Notes: So many thanks for the reviews. I was very, very hesitant about posting this, and I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how positive everyone is being.
There was a chill in the air as Obelix hit the outskirts of the town, heading deeper into the wooded area the girl had roughly sketched on the parchment for him. "We'll find you help," he murmured, "you'll be all right, it'll be just fine… See, we just have to follow the map now…"
He moved on, continually smoothing back Asterix's hair and speaking softly to him, as though his unconscious friend could hear him. The packed dirt and stone of the town streets gave way to cool grass beneath his thin shoes. "See, now, the map says: Six rows of houses behind the Roman barracks, turn to the northwest, past the creek, across the path of rocks…" The talking helped him concentrate on following the instructions, for he knew that if he focused too hard on the small body that lay against his shoulder, if he let himself feel the blood that still flowed sluggishly over his arm, rapidly congealing in the cold air, he might break down, and he couldn't afford to break down, not here, not now. Asterix wasn't here to tell him to be sensible, or to pull himself together.
As Obelix pushed on through the trees, he had to correct himself: if Asterix had been conscious and Obelix had burst into tears, Asterix wouldn't have told him to be sensible. Asterix never told him to be sensible when he cried. Asterix only ever told him to be sensible and control himself when he got a fit of the giggles. When Obelix was unhappy, Asterix was always understanding, was unfailingly there with a shoulder to cry on and a comforting hug. The thought of Asterix holding him as he cried almost made Obelix burst into tears again, but he controlled himself sternly. This isn't the time, he repeated over and over in his head. This isn't the time. He remembered Asterix saying that phrase, and remembered giving him a hard time—'Why not, Mr Asterix?' he remembered saying, more than once, and getting into huge fights. Obelix grunted in remorse. He wished he hadn't given him a hard time then, for now he understood what those words meant, now that Asterix had paid for his, Obelix's, carelessness. He paused for a moment to get his bearings, breathed in deeply, and gently adjusted his friend's unconscious body more securely against his. "I'm sorry, Asterix," he muttered, too low for anyone to hear. "This is all my fault."
As the light faded in the gathering dusk, Obelix couldn't repress the chill that closed around his heart. He quickened his pace, trying to press Asterix's cold body closer so as to give him some of his own warmth. If it got dark here in the forest with no shelter, the cold of the night, combined with Asterix's injuries, would… Obelix's eyes burned, and he blinked, hard.
Oh, Toutatis be praised. There it was. The flicker of firelight was just visible through the trees, a point of warmth and brightness in the darkening indigo that was swallowing up trees and sky alike. Obelix headed for it, praying for all he was worth.
Beatnix the Druid bent over his cauldron, taking in a deep breath of the herbal aroma. The recipe was doing well, simmering gently. Into his long braid, he carefully wound a daisy, feeling its blessings smiling through his hut. Sunshine.
A ripple, sharp like iron, cut through his domestic contentment. There was something here, something other than the flowers of the fields and the creatures of the forest. There were men out there. Men—in agony.
He placed the flat of his hand over his heart, absently massaging, as he walked to the door of his hut. This was going to be hard, he could feel it.
As he flung the door open, the blast of pain nearly knocked him off his feet. Torment, of the flesh and of the heart. Torment with ill intent, yet love, he felt it too. Beatnix had to cling to the doorframe for a moment to regain control of himself. Sending up a prayer to Belisama, he grabbed a necklace of elderflower to strengthen his resolve and, stringing it around his neck, headed out into the forest, into the storm of pain.
The hut was far. So far. Too far. Obelix felt his anger flare, but not at the Romans – at himself. Obelix cursed himself for a hundred kinds of a fool. This was what Asterix had been so serious about, what he had warned Obelix against, time and time again, and Obelix had never listened. This was why Asterix refused to take it as a game, even though he enjoyed a good punch-up and a bit of fun as much as the next Gaul. This was why Asterix stopped him thumping the Romans sometimes; why Asterix could be a bit of a spoilsport on occasion. Because it wasn't sport. It wasn't a game, and Obelix hadn't known it, and it was Asterix who'd paid the price. "Asterix?" Obelix whispered. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."
There was no reply, of course. There had been no reply for hours now, but they were so close—so close! He couldn't lose Asterix now, he couldn't. The tears he had manfully fought back would not be contained, not now that the flickering firelight of a druid's hut was in sight. "Asterix," Obelix said again. "Please. Asterix. Hold on. What's to become of me if you…" But he couldn't go on, and gulped out a sob. "Asterix," he sniffed, no longer caring if he cried or not. Curling his hand about Asterix's face, he eased his friend's head closer to his own neck, pressing his cheek into the messy blond hair. "Just a little longer. For me," he whispered, Asterix's hair soaking up his tears. "Please."
"Come this way."
Obelix jumped. "Who are you?" he shouted, arms tightening around Asterix.
"Beatnix the druid," said a man's voice. Now he looked, Obelix could just make out a figure among the trees. "I imagine you may have come to see me. My hut is this way."
Obelix had never feared strangers before, never feared going into a strange hut before. But all this was his fault, it had been his selfishness that had put them in this predicament in the first place – if he hadn't told Asterix to come with him to eat in that traitor's house, if Obelix had just stayed with Asterix instead of going off to hunt boar – he'd been enjoying himself in the forest while Asterix, his best friend in all the world, was being… Obelix closed his eyes, tears burning them. "Asterix," he breathed, "tell me what to do."
"Come on." Obelix jumped again – the man was much closer this time. He could tell it was a middle-aged man with long hair, built more like Unhygienix and less like Cacofonix, but Obelix couldn't make out much more in the darkness. "Your friend doesn't have any time to waste."
And it was this that made Obelix follow the man through the trees, towards his hut.