DISCLAIMER: I own no rights to Merlin. This is strictly a fan written not for profit story and no copyright infringement is intended.
WARNINGS: Mentions of things have occurred in all four seasons but no major spoilers. Rated T for non-graphic violence and character death.
Blood soaked his clothes as his heart beat furiously and his lungs struggled to fill with air. There would be no surviving this and he knew it. His magic might have held death at bay from a blow made by an ordinary blade but the blade in his midsection was not such a weapon.
Excalibur, forged in the breath of the last dragon Kilgharrah and wielded by Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king, had the power to kill even the undead. Merlin knew that despite all of his power that he stood no chance of surviving.
Was it even worth trying to fight? If Arthur wanted him dead and running him through was a good indicator that he did then wasn't it his duty to respect the wishes of his king? He had sworn to serve Arthur until the day he died and Arthur had chosen that day to be today.
Merlin had long ago stopped fighting his destiny and regretting his gift. As a manservant he had done nothing out of the ordinary but as a warlock he had done many great and terrible things. His mind wandered back in time to saving Gauis's life on his first day in Camelot, saving Arthur's life from Mary Collins, drinking and surviving thanks to Arthur the poison from the morteaus flower, the deaths of Nimueh, Freya, Will, Balinor, Lancelot, and Uther, Morgana's betrayal, the defeat of Morgause, rising triumphant over the immortal army, the quest for the King Fisher's trident, and the day that Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone.
Now Arthur was pulling Excalibur not from hard rock but from soft flesh. Merlin's pain doubled as the sword was removed and he found himself falling first to his knees and then fully to the floor. His magic and destiny cried out. This was not the way things were supposed to be. Merlin was to serve by Arthur's side not die by his hand.
Merlin sucked in a ragged breath and regained control of his magic. Destiny did not matter now. What mattered was what Arthur desired and Arthur desired his death. He would not fight that and would not allow destiny or magic to fight as well. With control regained he forced his magic to finish stopping the beat of his heart and to take the last of air from his lungs. With fading vision he stared into Arthur's hard set face and saw the burning hatred in his eyes. He hoped that Arthur could see what Merlin was trying to show through the pain: his love and devotion. He would serve Arthur until his life was forfeit. Even if his life was forfeit by Arthur's hands.