I don't own Merlin!

I'm sooooooo sorry for the long wait everybody! It's been chaotic lately. I hope you like this chapter – thanks for reading and thanks heaps to everyone who favourite or followed or reviewed J FYI this story's going to continue after this chapter…if you leave a comment, please feel free to tell me what you'd like to see in future instalments!

Merlin stares, horrified, at the enveloping shadow which has seemed to so completely swallow Morgana. "Morgana…" he breathes, for a moment barely comprehending what she has done. Then he realises the magnitude of her decision and he breathes in with a rush, yells "Morgana!" into the dust filled air.

A hollow laugh emanates from the shadow. The voice, when it speaks, is like Morgana's but not. As though somebody had taken the woman and emptied out her heart, refilling it with bitterness and a need for revenge. "Yes, Merlin?" she says. He can hear the smirk in her voice and his heart drops to his stomach. It's got her.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple a physically painful lump to gulp around. The light outside is dying so fast, too fast, faster than it should; surely the moon will soon rise over the horizon. He thinks of Arthur and Gwen lying so helplessly on the floor of the werewolves' lair, barely breathing and a wave of terror washes over him, making him sweat with cold. "Morgana," he begins very levelly, "You've entered the Wolf King now. Remember why you went in? Remember what you have to do? You need to reverse the curse by destroying the king. Please hurry."

He can practically hear Morgana roll her eyes. "Destroy the king? I am the king, Merlin. So much power…so much damage inside these fingertips…" There is a sound of bone cracking, as though she is inspecting her closed knuckles. "The dark called to me and I heeded it. And now – I can do whatever I want. I could destroy cities with a single breath from my lips. I could pull you down, Merlin, denigrate you and force you into the fur and the terror of the wolves. Why should I give that up?"

"Arthur will die if you don't," Merlin pleads, "And so will Gwen. Please, Morgana. Somewhere in your head you must still be yourself. I know the wolf king is strong, but you're stronger. You have to fight him. You have to lift the curse."

The shadows giggle and flitter, dancing around his ankles like chains. His blood is running frozen through his veins and his heart beats so fast he can't believe it's still inside of his chest. He passes his hands over his lips in a distracted gesture, but the movement makes him pause as he remembers the kiss, barely moments before; a tiny glimmer of hope. Because he knows Morgana, knows her so well, her stubbornness and her strength and her magic and he trusts her. Somehow, she would find a way. He can only pray that it would be soon. He reaches out to her, pale fingers shining in the final dregs of afternoon light.

"I trust you," he says. "You're strong enough, Morgana. There was a reason the shadow called to you and it wasn't because it was part of you – it was because you were the only one strong enough to defeat it."

The shadow Morgana seems to crack and shimmer, eddying around the edges of the room with a menacing swiftness that threatens to engulf the sorcerer standing defiant before it. "I wasn't strong," ridicules the not-Morgana's voice, "the darkness called to me because I needed it, craved it, begged for it. Because I wanted and I wanted and my soul has been made of shadow since I was born. Only now, now, with the darkness inside me, I am strong. I can do everything. Everything I ever wanted," she sing-songs in that harsh, abrasive voice.

Merlin shakes his head with conviction. "No. The shadow isn't inside you, Morgana, you're inside it. It's not a part of you, it's just surrounding you so you can't see that there's light at the edges. Light it up, Morgana. Light up the shadow and you'll see that it's not part of you."

The shadow seems to hesitate. And now it grows, enormous and towering. It grows upwards and outwards until it towers over Merlin and he lifts a hand, reluctantly, to shield his face.

"You don't tell me who I am," the shadow orders in its hollow cant, "You don't define me. I am the last high priestess and I will take. What. I. Am. Owed!" The shadow is so loud, deafening, as though a thunderstorm has erupted inside the castle walls and as he covers his ears, wincing in auditory pain Merlin sees something that sends a shiver straight down his back like lightning. A pile of skeletons are hidden by the darkness, the wolf king their shroud. He knows, suddenly and with terrible conviction, that the wolf king is only using Morgana, intends to use her life force and her energy and her passion and he slowly drain her dry until nothing remained but dust and bones. Merlin would lose all three of his closest friends. Grief breaks through the defiance in his heart .

Come on, Morgana, he thinks, horrified and frustrated. And – was that? Could he hear?

A tiny voice coming back to him. Not from the shadow, not from outside. Inside his head. Morgana is using mindspeak! A grin breaks over Merlin's angular face to hear her voice, faint and exhausted, but still very much her own.

Merlin, sends Morgana, tired and in pain, the words only imprinting themselves very weakly in Merlin's mind. I don't think...I have…much time. I can't , I can't – the king is inside my head, it's taking all of my energy just to hold this much…I'm not..strong enough…

No. No, don't ever say that, the wizard's entire body trembles, hearing the villainous laughter of the shadow witch with only a tiny portion of his brain, entirely focused upon the sounds in his head. You're strong enough. You are. Just say the words and you'll be safe again, everyone will be safe. Be brave.

Morgana's voice is growing audibly fainter. But it hurts.

The shadow Morgana must have heard this thought, too, for she seems to scream with fury. "IT DOESN'T HURT. IT DOESN'T HURT INSIDE THE SHADOW. NO. NO, PLEASE, NO MORE HURTING…UGH!" A spiral of dust begins to glow dully inside the heart of the shadow mass, pouring virulently out of the mass, bleeding into the air and floating out the window. "IT DOESN'T HURT. I CAN'T HURT ANYMORE."

