The days passed surprisingly quickly. Asterix recovered more quickly than any other patient Beatnix had had – another thing Beatnix would have to ask Getafix the Druid about, if he ever got the honor of meeting him. If he had wanted to meet the man before, he was doubly keen on it now. The magic potion was exhausted, but it had done its work: the patient was on his feet again. Still in pain, still weak, but mobile for all that, rebuilding his body with good food and his friend's soul-strength so freely offered, rebuilding his soul with safety and comfort and the company of his friend and his new pet. By the time the moon had waned and waxed and waned again, Asterix's health was much improved, and the pair were starting to talk about leaving.

After his latest examination of the small warrior's healing wounds – there was nothing Beatnix could do to keep them from scarring forever, but perhaps the famed Getafix could help when they returned home – and bruises, now fading from black and purple to yellow and green, under his friend's worried gaze, Beatnix agreed, against his better judgment. After all, he couldn't keep the man there for the year it would take him to return to full health and strength."If you can keep taking walks morning and night through the forest for another ten days without incident," he stipulated, "and get from here to the dolmen on the other side of the wood past the stream without you getting out of breath, Asterix— watch him, Obelix—" here, the druid fixed Asterix with a stern look, and Asterix looked sheepish, as he'd been known to push himself to exhaustion, walking till his legs crumpled beneath him— "I'll give you a clean bill of health and allow you to resume your journey, with strict instructions as to proper nutrition and rest. And no horseback riding or traveling on foot for at least another month! You're to use ox-cart for preference, horse-cart only if necessary, don't—"

"All right, O Druid," Asterix laughed, holding up his hands. "We promise to do all you say when the time comes."

Beatnix just looked at Obelix. "If he doesn't, you have my permission to tie him down."

A week later, Asterix was pretty sure he would be able to resume the journey at the appointed time. He smiled as he stepped over the threshold of the strange druid's hut. It was a cool day, but the sun was out – the kind of day that made one glad to be alive. He breathed in slowly, accustomed by now to the small spears of pain that shot through his ribs as the muscles between them expanded. Far, far better than he'd been before. Toutatis, that coughing… Asterix banished the thought. He looked up at the clear blue sky, felt the sun on his skin, smelled the rich scents of the grass and flowers, and thanked Toutatis for the air he drew into his lungs.

He stepped forward, not as strongly as he'd like, but steadier than he'd been yesterday, and yesterday, he thought gladly, had been steadier than the day before. Obelix shuffled at his side, pacing him. Still slow, but nowhere near his previous old-man's gait. Dear old Obelix, always watching him like a hawk, hand hovering at his side to catch him if he tripped or faltered. It should be irritating, but Asterix was actually warmed by it. Since his illness… he was reluctant to call it by its name, 'capture' or, well, anything… since he had been unwell, he'd noticed a greater reluctance to be out on his own. Nothing specific, just a little tendril of fear that curled about his heart in tandem with the piercing pains in his ribs, throbbed with his fading bruises, and nagged at him with the intermittent burning in the skin of his back and shoulders that made him glad of the druid's soft, oversized tunic.

It wasn't usual for Asterix to feel fear without good cause, and it bothered him a bit. Well, he reasoned with himself, he'd had… a bit of an experience. He supposed it might make him rather jittery for a while.

He took in deep breaths, calming himself, ignoring the pain it caused. His friend's large, sturdy hand hovered loosely at his elbow, offering support if he needed it. It was all right. He was safe. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, to move further and further away from the druid's hut. Act like a Gaul, he said bracingly to himself. It's not as though this is the first time you've had a few bumps and bruises. He shuddered, and immediately Obelix touched his upper arm lightly. "All right, Asterix? Not too cold?"

Asterix smiled encouragingly. "No, I'm all right, thanks."

