Centurion Pontius Undulivicius felt a surge of pride, marching at the head of his cohort into the woods. He had known for certain that that druid was trouble. All Gaulish druids were. They all needed to be put to death, in his opinion, and if that weakling Julius Caesar hadn't expressly given orders that they and the other denizens of Gaul be protected, in the name of his feeble Pax Romana, Pontius would have had great pleasure in doing so himself. Just line them up one after another and lop off their heads. It would make the Gaulish lands a great deal easier to control.

"Forward, legionaries!" he called. No point in stealth: only weaklings were stealthy.

"Going to get us massacred, the silly nit," muttered Timorus the legionary. "There's this big fat lunatic, and…"

"This is no time for nit-picking, you nitwit," grumbled the short fat legionary of the previous day. "If we say we want a reprieve from the massacring, the Centurion will massacre us. Shut up and keep marching."

"It's not fair," said a third legionary from the patrol. "We don't have weapons of massacring destruction."

"Silence in the ranks!"

The legionaries subsided, en masse.

"Ready, Obelix?"

Obelix nodded unhappily. "I don't like your part in it, Asterix."

"I'll be all right." Asterix lifted his chin. "Obelix. The legionaries are all yours. But the Centurion is mine."

They stood at the back of the hut, where the sound of feet marching towards them was growing ever closer. Asterix had never feared the Romans before. Now, he felt himself trembling, cold as ice. "Asterix," Obelix's voice said worriedly, "I could just thump them and—"

"They'll just come back for the druid. We can't let them."

"No," Obelix sighed unhappily. Asterix knew that his friend knew it was true. "But you don't have to face him at all. You're not well."

"I have to, Obelix. I'll get no peace otherwise."

"I think it's silly!"

Asterix smiled. "You're worried about me, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm worried about you! Why wouldn't I be? Give me one good reason!"

"One good reason?" Asterix's eyes softened. "I've got you to help in case things go wrong."

Obelix brightened. "I can?"

"Only if you think it's going badly. And you can't spoil things."

"I won't. I promise." Obelix nodded so fast his head was a blur. "Thanks, Asterix."

Asterix reached up with ease, thanks to a pain potion, and Obelix bent to him. They hugged, Asterix gripping tight, Obelix gentle as a whisper. When they broke apart, Asterix smiled at him again. "Go and take your position. They're almost here."

Obelix darted off, little dog at his heels. Asterix steeled himself for his part in the little drama.

Centurion Pontius smiled confidently as he strode into the clearing outside Beatnix the druid's hut. Now was the time to deal the enemies of Rome the punishment they so richly deserved. Outlaws needed to be controlled, and fast. Rebellion was like a brush fire: let it catch, let the smallest spark go unquenched, and it would burst into a conflagration impossible to quell. Strike hard and strike fast. "Onwards, men!" he called, and marched towards the home of the Gaulish traitor.

The door swung open and the druid stepped out. Druid, indeed. In those colours, he looked more like a jester. He'd provide entertainment in the arena, if Pontius didn't gut him where he stood. "O Romans."

"You two." Pontius pointed at two legionaries in the front line. "Seize him."

The pair moved around the druid, much more hesitantly than Pontius would have liked, but they finally remembered how to do their duty, each taking hold of one of the druid's arms. "Do you not fear to lay hands upon a druid?" the Gaul had the audacity to smirk.

"W—we have our orders," one of the legionaries quavered. Timorus, if memory served. A more lily-livered idiot never lived.

Of course, the Gaul, sensing weakness, pressed his advantage. Never show weakness, was Pontius' first lesson. "Do you not know that we have direct communion with the gods? We hold the forest in our thrall. It does our bidding—"

"Silence!" Pontius barked. He could see his legionaries turning white. Fools!

"—and we have armies of the dead at our command," said the druid. "To lay violent hands on a druid is destruction and death."

The legionaries' teeth started to chatter. "Silence," Pontius barked. He took in the man's black eye. "By the way you look, Optio Vacuumcleanus' patrol seem to have given you a bit of what you deserve, and they're still alive and well."

"Alive," there was a smug smirk on the druid's face, "but not well."

Pontius took a breath. The man was trying to provoke him into giving him a quick death. Well, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Don't make it worse for yourself, Gaul. Tell me where they have gone, and I might yet be merciful."

"'They?'" the druid laughed bitterly. "Who's 'they?' You know as well as I do that the small Gaul didn't survive."

One of the legionaries breathed in sharply. The druid continued, voice like gall. "His blood watered that great oak, and he was buried beneath it that same night."

Pontius felt a surge of satisfaction. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

The druid's eyes were still serious, and sad. "If you say a prayer for his soul, the gods I serve might show you some mercy."

"A prayer? I will say this: One down, one to go."

