Asriel and Marisa, a His Dark Materials fanfic

Authoress’s Notes:

Because they fascinate me. Because I think they deserve more time than they got in the books. Because I wonder.

Property of Philip Pullman, not me. Don't sue me; I'm a college student without money to give you, anyway.

A 10x100, if anyone doesn't know, is a set of ten 100-word drabbles, all thematically linked.

Asriel and Marisa

a 10x100

“Enchanted,” he said with a small grin as he lifted her hand to his lips. Onlookers were struck by the beauty of it all: a striking man and dazzling woman, and their glorious daemons. It became immediately evident that they were well-suited to each other.

If only she had not been introduced as Mrs Edward Coulter.

Not that Lord Asriel respected the claims of lesser men, but Coulter was known to be jealous, and Asriel understood why. The young wife was as witty and charming as she was beautiful, and her smile invited and enticed. Fortunately, Asriel enjoyed a challenge.

She had been dangling him along for months. Lord Asriel was bewildered by this woman who could captivate him as no other had done. It was her laughter that caught his attention from across the room, and he strode quickly to claim her for a dance. “Is your husband not in attendance tonight, dear lady?”

Marisa’s lips quirked into a smile, midnight blue eyes sparkling. “No, my Lord. He is not.”

Asriel bowed deeply. “Then I consider it my duty to be your champion and protector this evening.”

“Really, my lord? I’d think I’d have more to fear from you.”

Marisa’s cry was stifled by Asriel’s mouth, his fingers tight in her hair as spent himself and collapsed on top of her. She ran her hand over the strong muscles of his back, and suddenly he moved, rolling to his back and pulling her along. On the floor, the snow leopard curled entirely around the golden monkey, purring contentedly. “Is this love, Asriel?” Marisa asked, after a moment, in a voice not sentimental but wondering. “I never thought to feel it.”

Asriel chuckled and kissed her throat. “It is, Marisa, and it is what we are for. Don’t forget that.”

“She’s blonde, Asriel!” Marisa shouted. She had not yet risen from bed, yet still managed a tempestuous fury; the golden monkey was pacing and chittering in irritation. “My husband returns next week, and I have a blonde daughter to present him!”

“Calm yourself!” Asriel snapped, as Stelmaria growled. “Your turning harpy isn’t going to help anything.”

“Asriel!”

“He’s not stupid enough to divorce you, Marisa, and both our reputations are strong enough to withstand this. Our affair is common knowledge already.”

“He’ll not raise another man’s child.” Her blue eyes teared, with fury or desperation. “How do we fix this?”

The crack of his palm on her cheek echoed throughout the room. Marisa reeled but did not cry out, and when she stumbled from the force of the blow, strong arms caught her. Marisa straightened to find herself caught between two deadly sets of eyes, lover and husband.

“You stay out of this, Belacqua,” Coulter snarled. “She’s not yours to protect.”

“And she’s not yours to beat, wife or not.” His voice was even, but Stelmaria was showing her fangs and claws. Coulter’s mongoose, though, did not back down.

“She’s behaved as a whore, and I’ll treat her as such!”

“Fine! Take her!” Angry tears were pouring down Marisa’s cheeks, not from sorrow but from rage. “Let her ruin your life, then! I’ll not let the little brat destroy mine!”

“They won’t let me have her,” Asriel said, aggravated. “Or you either. We’re neither of us fit parents. But I’ll not abandon the girl to be raised a canting fool.”

Marisa laughed, wildly, bitterly. “So go fetch her away, then! Can’t the great and powerful Lord Asriel charge to the rescue? Ride in on your white horse and carry her off?”

He gave her a hard glare. “Perhaps I will.”

She stumbled, but he caught her by the arms and drew her up. “Marisa... how did you...?”

“How did I? How did you?” she exclaimed. She and the golden monkey both stared at the dazzling rip in the sky. Stelmaria rubbed against the golden fur, and Marisa utterly collapsed against Asriel.

“I always told you I would alter the heavens, Marisa, and so I have!” He was joyful, exuberant, unable to keep from running his hands over her face and curves. “Marisa, Marisa...” He crushed her to him in a powerful kiss, and she was helpless, as ever, to resist.

He saw her across the room, grappling, desperate, and saw her fail. Then the explosion, so great and terrible, and Marisa fell.

Asriel should have left her, and he knew that, but he and the snow leopard moved at once, despite the crashing debris. Marisa was barely conscious, weak as a kitten, and Asriel didn’t think she even noticed when he hauled her up in his arms, or when Stelmaria took the golden monkey by the scruff of the neck. Carrying her from the wreckage, Asriel wondered how she had changed so much, where this self-sacrificial inclination had come from.

His black eyes met her dark blues, and a flash of understanding passed between them. It was prophetic, this insight each gained from the other, and they knew well that there would be no more moments like this, no further chances for reconciliation. There was something familiar about the finality of it, though neither could quite explain it. The golden monkey reached a paw towards Stelmaria, and Asriel sank a hand in Marisa’s hair. He drew her towards him, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss. She submitted readily to him, eager to savor this last hour, this last opportunity.

Marisa struggled to stand, feeling rattled, disoriented. She heard a growling beside her: Stelmaria. It was a defensive noise; as the angel moved farther away, both females left on the cliff felt the ache of separation, of being torn from their other halves. Marisa heard Asriel roaring her name, knew he would not be able to hold on much longer. She glanced only briefly into the amber eyes of the snow leopard, and then they moved as one, rejoining their complements and their lovers. The leap was magnificent, woman and feline impacting in the same instant, dragging down the Regent.

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