"Are you sure? I could get you a muffler…"

Asterix waved off the fussing, concentrating on reaching a big oak tree that had become their marker of sorts on his daily exercise. It was laughable to call it 'exercise', really – he felt like Geriatrix – but Asterix had to admit he was doing better than a month ago. He just hated how slowly it was going. The banquet needed to be held, and a month's delay was just what they didn't need. Although he had to admit he still felt a little chill inside whenever he thought of going out on the road again…

"Asterix!" Obelix's thrilled voice cut through his thoughts. "Romans!"

Asterix flinched. The cold chill that welled up from within his chest came as a shock to him, and it took him a moment to realize that Obelix had already gone for the legionaries. By the time he could see and hear again, Obelix was jauntily returning with an armful of Roman helmets and a satisfied smile on his face. "A bit of fun at last!"

He must have seen something in Asterix's face, because he dropped the helmets and was at his side like a shot. "Asterix, are you all right? Are you dizzy? Does anything hurt?"

Asterix reached out and gripped Obelix's hand, tight. It felt very warm, almost as though Obelix was feverish. "No, not at all," Asterix said. He deliberately raised his head high, and smiled at Obelix. "I'm all right. How were the Romans?" He ignored the little spike that gnawed at his stomach at the word. A warrior's job was to face fear and conquer it.

"Soft," his friend grumbled. "You'd think they'd be better trained…" Obelix rambled on about the Romans and how they had used to be more fun when they were trained better, and Asterix listened with about one-half of one ear, as usual when Obelix took it into his head to hold forth on the relative merits of either Romans or boars, breathed as deeply as his still-sore ribs would let him, and shored up his flagging confidence with bracing words in his head, though they rang hollow, the cracks in his bones telling him a different story.

Obelix, still worried about Asterix 'coming over queer', as he put it, kept a protective arm round him all the way back to the druid's hut, and Asterix was grateful for the support. It was fortunate that Obelix couldn't hide his delight at the little fight he'd had, and his good cheer covered up Asterix's disquiet – Asterix never did feel very chatty during their walks, his energy taken up by breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, so his silence went unremarked – when the shadows lengthened and they returned to Beatnix's for dinner.

"You're in a good mood," the druid smiled at Obelix as he dished them up some food – a boar for Obelix, and bread and soup with meat for Asterix. Beatnix and Obelix sat on stools next to Asterix, who – as per druid's orders – ate reclining on his side in the Roman style, propped up with pillows to keep him upright.

"He thumped a Roman patrol," Asterix smiled gamely. If he said it often enough, he'd be able to get over his illogical fears, of that he was sure.

"A Roman patrol?" the Divodurum druid frowned. "Funny, they don't usually come all the way out here." Beatnix pondered, munching. "Hmm. They might have been on a mission of some sort."

Asterix's stomach roiled and he set his soup carefully down on the bed next to him. Normally, the thought that the Romans were looking for him would have been mildly entertaining, and he'd have been energized by the thought of a good punch-up. Now, he just felt sick.

The druid looked sharply at him. No, not sharply – shrewdly. Then he looked back down at his boar. "It's normal to feel a bit off colour after an experience like yours," he said with his mouth full, his tone mercifully matter-of-fact. Asterix didn't think he could stand too much scrutiny right now.

"Of course," Asterix mumbled, or something similar, and lowered his head to the pillow, galled by the pain that plagued him still. He was glad to hear the druid keep Obelix from urging him to eat – there wasn't any way he could, right now.

When they came over to do the nightly salving and bandaging, Asterix pretended to be asleep. He felt humiliated, although he couldn't tell exactly why. He remained silent, though, even when the druid tried to coax him to speak, saying, "Just a few more days and you'll be on your way home," and things of that sort. He just closed his eyes tighter and clenched his fists, not caring if they knew he was pretending. He needed some time to stop acting so childishly.

Just before he fell asleep, Asterix felt the gentle touch of his best friend's hand closing carefully around his elbow. "Don't be sad, Asterix," Obelix whispered softly, almost plaintively.