"True," said the druid. He had regained his defiant attitude. "But that one will be his murderer."

At that, Pontius couldn't help laughing aloud. "Oh, will it?! I don't see anyone here about to exact vengeance. And if you're talking about his rebel friend, he'll soon be captured too, and…"

"Centurion!" The Gaul's voice was suddenly ringing and powerful. "I have warned you, and you have not heeded the warning. You have scorned the power of a druid, and now the forest itself will turn against you."

There was something in the druid's tone that gave Pontius pause, but, never show weakness. "Curse as you will," he sneered, pushing down the whispers in his mind of tales he had heard, of the Gauls' strange and powerful gods.

"Do you then deny you are a murderer?" The brown eyes of the Gaul bored into his own.

"Who are you to judge me, you Gaulish barbarian! I shall crush you, as I crush all outlaws, rebels and enemies of Rome!"

"On your own head be it." The druid drew breath and raised his voice, calling into the treetops. "O Trees of the Forest! If you see standing here beneath you the man who has caused your roots to be watered with innocent blood, come forth! Come and avenge the blameless man so unjustly murdered!"

Pontius smirked, silencing the little curl of fear in his heart. Whoever heard of trees mov—

Behind him, there were shouts and yells. A bloodcurdling howl echoed from the forest, and a mighty oak crashed down, narrowly missing the legionaries, who jumped out of its way just in time.

By all the gods!

Pontius' heart slammed in his chest as the tree rose again into the air of its own accord, as though about to right itself. It was so tall that he could not see its base, hidden among the trees; but its body, hundreds of feet tall, protruded from the forest glade where it had been rooted, and hung there at an angle, swaying back and forth, foliage rustling. The legionaries screamed in terror, scattering. All Pontius could think was, The Gauls have strange and powerful gods. Retreat is dignity. Who can resist the will of the gods?

Unwieldy and monstrous, the tree hung in midair, waving slightly from side to side, as though awaiting instructions. From the druid? The druid that he, Pontius, had ordered captured and restrained? Flee, flee, said his good sense. It was only sheer stubbornness that kept him standing. A Roman citizen can withstand the tyrannies of barbaric deities.

The druid's voice cut through his men's cries. "Come! Come, woodland tree! Avenge the murder! Do my bidding!"

The floating tree started sweeping back and forth, clearing legionaries like ninepins. Despite himself, Pontius let out a shout. What had gone before could be explained away as some sort of trickery: but a tree of the forest moving maliciously as though it had human volition, like a twig being swung by a wanton boy through the air, struck terror into his heart. For the first time, it crept into his heart that this accursed forest, and those who dwelt in it, were best left well alone, and the powerful druids who lived there could have it.

By now, the druid was free. The two legionaries holding him had fled in terror at the sight of the tree that obeyed his commands, not to mention the bloodcurdling howls that accompanied it. They had been joined by the entire garrison: all the legionaries had taken to their heels, except for those knocked over and stunned, lying in a heap on the grass. Centurion Pontius had never felt more like running, but he stood his ground. Never show weakness. "I was committing no murder," he said, voice quavering, mindful of the mighty oak floating disembodied behind him. "It was justice, punishment for the outlaw's crimes."

"Justice? To torture a man to death?"

"I—" His throat was dry. He swallowed hard before continuing. "I…"

"Without presenting him to Caesar? Going over the head of one whom even you Romans revere as you do your gods?"

"The… It…"

"Remember," the druid said sternly, "you are in the presence of the forest gods. You will be judged by them should you lie." His eyes flickered to the trees. "They, not I, will exact punishment."

The great oak still hovered behind him, and more than ever Pontius felt he was in the presence of a power greater than himself. "I… I…"

"Hear me!" called the druid. "I could have this tree crush you, but I will be merciful! I will allow you to face the spirit of your victim." His voice rose again. "O warrior unjustly murdered! Rise from the grave to face your murderer, if he stand before you now!"

Pontius' eyes widened. Nobody had the power to command the dead! Nobody!

Behind the hut, Asterix heard his cue. Sword drawn, he took a deep breath.

Hearing the centurion's voice had shaken Asterix more deeply than he could have imagined. Every one of the man's words had cut him to the heart; the sound of him talking sliced away his courage at the roots, leaving him tossed about and terrified. He couldn't shake off the phantom sensation of the manacles at his wrists, the conviction that he was going to die. He was painted with flour, white as snow from head to toe, but he knew that even without it, he was as white as the ghost he was supposed to represent.

A Gaul faced his fears. Exhaling hard, he put on a mask of confidence and stepped out, coming face to face with the Centurion. At the sight of him, the man gave a great cry.

"O Minerva and Apollo, protect me!"

