They didn't leave for another week. The druid insisted that his patient recuperate now the immediate threat was past.

After the friends had finished their bout of uproarious laughter, Asterix's eyes had slid shut: he was smiling, but clearly at the end of his endurance. Obelix had lowered him to the pillows and carefully tucked the covers around his shoulders. Still smiling, he'd sat on the floor by his bed, one hand – out of long habit – curled around Asterix's hand. "It's all right now, Asterix," he'd murmured. "Everything's going to be all right now."

During that week, Asterix had felt, in truth, as though he were getting his life back. His dreams were no longer haunted with pain and humiliation. He no longer saw the smirk of the torturer and the wood of the whipping-block whenever he closed his eyes. In fact, he was sleeping so well that he tried to insist that the druid let him sleep on the floor, and take back his bed. Perhaps predictably, the druid wouldn't hear of it. His exact words had been, "And ruin all my hard work? Perhaps you'll suggest I gather mistletoe with a sickle made of brass next!" He'd huffed off, muttering, "A patient thinking he knows better than the attending druid. Now I've seen everything."

Asterix had fallen all over himself apologizing, never seeing the druid's secret smile.

As Asterix's nightmares subsided, he noticed that Obelix was stirring and muttering in the night. The druid, who slept like the dead, seemed not to have noticed; but Asterix, attuned to his friend's sleep patterns, did. He wasn't sure whether to broach the subject with Obelix or not… Until one night, Asterix heard Obelix wake suddenly with a shout. "No! ASTERIX!"

"Obelix! What's wrong?" Asterix tried to get up, moved too quickly, and gasped as a bolt of pain shot through his back. He hadn't felt that way for a while now.

"Asterix, don't move too suddenly—" Obelix was on his knees by the bed, supporting him with a large hand around his upper arm, before Asterix had even fully registered the pain. "You know what the druid said! You'll be stronger soon, but don't over—"

"What was your dream about?"

Through Obelix's touch on his arm, Asterix felt Obelix flinch. "Uhh…"

Asterix couldn't help smiling at that. Obelix was too innocent to say 'Nothing,' or invent some elaborate lie. "Please tell me," Asterix coaxed. "I heard you call for me."

"I—" Obelix gave a loud sob, then turned and buried his head in Asterix's pillow, shoulders shaking. "I dreamed you died!"

Shaken by the simple statement, Asterix looked down at his friend's shaking shoulders. Obelix's broad back was unblemished, but that didn't mean he hadn't also been hurt. Carefully, he turned and laid his arm across his friend, ending up half-lying across him because he was determined to put arm all the way round Obelix's shoulders. "Dear old Obelix," he said softly, pressing his cheek against his friend's spine. "I got hurt, but that doesn't mean you weren't hurt, too."

"I wish I had been, instead of you," Obelix sobbed into the pillow.

"Obelix. Look at me." Asterix drew back, giving Obelix room to straighten up. He looked hard into his friend's eyes. There were no dark circles beneath them, thanks to the magic potion that helped him regenerate faster than any normal man; his face, in the firelight, was as pink as ever. But his little dark eyes were red from crying, and Asterix was reminded again how not all wounds were physical. "Obelix," he tried to smile. "I know I'm the one who got hurt. But you were hurt, too."

Obelix tapped his head, making Asterix smile. "There's not a scratch on me."

"But you're having nightmares." Asterix held up a hand to forestall Obelix's reply. He searched for something to say, then simply opened his arms.

Very, very carefully, Obelix put his arms round Asterix. Asterix was used to getting lost in Obelix's capacious embrace, so the tentative way Obelix enfolded him, as though he were afraid Asterix would break, felt strange. Missing their usual bear-hugs, Asterix opened his mouth to object; but he shut it again as Obelix's arms softly and tenderly closed round his tortured back. The touch was so gentle, so gradual, that even though his friend's arms settled over scabbed and partly-healed skin, Asterix felt none of the pain he'd anticipated, the pain he was already half-consciously gritting his teeth against. Instead there was only warmth, and comfort, and loving strength freely given.

Asterix swallowed hard and put his own arms around Obelix, or at least as much of him as he could reach. As he laid his head on his friend's shoulder, he murmured, feeling himself start to cry, "Thank you, Obelix."