"It's all right, Obelix," Asterix murmured into his pillow, and felt his shame recede a little.

The sun dawned bright and warm the next day, casting out Asterix's fear. He put up with the morning ministrations with ill grace, he had to confess, because he was longing to go outside again and conquer his fears. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. Of course there were Romans, there had always been Romans, and he had faced them without potion before; indeed, he'd faced them with only the druid Getafix by his side, and emerged victorious. He held his head high as he always had done, pushing unease aside, filling his mind with confident thoughts and taking some comfort in the small dog following them, wagging its tail.

They were almost at the oak tree when Obelix's joyful cry rang out. "Asterix! Romans!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Asterix caught him by the arm. "Wait."

His big friend paused, frozen in the familiar ready-to-dash-off-and-get-them classic Obelix-pose that Asterix knew so well. "Why can't I get them?"

"I want to know why they're here."

"Oh, that's easy! I can make them talk—"

"Shh, Obelix!"

"But I can—"

"Obelix!" Asterix hissed urgently. He felt the familiar surge of frustration that always accompanied trying to stop his friend doing something he wanted in order to achieve some future goal. Now Obelix would argue, and Asterix would have to argue back, and the legionaries would hear, and—

Asterix looked to the side, surprised. Obelix had obediently subsided, crouching next to him behind a large rock, with high bushes to left and right. "Shh," he said to the little dog, which had started growling, and the animal obediently subsided. Grateful, Asterix reached out and covered Obelix's hand with his own. It seemed there were some fringe benefits to being ill after all, if his stubborn friend was this compliant. Obelix glanced sidelong at him. "You will explain later, won't you, Asterix?" Obelix whispered.

"Of course," Asterix smiled fondly. He was warmed when Obelix smiled back.

They hid completely behind the foliage as the patrol marched into the clearing and clustered together for what looked like an impromptu confabulation. They didn't seem any too eager to be there. "Where the Hades is this druid's hut supposed to be, anyway?" one of them was just saying as he came into earshot. The wings on Asterix's helmet shot up, and he looked sidelong at Obelix significantly.

"Join the army, they said," muttered another legionary, the shortest of the little sextet. "See the world, they said… Not a word about being massacred by hordes of savage rebel Gauls!"

"No-one's going to be massacred, Timorus!" barked his Optione, a stocky fellow who looked so much like Vitalstatistix that it made them feel quite homesick for a moment. Of course, unlike the Gaulish chief, the optio was clean-shaven, with short back and sides, as per Roman Army regulations.

"But did you see how Marijuanus' patrol looked when they came back, Optio Vacuumcleanus, sir?"

"Marijuanus?" The optio, Vacuumcleanus, snorted. "Who could believe anything that idiot says? If I didn't know better I'd swear he was a lotus-eater. He's off in a dream-world half the time, always imagining things!"

"But Optione," protested the legionary called Timorus, "they were all beaten up!"

"Beaten up? Ha!" scoffed Vacuumcleanus. "For all I know, Marijuanus and his lot got into a tavern brawl, and made up a gallus-and-tauri* story to get out of being put on fatigues. The only ones getting beaten up are the Gauls. Or have you forgotten that little fellow we caught the other day?"

Obelix tensed. Asterix tightened his hand on his. "Shh," he breathed.

"I should say not," said another legionary, tall with coal-black hair. "Centurion Pontius whipped the pips off his shoulders all right!"

"Yeah, that outlaw got a beating he'll never forget," tittered the Roman behind him, a skinny fellow with a long nose and pimples.

"That's if he lives to remember it," said Black Hair. "Rescue or no rescue, I'm pretty sure he breathed his last under the lash." He smirked. "That was a good job well done. Mercilus was trying to go easy on him, but the Centurion would have none of that! Not a strip of skin left on the wretch's back by the time they were finished with him. He probably died right there at the post, or not long after."