The sight of the man himself shot a bolt of terror through Asterix. Like cold floodwater rising, weakness was seeping into his very soul. His heart beat wildly in his chest; there was no magic potion surging like lightning through his blood, nothing but the strange druid's herbal remedies. Phantom aches burned through his wrists, phantom pains shot through his chest.

The moment stretched, lengthened.

Asterix set his jaw. He was a Gaulish warrior. Despite the debility that spiderwebbed through his suddenly enfeebled veins, he would fight his fear. Fight it to his last breath. In his stance and courage lived the Gaulish resistance. On his courage rested the fate of the strange druid who had saved their lives. Weakness was selfish, and he would not cede the privilege of protecting those who meant the most to him—not only his friends, but his fellow-Gauls, and his occupied native soil. He took a step forward. Now, but thirty paces separated him from the man.

"O Spirit!" the Centurion quavered.

Asterix looked into the face of the man he feared the most, the man who had had him chained up and flogged, the man who had laughed as he screamed in agony. Now the cloud of fear had dissipated and the grey haze was gone from Asterix's vision, he could see the cruel features slack with terror, the centurion's face pasty white. The man was seeing him as a ghost, the tree trick having terrified his legions. All that remained was to finish it, to end the Romans' incursions into the forest for good.

Asterix smiled fiercely. "O Centurion," he said, feeling warmth surge through him as he spoke clearly and firmly. He inclined his head in mock-respect.

"Forgive me, O Spirit. I—I was only dispensing justice," the Centurion stammered. His knees were visibly shaking. The sight of his former torturer quailing before him in abject terror was healing the wounds in Asterix's soul, wounds he hadn't even known were still open and bleeding. He only felt them now, now that they had started to close.

Asterix took a step towards the Roman, sword extended. The man went a few shades paler. Liking the effect, he paused, then took another step forward, and another, slow and inexorable as Fate."O Druid," he said, "I await your command." His tone fairly oozed abject respect. "What would you have me do with this man?"

"Is that not your province, O Spirit?" said Beatnix.

"No, no," Asterix demurred. "You are the ruler of this forest, and we spirits answer to you. Speak, and I shall obey." He took another step towards his 'victim'. On a whim, he added, "Would you have me bear him upon the instant to the spirit world, to roam the earth for evermore? Is that what you would have me do? Or shall I drag him straight down to Hades, there to rot for all eternity?"

Another howl rose up from the forest. Asterix saw the quaking Centurion swallow convulsively. Warmth and security filled him at the thought of Obelix and his little dog, out there in the forest, protecting them all. He looked at the druid, as though it was only Beatnix who stood between him and the Roman's instant death.

"Hmm," said the druid. "Certainly by rights I should let you avenge your death as you wish. But…" Beatnix canted his head and stroked his chin. "Roman, do you wish the opportunity to right the wrongs you have committed? To one day have a chance to see the Elysian Fields, when you shuffle off this mortal coil?"

The centurion shuffled his feet. "Yes. Yes, O Druid, I do! Be merciful, I pray you!"

Asterix took another step towards the Centurion. "You have but to command, O Druid. Would you have me run him through with my sword, or do you prefer to crush him yourself with the trees that do your bidding?"

In the forest behind them, the tree moved, its branches rustling. Asterix hoped Obelix could restrain himself. There was nothing his friend would like to do more than squash the Centurion like a fly beneath the tree. He'd suggested it several times last night, and it was only at Asterix's insistence that he was holding back now. "No!" cried Pontius Undulivicius.

The druid appeared to think for a long time. Then he said, "O Roman. If I grant you your life, know that it is only on loan, a gift from the gods of Gaul. Henceforth, you shall respect and revere them along with the gods of the Romans. Do you concur?"

The tree rustled behind the Centurion. Sweating, the man nodded. Inexorably, the druid continued.

"You shall cease to torture your prisoners. You shall set mercy above justice. You shall release those in the dungeons, and henceforth show compassion to the Gaulish people. You shall not set your own rule above that of your Emperor, who treats the Gauls with more clemency than you have done so far. And finally, you shall never set foot in this forest again. These are the conditions on which I grant you your life. If you refuse, then stand still, and the spirit will run you through with his sword."

"No!" cried Pontius. He had not expected to escape from here with his life, not after the spirit of his victim had risen from the grave. Set foot in this forest? Not for all the sestertii in Caesar's coffers!

"Finally," the druid intoned, "kneel before the spirit and ask its forgiveness."

Asterix just managed to hold on to his Impervious Ghost façade. This had not been in the plan! He managed to keep his head held high as the Centurion threw himself at his feet. "Forgive me, O Spirit!"

Pontius had knelt before to no man; and he knelt to no man now, for a spirit was no man. He willingly knelt to beg the forgiveness of the soul he had murdered.

