lyra frowned ever so slightly. She hadn't been expecting that, it seemed. "You've heard the story, but what do we do about it? How do we move forward?"

Returning her mother's stare, Lyra's mouth twisted. Mrs. Coulter truly had caught her off guard. "I dunno." Pan changed into a smaller cat, and Lyra's eyes went from defiant to unsure. Mrs. Coulter could see thoughts and emotions swirling behind her dark blue depths, and the golden monkey could sense Pantalaimon's agitation.

And of course, with the passing of a second, Mrs. Coulter knew what she had to do.

Her own eyes softened as she slowly bent toward Lyra, touching the edge of her hand. Surprisingly, the girl didn't flinch. "Darling, I know how hard this must be for you." With the return of Lyra's glare, Mrs. Coulter shook her head, smiling sadly. "No, no. I really do. I must admit I find it hard myself, and that I don't really know what to do, either."

Lyra's head tilted to the side, and a look of profound fascination followed. Did she expect Mrs. Coulter to always have an answer to everything? Was that assumption shattered just now? The golden money growled, and Mrs. Coulter shook his feelings off once more before smiling again. "I know you'll find it difficult to believe, but I've never stopped thinking about you, Lyra."

"You never came to see me," the girl interjected, her eyes now wide. "I was there in the college all by myself, and you never even cared."

"But I did. I contemplated visiting you nearly every day for so long. But your father had arranged it so that you were safe and happy, and he had also arranged it so that I wouldn't be permitted to see you."

"You could've came if you really wanted to." Lyra's eyes hardened again. "Lord Asriel still came to see me. It was only you that was gone."

Her hand now drawing soft lines on the bed cover, Mrs. Coulter didn't look up at her. "I know."

"All you wanted to do was be with those Magisterium people." Lyra's voice grew stronger now, and Mrs. Coulter sensed her sitting up straighter. "You wanted to be important, and you wanted to go North. Lord Asriel did too, but he still came to see me. And you could've done it, too."

"But would I have visited you when you were under the impression that I was dead?" Mrs. Coulter's face was a mirror of her daughter's now as she lifted her head up. "What would that have felt like to you? You have to understand the delicacies of things, Lyra. Your father had placed me in a rather unpleasant predicament. I had no choice."

"Everyone's got a choice," Lyra grunted, but she looked down at the ground as she said so.

Didn't they all have a choice? The Magisterium would say one thing, Mrs. Coulter knew, but perhaps Lyra was onto something. Again with the doubt, perhaps Mrs. Coulter could have made some different choices. Perhaps things could have been different.

"To a certain extent," Mrs. Coulter continued, watching Lyra. The girl's shoulders had slumped down, and she was still staring fixedly at the floor. "Things happen, and we must live with the consequences." Mrs. Coulter's stomach gave an uncomfortable jolt, and she ignored the rays of loathing she received from the golden monkey. "But the only important matter at hand, Lyra, is that I'm here now."

At this, Lyra's head snapped up.

"I've done a lot of bad things, but there's at least one thing I can change." Very carefully, Mrs. Coulter bent forward again to brush away a stray strand of Lyra's dark golden hair. "I tried to save you once, and I've luckily just saved you again. There's no denying that you are mine, and there's no denying that I want you to be with me. That I want to be together."

While Mrs. Coulter would normally play off such a statement as pure manipulation, this time, it was real. She could tell by the way the golden monkey scrunched up his face and by the way her own eyes widened with the admission, locked fixedly on Lyra's equally as wide eyes.

What are you doing? thought the monkey with a hiss. He climbed on the back of Mrs. Coulter's chair, leering over at Pan. Do you really think this can work? Do you really think she'll ever listen to us?

Mrs. Coulter didn't know, but for some reason, she didn't care.

It was obvious that Lyra was in no position to make any choices, the child that she was. Nonetheless, Mrs. Coulter had grudgingly learned from her previous mistakes. She'd spent their time together in London trying to control her, trying to mold her; trying to tame what she'd since learned could not be tamed. Though the child is hers and belongs to her in every right, she must think that she has a choice; she must choose to consider all of the options and alternatives. Mrs. Coulter was taking her either way, she knew, but in this moment, she wanted Lyra to want it, too. She didn't want it to be like it was before.

Mrs. Coulter wanted to change.

Frowning slightly, Lyra opened her mouth to speak.

But at that moment, the door burst open, and there stood a man with thick, ragged furs and a sleek, powerful snow leopard.