Asterix felt dizzy. His heart was pounding, his insides lead, but he clenched his jaw, determined to be strong. Next to him, he could feel Obelix trembling, clearly itching to go out and thump the Romans. Asterix squeezed Obelix's hand with both of his to hold him back, although he was suddenly very glad to have him on his side. The black-haired legionary was still talking. "Personally, I think it's a waste of time to see if the crazy druid is sheltering him. Unless the druid has the power of the gods of Olympus, he'll be sheltering a corpse."

"I'm with you, there's no way he could have survived that thrashing," said a third legionary, short and squat. "But I must admit he had courage, even if he was a Gaul. He held his tongue until the very end. Did you hear him scream? Probably the last sound he ever made."

A shiver of frailty chilled Asterix. He'd cried out? He couldn't recall it. He'd tried so hard not to… But he was distracted by how Obelix's hand jerked out from under his, clenching into a fist upon the rock's surface. His friend's head was bowed to the stone, his face bright red, shuddering so violently that Asterix feared for his health. "Obelix," he breathed. The little dog put his front paws up onto Obelix's foot, but Obelix was closed off, noticing nothing.

"That is what befalls those who defy the might of Rome." The optione made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "He paid in blood for his crimes."

"Still, he was a brave enemy, I'll give him that. I almost felt sorry for him," said the same legionary. "By Juno, I was on fatigues the other day in the courtyard, and the cracks in the flagstones are still stained with his blood! It's never going to come out! I tried the brush that—"

But what type of brush the legionary had been using on his fatigues they would never know. Obelix surged up from his hiding place, startling the small dog, pushing over the rock they had been leaning against— "Obelix, no!" –and leaping out at the legionaries with a roar Asterix was sure could be heard for miles. "Don't!"

But it was too late. The optio was sent flying so far Asterix was half-sure he'd land in his own barracks. The rest of the legionaries were punched hard, without any pleasure, knocked into trees or dispatched with an uppercut. As Asterix leaned over the rock, he could see that Obelix wasn't smiling the way he usually was when he thumped Romans – he was… Wait a moment.

As he threw his punches, Obelix was crying.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Asterix rose, using the rock for support. "Obelix…?" he tried tentatively.

The patrol had been a small, six-man contingent, the kind used for reconnaissance. Its legionaries lay stunned or unconscious, their weapons scattered all about. Obelix stood among them like an oak shivered by an axe, tears falling from his eyes. Asterix, thanking the gods he could move more easily now, went to him. He touched his arm gently. "Obelix?"

His friend burst into sobs, and – for the first time that Asterix could ever recall – turned and moved away from Asterix's touch. He came to rest leaning against a tree, head in his arm, sobbing – not the noisy sobs that were his wont, but deep, soundless gasps of grief that shook his entire body. The tiny dog stood at his feet and whined.

Saddened and alarmed, Asterix crossed the few paces to the tree, and took Obelix's free hand in both of his. Gently patting the big hand, he asked softly, "What is it, Obelix? What's the matter?"

Obelix just wept silently, as though his heart would break. Asterix felt a pang in his own heart. "Come on," he coaxed, still speaking no louder than a whisper. "You can tell me, old friend."

At the word 'friend', Obelix choked as though he had something stuck in his throat, gasping until he was blue in the face. "Obelix!" Asterix pleaded, frightened now. "Tell me what's wrong!"

There must have been something in Asterix's voice, because Obelix turned to face him at last, his face screwed up in pain. Asterix couldn't recall seeing such a grimace on his face ever before. He kept Obelix's hand in both his own, patting it encouragingly, and waited. "It's all right. Whatever it is, we can do something about it. Come on," he said, eyes never leaving Obelix's face.

