Hello!

I first published the stories in 'The gold coin' series separately, but an idea for a whole began to form in my head a long time ago, so I decided to sort it all out and move it into one collection. I see that there are at least three people who want to read it and I hope that you will like this form. I have saved your reviews, which you have posted under previous publications, because they are a real treasure.

I wouldn't want to write and explain it if it weren't for you.

The usual caveats about translation apply.

This story is the only one in the series, written in third-person narration.

Enjoy!

"I believe that this cliché-sounding theory about the power of maternal love should not be underestimated. It may indeed be that Ygraine Pendragon's wish for her son to be protected after her death was so powerful that it took human form."

Elanor Wright

"The Shadow of the Great King."

Out of love

Ygraine took off her shoe and touched the pleasantly damp grass with her bare foot. After a moment, she dropped the other one as well and took a few deep breaths. The touch of dew on her skin and the crisp air dampened a little the anxiety that had been tormenting her, which had been growing in her day by day until it had finally begun to overwhelm her to the point where she was unable to function normally. She didn't mention this to Uther, or even to Gaius. They wouldn't understand. They would have thought she was frightened by her pregnancy, that she needs medicine to calm her down. She didn't need any medicine. It would only stun her and take away her ability to act, and Ygraine had to do something while she still had time. She knew that the price of her child's birth would be her life; not that of some thug, a villain, a random, anonymous person, as Uther wanted to believe, but her own. She grasped this as soon as she felt she was pregnant. A mother's life for her son's life. It was then that an intrusive voice appeared in her head, a hissing whisper, slipping into her thoughts and poisoning them with its venom. Take some concoction and be done with it. Get rid of this parasite from your body, this monster created against nature that sucks the last breath out of you.

She fought a fierce battle with this voice. In her mind, she mercilessly chopped it down with her sword and trampled it into the ground, because she loved her unborn son with her whole being. The strength of this feeling surprised her. She had never been able to imagine motherhood before, and mothers' declarations that they would do anything for their children sounded to her like just another empty platitude not to be repeated. She wanted to have a child, for her husband, for the kingdom, but not necessarily for her own sake. However, when he appeared under her heart, he unexpectedly warmed her from the inside out, almost melting her insides, it shone like the most precious treasure. And she was going to defend this treasure with all her might. Not for her husband, not for the kingdom, not for herself, but for him, so that he could live, love and be loved as she was now.

She talked a lot, sang and played the lute, hoping that her boy... Arthur couldn't hear that hideous voice. Especially the words about the parasite and the monster. Everyone thought she was in a good mood. Uther looked at her with a tender smile, grasped her hands, showered her with kisses and asked for more songs. She knew a lot of them. She wondered if her son would know them, if he would like them?

She looked up into the still dark sky. There was some time left until dawn, maybe an hour. She would have time to return before Uther awoke and became alarmed by her absence.

She had gone out into the garden after a particularly awful nightmare in which someone had thrown her newborn into a pit full of snakes, and she could do nothing about it. Unable to move the slightest muscle, she was stuck suspended in space, silent and unnoticed by anyone, like a... ghost. This nightmare was recurring and Ygraine was convinced that there was some symbolism in it, a warning addressed to her. There was also another dream that took her over with particular horror. Three tall, hooded figures, standing over a tank of black water, speaking in one voice about the sentence that had been passed on her son. As they finished speaking, they would dissipate into the mist, and a thunderous laughter, the frantic retching of some powerful being, would reach her. Perhaps it was the same being that tried to plant vile thoughts in her mind, called Arthur a parasite and a monster, wanted to get rid of him before he even came into the world.

Today, sitting on a stone bench, in a garden she was never to see again in full bloom, Ygraine decided that she could no longer ignore what appeared to be an extra maternal sense that, since she would not be here to guard Arthur's every step, she must provide the best possible protection for him. She had no magical abilities, but Gaius had mentioned that there were types of magic where only the power of intention mattered, that for some spells no special talent and years of practice were needed at all.

From the pocket of her cloak, she took out her sigil. She clenched it in her hand, as she always did when she wanted to concentrate. Then she stood barefoot on the dew-wet grass. She didn't know any ritual, but her heart told her that she didn't need any. She raised her hand with the sigil, to the sky, to the twinkling stars, drew air into her lungs, silenced the whispering angry voice with her imaginary sword, pushed all fears, all unnecessary thoughts out of her mind, leaving only what was her purpose.

„May Arthur be safe on his journey,' she said quietly. „May someone appear by his side who will love and guard him, as I love and as I would guard. May he be surrounded by true love and people with the sincerest hearts. May all misfortunes pass him by, and may those that cannot pass him by make him stronger and better. May he be happy and may he bring happiness to the world.'

Energy, coming as if from within the earth, surged through her, from her toes to the fingers of her hands clenched into a sigil that was warm and pulsed gently. Ygraine noticed with amazement that a thin trickle of blue light flowed from between her fingers. She was overwhelmed with euphoria. She repeated her words louder, more confidently, more powerfully. The sigil burned, but it didn't scald her skin. A trickle of light transformed into a flame. Ygraine, fascinated, brought it to her face. It was so beautiful that it hurt. She didn't want it to disappear. This time she whispered her words directly to it, softly, as if in the ear of a loved one. Tears of happiness ran down her cheeks. The flame turned into a huge ball, which remained on her hand for a moment longer, before rising above the treetops and sailing slowly through the darkness, in a direction it only knew. When it had become barely a tiny dot, Ygraine sank back onto the bench. She was still clutching the sigil, not wanting to part with it. She had no idea what she had just done, but she felt with every, tiniest nerve that something great had happened. She had made it happen: Ygraine, Arthur's mother. The voice can whisper to itself, maybe even roar with laughter. She is more powerful.

She applied the sigil to her rounded belly. A mother's life, for her son's life. Arthur will be blood from her blood, bone from her bone, soul from her soul. He will be special. The thought of parting with her life evoked a nauseating fear, , , but Ygraine would probably have chosen to do so even in full knowledge of the price. Or maybe she was fully aware of the price from the beginning? Perhaps she had made the decision herself in her heart? The kingdom needs an heir to the throne, and just as men sacrifice themselves on the battlefields, so too must she not shirk her duty.

She put the sigil in her pocket and set off towards the castle. It must be ensured that Arthur gets it. Later today she will talk with Gaius, who, after all, as a physician, is aware that anything can happen during childbirth and will not be surprised by the request. She wasn't going to sully Uther's happiness, since these were to be their last months together. She would make the most of this time, give him as much as she could, and then... And then he would have a son.

Four years later, when, thanks to Uther, things were happening in Camelot that Ygraine had never dreamt of in her worst nightmares, in a small village in a neighbouring kingdom, a midwife handed a tiny boy to a woman exhausted by childbirth.

"It would be better for you if that bastard didn't start breathing," she said, looking at her with undisguised contempt.

"His name is Merlin," the young mother replied. "And don't you dare call him anything else."

Please, let me know what do you think.