"The druid has shown you more mercy than I would have," Asterix said, managing to keep his voice steady and suitably menacing. Here was the man who had almost broken him, nearly killed him, kneeling at his feet. The image supplanted that of the whipping-block, restored his shattered soul. Asterix had not known he needed this, but the druid had. He breathed deeply, savoring the reversal of his ignominy, the restoration of his pride. "Since we spirits serve the druids, I have no choice but to obey. But never forget that you owe your life to him."

"I won't... By all the gods..." At his feet, the Centurion muttered broken syllables.

Feeling that his world had finally righted itself, Asterix extended his sword, flat side up. "I forgive you, if you treat all henceforth with kindness. Never do to another what you have done unto me."

"I will not! By all the gods, I will not!"

"Then go. Go, and remember the kindness shown here to you today."

The Centurion scrambled to his feet. He turned, and stopped short at the sight of a cluster of legionaries who had been visible to Asterix before. Recovered from their unconsciousness, they were standing transfixed, watching their centurion kneel to the ghost of the man they had seen whipped to death a few weeks earlier. The man flinched in embarrassment, then gathered the shreds of his tattered dignity. "Return to barracks," he said, voice oddly reedy, then walked, almost at a run, to join his legionaries, who were already scurrying away through the trees.

When the last Roman had fled the scene, Asterix finally let himself fall to his knees, trembling with exhaustion.

Obelix had never been gladder to see the back of the Romans. Dropping the tree, which made the little dog howl in apparent misery – he might call him Dogmatix, he'd have to see what Asterix thought of it – he ran to his friend's side, dropping to his knees before him. "Asterix! Are you all right?"

Beatnix the Druid was already kneeling beside Asterix. "He's fine, just exhausted. Help me get him to bed? He needs to lie down."

Obelix carefully lifted Asterix into his arms, laying him upon his chest as usual to spare his healing back. Asterix raised his head to meet Obelix's eyes, and grinned at him. Obelix thrilled with joy to see his friend's hazel eyes glowing with their familiar spark, too long absent. "Are you all right?" he asked again, unable to let it go until he'd heard it from his friend.

Asterix's voice was tired, but happy. "I feel like a shadow of myself," he quipped.

Obelix grinned. He couldn't seem to relax, though. "Are you sure you're feeling all right? Nothing hurts?"

Asterix held onto Obelix's shoulder. "Stop."

"What?" Obelix stopped instantly, letting Asterix meet his eyes. "What is it, Asterix?"

Asterix's warm hazel eyes bored into his. I know it's been awful. Let it go. It's over. Aloud he said, smiling, "I think I feel a phantom pain."

Obelix stood stock-still. Jokes about Asterix being in pain, however untrue, were not going to be funny to him for quite some time.

Asterix squeezed his shoulder. "You're looking grave. I thought we'd buried the hatchet." Come on. Come on, old friend. "You're looking ghostly pale. You might need spectral analysis?"

Obelix took a deep breath. "Well," he shot back, "you're certainly getting into the spirit of the occasion."

Asterix laid his head back against Obelix's shoulder. Obelix could feel Asterix's smile broadening by the movement of his facial muscles against his, Obelix's, skin. "I do feel in high spirits. Almost as if I could float away."

"Hope you're not spooked or anything."

"Oh no," Asterix said airily as they crossed the threshold, the druid holding the door open. "We may not have expected the Romans to materialize, but they ended up putting in a good apparition."

"Yes, but they didn't have the ghost of a chance!" Obelix felt an odd sensation bubble up in his belly. At first, he thought it was hunger. It was only when it burst out of him that he realized it was a laugh. Toutatis, how long had it been since he'd last laughed?

"True," said Asterix as Obelix knelt carefully to let him slip out of his hold and sit on the edge of the bed, "not much chance they'll be coming around our old haunts!"

And Asterix giggled.

Obelix let slip a string of giggles as well. It was hard at first; he hadn't laughed in so long. But then Asterix said, "It was quite a wraith against time, wasn't it?" and Obelix couldn't help an honest-to-Toutatis guffaw.

"Er… Am I missing something?"

The two friends looked up at Beatnix the Druid, who was staring at them, completely befuddled. His wide eyes and confused expression undid them. Asterix suddenly burst into another fit of the giggles, wincing as he did but unable to stop. Obelix put a gentle arm round him to steady him as he told the druid, "No, no, pardon our high spirits! We're just ghoulish like that!"

And they fell against each other in gales of helpless laughter, Asterix slapping his knee and Obelix flapping his hand, Obelix still careful to keep his other arm there for Asterix to lean on.

Notes: This chapter is quite shamelessly cribbed, with permission and love and respect, from CrazyBeaver's "Caesar's New Weapon", which I adore. Most probably the rest of it is cribbed from the other Asterix authors here on FFN, as well. I want to thank all of those from whom I have stolen. I love your work.