"Thank you," came the response, rather tearful as well.

Asterix blinked, startled out of his tears. "For what?"

"For… for not dying," Obelix blurted in his simple way, arms tightening around Asterix, still infinitely gentle, his arms soft and yielding and comforting, his touch bringing no pain, only solace.

Asterix grinned, overcome. He resolved to be alert to Obelix in the future, and console him when he had nightmares, as he remembered – he did remember – Obelix had done for him. "Believe me when I say," he smiled, "the pleasure was all mine."

When the week was over, Beatnix came into the clearing after being gone all morning, leading a pair of oxen pulling a comfortable-looking cart. The two friends stared. Asterix spoke first. "Where did you get this?"

"In town," Beatnix grinned. "I'm not a total recluse, you know."

"Could have fooled me," Obelix put in.

"We've got to pay you," said Asterix, thinking how he ought to get his head together and see where he'd put their money. He'd let Obelix take care of things long enough.

The druid just chuckled. "They practically gave them to me as a gift. After what happened in the forest, the townsfolk now look upon me as a demi-god."

Asterix frowned. "They know?"

"How do they know?" asked Obelix.

"I'm surprised you expected it to remain a secret. A garrison town has garrison taverns, and legionaries go to those taverns. Nobody loves a good gossip more than legionaries, and many of them have friends among the innkeepers. And tales become embellished in the telling. By the time the story reached my ears, I had become commander of a vast army of trees that uproot themselves and perambulate about the forest at will, and hordes of undead bursting forth from beneath the ground and flying about the sky."

Instead of laughing, Asterix frowned. "Won't that harm you?"

"Oh, no. Better feared and revered than feared and spat upon." At Asterix's disturbed look, Beatnix patted his hand. "Asterix, I am not about to uproot myself and go and live closed in, within stone walls and fortifications. I have always kept myself apart from society; and now they think me a demi-god, a privilege I could never have hoped for. Rest assured, my life will be much easier thanks to you."

"If you're sure."

"Very." The druid turned to Obelix. "Now, here are his care instructions: this salve twice daily, morning and evening, until the pot is finished or you get back to your druid, whichever comes later—"

"I wish you could meet our druid," Asterix cut in.

"Getafix?" Beatnix's eyes shone with a wistful light. "I don't think I'm worthy of such an honor. But I would love to, of course."

"Not worthy?" Obelix tapped his head. "Have you gone crazy, O Druid?"

Asterix smiled at his friend's curious mixture of reverence and disrespect. "I think once our druid Getafix learns what you've done for us, he'll insist on coming out here to thank you in person."

The druid blushed deeply. "I…"

Both of them were cut off by an enormous sob from Obelix. "I can't thank you enough," he choked out. "Never enough. You saved our lives."

Beatnix noticed the slip, but tactfully didn't mention it. He'd seen enough to know that the 'our' was hardly an exaggeration: if Asterix's soul had ended up taking the Bag an Noz, the ghost ship that sailed to Britannia and beyond, Beatnix knew his friend's life-force would have found no home in this world. It would have reached out in tendrils after Asterix, moving further and further afield until one day it found its home with the one it sought in the Land of the Dead.

Asterix, too, had noticed it, and was sniffling a little. He reached out to Obelix, who gently scooped him up, still crying. Desperately, he clung to Obelix's neck. "Thank you—"

"Don't, don't thank me, if anything had happened to you—"

Their words degenerated into incoherent syllables as they held onto each other for dear life, weeping on one another's shoulders. All their pain, all their fear, all their uncertainty, all their misery, poured out of them in a torrent of cleansing tears.

Finally, Obelix put Asterix down gently, both of them still hiccupping a bit. "You really should meet our druid, O Druid," Asterix repeated, a bit hoarsely. "I'll send you a letter with Postaldistrix – that's our postman – when we get home, telling you when we'll be visiting. Probably in the wintertime, that's when the Romans lie low and it's safe for the three of us to leave the village for a bit."

"Getafix saved your life as much as our nursing did," Beatnix felt obliged to point out. "Without your potion, you wouldn't have made it through the first night."

Asterix frowned. Potion? "But they poured it away…" He shuddered.

Obelix's hand wrapped around his elbow. "Not all of it. I saved what was left. And the bag."

