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Summary
Between the Cailleach—who watched him silently—and the swirling darkness of the rend in the fabric of the world, sat a squat circle of stones, built up into a small wall. A well. Either Merlin had not noticed it before or, more likely, it had materialised before him without his notice. He could feel how alive this place was with magic, though none of it felt quite right at the gateway that should never have been. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, as if something had breathed down it, and Merlin shivered.
It was now or never.
Merlin perched himself on the edge of the wall, swinging his legs round until they dangled into nothingness. With one final glance at the men who still argued, each one of them dear to him, he caught Arthur’s eyes at last. Merlin’s heart sank in his chest, as he watched Arthur’s jaw drop.
Merlin does what he must to pay the Cailleach's toll. Arthur is with him, even at the bottom of a well.