"It's—it's…" His friend dragged in a shuddering breath. "They were talking about—about…" The hand in Asterix's curled tight into a fist. Fighting not to cry, Obelix drew his fists into his sides. "You were—" He choked in earnest, and the tree he was leaning against shuddered, sending down a shower of leaves. His voice subsided into a mumble. Asterix could just make out the word "bleeding" before Obelix broke down entirely, shaking with silent grief.

Oh. Asterix hadn't thought for a moment what it must have been like for Obelix, finding him. "Obelix! It ended well. You saved my life," he blurted.

Wrong thing to say. The reminder of what had almost befallen Asterix made Obelix sob harder, still silently. The air seemed to grate in his throat. "Sorry… Asterix… I'll pull myself together… only—"

"It's all right." Asterix patted his hand.

Obelix gulped, "I just—when that legionary said—about you…"

Asterix shuddered, a chill going through him at the memory. Apparently, he ought to have shown weakness sooner, because Obelix immediately straightened, dashed away his tears and turned to him, hands hovering around his shoulders but not touching. "Asterix!"

"It's all right." For the first time, Asterix was glad of the druid's insistence he take his recovery slowly: if he had been in worse shape, the shock might have caused him to collapse. But the gradual resistance he had built up had improved his physical condition to the point where he could take it in stride. Still… "Let's go home. We have to tell Beatnix the Druid what happened."

"I don't quite get it, Asterix."

"That's all right. I'll explain it to you when we get home. It's about time for dinner anyway."

Obelix smiled at the thought of dinner, but the shadows weren't gone completely from his childlike expression. He held out an arm, and Asterix took it gratefully, although he was used to walking without support now. As they turned back towards the hut, Asterix noticed Obelix looked pensive. "They… they said Beatnix was sheltering…"

Asterix looked up at Obelix. He'd expected to have to explain to Obelix; he wasn't used to his friend working things out for himself. "Yes?" he smiled encouragingly.

"They said, sheltering us. Or…" He swallowed hard. "Or one of us…"

"Yes, all right, go on."

"The Centurion, they said. What does he have to do with it?"

Asterix almost answered, then held back on an impulse. Then he asked something he'd never asked before. "What do you think, Obelix?"

"He…" Obelix's brow furrowed, "the… the Centurion sent them to find out."

Asterix's glow of pride in his friend felt like getting his health back. "Yes."

"But that means Beatnix might be in danger."

"We'll protect him, Obelix." Despite the confidence in his words, Asterix quickened his pace as much as his strength would allow on the way back to the druid's hut, turning strategy over in his head. "The best thing would be to make ourselves scarce," he said, thinking out loud. "The Romans clearly think Beatnix is a harmless lunatic…"

"He's not a lunatic!"

"Of course not, Obelix. But that reputation protects him, and it'll protect him from being seen as a sympathizer with dissidents if there's no evidence we were there. Divodurum is under the Pax Romana, and they won't harm him if they think he's got nothing to do with us."

Obelix, starting to find the conversation hard to follow, decided to keep quiet. He knew Asterix often needed to think out loud like this, even if he couldn't follow everything his quick-witted friend was saying. He always listened even if he didn't get it, because he knew Asterix would tell him later. And it was quite nice to have Asterix talk to him about his plans, even though they didn't make sense to him half the time and seemed unnecessarily convoluted the other half. Asterix wasn't one to thump his way out of trouble – and then, all of a sudden, he was, and Obelix sometimes privately thought he'd save a great deal of time if he'd resorted to thumping in the first place.

He blinked. Asterix was still talking. It was the first time he'd thought of Asterix the way he'd used to, not about his injuries, not about how to help him, but just him and Obelix on adventures together. Obelix smiled fondly at Asterix, walking and talking. He remembered too well how awful it had been to have to pick him up and watch him suffer, and it just made this moment all the sweeter. He listened to Asterix planning strategy, too full of the glow of happiness to pay what he was saying much attention.

That was, until they pushed the door to the druid's hut open to find Beatnix surrounded by Roman soldiers with spears.

*Roman cock-and-bull