Merlin's mind is filled suddenly with breathless agony and he doubles over, wondering, irrelevantly, when Morgana had figured out to send emotion telepathically. It was much harder than words. Morgana's voice is now so quiet, dulled also by his pain, that he has to strain to hear it. She's right, breathes the girl, it hurts so much. More than you could ever imagine. It aches to be alone. Everyday, over and over again alone alone alone and afraid, so afraid. The shadow is never afraid. The shadow never hurts. If I become one with it, I can stop…hurting…don't you see? I just…have…to…let…go…She breathes out, a breathy sigh. Darkness fills the edges of Merlin's vision.

No! he screams out to her, trying to fill her mind with whatever shallow hope he has left in him. You're not alone, Morgana, you've never been alone. You have me. I'm here. You don't have to suffer alone anymore. I know how it feels, I know what you're going through. I have magic, too, Morgana. His stomach sinks as he breaths out slowly, cautiously watching the mass for any changes. The revelation, so unwise and so desperate, it was his last hope, really – if she wouldn't react to that, she wouldn't react to anything. Nothing happens and watches, hopeless, as the shadow refuses to mutate. Dizziness is spinning Merlin around so much that he thinks he might fall over. Morgana's voice inside his head seemed to be gone and he realises, with terrifying, sickening, clarity, that she has given in. That he has revealed his deepest secret to someone fatally possessed by evil.

Black spots float in front of him, and with his last vestiges of consciousness Merlin realises that the sun has slipped away without him noticing. Everywhere was in shadow now. The moon would rise and the world would end. Vertigo overcomes him and he falls to his knees, immense pain ricocheting through his head.

"Agony is the price of trying to defy me," the Morgana-creature booms in its empty lilt. "It will kill you, in time. I will feed on your soul…so much brightness. So much hope. All taken, all turned. You. Will. Die."

This final statement is enough to bring a measure of relief to Merlin's pounding head. He wouldn't have to live without his friends. They would perish together. He has but a moment to let the pain of anticipated loneliness go, and then everything goes black.

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Morgana feels as though she is floating. She is very, very light, like she is high above everything, but her eyelids feel shut by a huge pressure and all she can see is the black underside of her own flesh. She is letting herself drift away. She's been so afraid of going home, been so hurt by the idea of being alone forever. Even now, in the dark, hot tears begin to spill helplessly down her face from the emotional pain and she whimpers slightly, opening her arms with relief to the hungry shadow: everything she'd ever wanted. For the pain to stop. For power. For all.

Without warning, Merlin's mind voice jolts her out of semi-consciousness. You're not alone, Morgana, you've never been alone. You have me. I'm here. You don't have to suffer alone anymore. I know how it feels, I know what you're going through. I have magic, too, Morgana. She heard it, and she stops, stilled in the air, legs fighting the current. The dark begins to scream at her, grabbing her edges and pulling her upwards into the air. "Come on!" the shadow-Morgana hisses. "Let go. I know you want to." And she does, she does want to, more than anything she wants to drift away.

But – magic. Merlin has magic and a sudden bright gold is beginning to swirl deep inside her heart because maybe she isn't alone and maybe she doesn't have to be afraid. Morgana opens her eyes for the first time since she had entered the shadow, prying her lids apart through sheer force of will. She sees Merlin as though through a curtain, shimmering cloth of dust and cobweb and her heart burns with fear because he is kneeling on the ground, cradling his head in apparent torture. She thinks she can hear him screaming. With a start, she remembers Gwen and Arthur, what she needs to do and the three of them, her three friends who will never, never let her be alone, they're enough for the words to come to her. The shadow tugs hideously at her, pulling her backwards and it's so strong and she needs something, something to hold onto. With her last remaining strength, Morgana shoves the fog out of her mind and calls clearly to Merlin's mind with her own. The black ink of the words turning to golden strings of sound in the air between them. Hold my hand, she says, very simply.

Merlin looks up, shivering with cold. Something has pulled him back from the edges of unconsciousness. What is it? A sound. A golden sound…Morgana's voice! She says, very simply, Hold my hand, and he holds onto that thought and that hope with everything that he has, reaching a mental support out through his mind to touch hers. She seems to grip it, grasp onto it and –

Their eyes light with golden fire.

"Ic utadrifan neahtbealu," they scream out together, the words rising instinctively to their lips. The shadow begins to scream as light flares irrespressibly in between the figures, the witch and the wizard and their interlocking souls cleansing the room of the King. A wolf begins to howl, screaming and screeching and keening through the castle, hitting the ancient statues and shattering the windows. Morgana and Merlin hold fast. It swims around then, faster and louder and more chaotic by the moment, and then, with a final breathless moan of destruction, the shadow… fades…away.

Morgana stares at Merlin, their hearts rising and falling in their chests so fast they seem to swell and contract in a single moment, every moment. Wordlessly, he reaches for her, and she grasps him tightly, holding onto him like a lifeline. Her face is still damp with tears and she presses it into his shaking shoulder, the two of them clinging together like debris after a storm. When she finally pulls back, their tears had mingled, staining one another's faces and clothing.

As she realises what they have just accomplished, a hint of mischief returns to the princess's face. "Told you you have magic, you liar," she smirks.