This chapter is for Fan de Basil de Baker Street, Lonely Wolf, and above all Pilyarquitect, with all my thanks. And CrazyBeaver, who knows why, always.
Latraviata's warning was twinned with a bark and growl from the Gauls' tiny dog, who had been crouching silent and trembling next to its master. She had espied them, still standing in her high vantage point in the cart. Her eyes – and voice – had reacted before her brain. Now her arm seemed to move without her volition, too, as she found herself pointing. "From over there!" she called in her best stage-whisper—they needed all the surprise they could get.
The legionaries' helmets glinted in the moonlight, perhaps a mile away, but coming. They hadn't seen her yet; they were among the trees. But soon. The dog, clearly scenting them now, growled again. "Coming fast," she warned.
As Latraviata dropped to her knees, the better to remain out of sight, Getafix had already run back to the cart, rolled out one of the barrels and planted it firmly on the grass. "Over here!" The chief rallied his villagers with admirable precision: for all they looked like rabble, they formed a line in an instant. The druid breached the barrel and dipped a ladle into it which he had no doubt brought for the purpose, and started doling out the magic potion.
She stood, cautiously, again, looking to see how close the legionaries were. She swallowed. There were many, and moving at speed. "They'll be here any minute!" she announced, unable to quite keep the quaver from her voice. She wasn't really accustomed to pitched battle.
"We'll be ready for them," Getafix said, voice low. "Impedimenta, would you be so good as to get the children over to the cart? Pick out a few ladies to look after them too. We may yet need some of the women to fight, depending on how many Romans there are."
Latraviata stared as the chief's wife came over to the cart, mothers and children in an obedient and clearly well-rehearsed line behind her. "Come, come, my dear, you'll be quite safe." Impedimenta smiled at her reassuringly, and if it was a bit strained, no-one could blame her. "The potion is strong stuff—as I'm sure you know." She began to herd the children into the cart. "Why are you still in there? Come on out, I know how city ladies are. I'm sure you'll want to be with Obelix."
With a shock, Latraviata realized that the chief's wife still saw her as Obelix's loving fiancée. And to be honest, Latraviata really didn't have the stomach to reveal herself right now. "Th—thank you," she said, climbing out of the cart. "I'll just…" She gestured vaguely over to where Obelix knelt, back to her, cradling Asterix. Her stomach heaved at the thought of seeing the noble and decent little warrior's injuries up close.
The chief's wife was herding the children into the cart, looking rather harried. Latraviata turned to go. "Latraviata, dear," Impedimenta said, "no offense, but who's the Numidian gentleman?"
Latraviata's eyes flitted to Caesar's shaman, or Caius Insidius, or whatever in Minerva's name he was called. "He's… a friend from – from the theater," she said, gesturing vaguely at Insidius by way of introduction. "He's here… especially for me and Obelix."
That was good enough for the first lady of the village. Latraviata turned her back on the women getting the children to safety and the men drinking the magic potion, and went to where the druid and Insidius were standing next to Obelix.
The first thing she noticed was Fulliautomatix kneeling by the bard where he lay in the grass. With one big hand, Fulliautomatix was protectively cupping the back of the man's blond head; with the other, he was carefully, almost tenderly, cleaning off the bard's injured side using a wet cloth. "There. Be all right. Be able to thump you soon enough. Just be all right."
Cacofonix the bard lay quite still. His tunic was hitched all the way up, almost to his neck, baring his chest where the wound was – or, rather, where the wound had been. "By Juno," whispered Latraviata. Apparently, the druid's elixir was every bit as miraculous as he said it was: while the bard's tunic was soaked dark red with blood, the swathes of skin cleaned by the cloth came away white and intact and perfect.
"There," the druid smiled. "Good as new."
"He'll be... all right?" The big blacksmith's voice was soft and shaky, profoundly unlike the accusatory tone Latraviata had heard him use earlier.
"The elixir," Getafix the druid explained, "heals small cuts and bruises as if they had never been. With great wounds like Cacofonix's, it's a little different. It can heal them, but if he's lost a lot of blood—"
"By Belenos!" Fulliautomatix looked down at his unconscious friend. "I tried to stop the bleeding, I swear, but there was so much of it and—"
"And a very good job you did of it too," the druid cut in smoothly. "He will be weak for some time; he'll feel the cold more easily, and need someone to make sure he eats well and take care of him..."
"I will," said the blacksmith.
The burly fellow who'd been carrying Asterix chimed in behind him, "And so will I."
"I didn't doubt it," Getafix smiled softly. "With time and care, he'll be as good as new."
"Thank you, O Getafix," said Fulliautomatix. Then he actually buried his face in one hand and scrubbed at his eyes.
"He'll sleep for a while," said Getafix the druid. "Wrap Cacofonix in your apron and join the battle." His face grew sober. "The men need you, Fulliautomatix."
The burly blacksmith nodded. He pulled his friend's tunic down carefully, tucking it in. Then he rose, swaddled Cacofonix in the leather, careful to insulate him from the wet grass, and smoothed his hair back softly before jogging off to join the line for potion.
"Getafix!" Obelix's voice was stuck in his throat, barely a sound. "It's not working!"
Getafix turned back to Obelix. Latraviata and Caesar's little shaman stepped close, as well. It was true: it made her cringe to see it. "He's breathing easier," ventured Caius Insidius.
"Ye—es…" Getafix said slowly.
There was something in the druid's tone that made Latraviata's head snap up. So did Obelix's. So did Insidius'.
The druid was crying.
"I'm afraid… his injuries are too great." Getafix dashed moisture from his eyes, trying to control himself. "I tried, I hoped… I hoped…"
"But—the elixir healed Cacofonix!" Obelix gasped. "You said it could heal anything!"
Getafix shook his head, lips pressed together tight. "Not anything. Not—" He swallowed hard. "It can't heal mortal wounds."
Obelix stared, and pulled Asterix's limp body a little closer to his chest. Within his mind—Caius Insidius had been flashing back and forth lately—he saw Obelix walking by a cliff, Asterix dead, the big man succumbing to an impulse and flinging himself down, down, down…
"…hoped they didn't pierce his lungs too deeply, or damage too many delicate vital organs beyond repair." Getafix seemed to be suffering himself to have to say this. "I hoped the injuries were—mild enough to be treated with the elixir… but I knew there was a chance…" he gulped, "a chance that this would…" He couldn't continue. He buried his face in his hands.
"No…" Obelix's voice was a whisper. He crouched over Asterix, as though willing his life into him. "Asterix. I'm sorry, I love you, Asterix, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it," he gulped, "I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never leave you again… I'll do anything if you just stay. Asterix, please, please, please…" A great sob took him, but he choked it back, trying to keep Asterix as still and safe as possible. He took Asterix's hand as he held him, bent over it and kissed it, still sobbing. "Please, please, please…"