Asterix's voice rose in alarm. "The bag!"

"It's all right, it's all right. It's safe…" Obelix held out both hands.

"He's right, it is," said the druid. "Perfectly preserved in my larder, which is next to an ice-cold subterranean stream. You can continue on your journey as if nothing had happened." He looked to Obelix. "Well, except for one thing. As I was saying, this salve morning and night for as long as it lasts. Then this potion for pain if…"

Asterix looked on in bemusement. When had Obelix become his caretaker? Did this mean he was no longer useful? What had happened to him?

"Asterix," said the druid, "you're not feeling inadequate, are you?"

Asterix looked up. "Um…"

"I believe you are."

Asterix felt his face redden. "Well, no, it's just that if it hadn't been for Obelix, this whole mission would have been a shambles. I nearly ruined everything."

"Asterix!" Obelix cried, almost in pain. "If I hadn't left you alone while I went to hunt boar, none of this would have happened! It's my fault."

"If I'd been on the alert and not gone to sleep in a stranger's house, none of this would have happened. I know better than that. It's my fault."

"No, it's my fault!"

Asterix's voice rose. "Oh, so you think you have the monopoly on fault?"

"Well," Obelix matched Asterix's tone, "I don't know what monopoly is, but if it means it's my fault then yes!"

"HEY!" bellowed Beatnix. "NO FIGHTING!"

His voice bowled them over, a contrast to their own Getafix, who usually guilted them into stopping with subtle reproofs. They looked sheepishly up at him. "Sorry, O Druid."

"That's all right. Now, listen. It's perfectly normal for you to feel a bit frustrated and belligerent."

"Feel like thumping someone," Asterix explained in an aside to Obelix.

"Asterix, I know you wish you could just throw off your illness like a cloak. But the unfortunate fact remains that you will be weak for a while, and you will need to depend on Obelix more than usual. And I can tell you for a fact that he would be happy to do so. He gave you his life-energy to keep you alive, you know."

"What?" said Asterix and Obelix in unison.

"Did you never feel stronger, Asterix, when Obelix was touching you? Especially during the coughing fits?"

Asterix felt a shiver run through him. "Yes." His voice dropped. "I… At first, I kept seeing a light. When it was really bad. It would get brighter and brighter, and I'd feel I was leaving my body. It didn't hurt anymore…" He swallowed.

Obelix wore a grimace as though he himself was in pain. He inched closer to Asterix, wrapping a hand around his good shoulder like a lifeline. "Go on," said Beatnix.

"Then…" Asterix knit his brows in concentration. "Then I'd feel something warm. It felt like," he snapped his fingers as he recognized the sensation, "it was just like drinking the magic potion. Like suddenly being strong. And… and not alone." He nodded, unaware that he was doing it. "Then I'd come back. It still hurt, but somehow it was better." He looked up at Obelix with dawning horror. When he spoke, it was to the druid. "You mean… when that happened, I was leeching off his life?"

"Such language! He gave it freely, begged your soul to take it."

"I stole his life-force…" Asterix muttered, still trying to absorb it.

Beatnix actually found himself beginning to take offense. "Shame on you! A loving gift is a gift! You cannot steal what is freely offered!"

Asterix looked frantic. "Did it hurt him? Will it.." he swallowed hard, "…shorten his life?"

"No, no, no, no, no!"

"NOW LISTEN," Obelix pointed a finger at Asterix, "I'VE JUST ABOUT HAD ENOUGH OF BEING TALKED ABOUT AS IF I'M NOT HERE! NOW IF I DID DO WHATEVER HE SAID I DID, I DID IT BY CHOICE AND I'D DO ANYTHING A HUNDRED TIMES OVER IF IT MEANT I'D MAKE YOU THE LEAST LITTLE BIT MORE COMFORTABLE, NEVER MIND SAVING YOUR LIFE!"

"OH, EXCUSE ME FOR BEING WORRIED ABOUT YOURS!"

"EXCUSE YOU?" Obelix's voice softened. "Asterix, I'd give anything, do anything, to—to make sure you're all right. Living half my life with you is much nicer than living all of it without you."

"It won't shorten his life!" Beatnix cut across the arguing. "He's already recovered the strength he gave you with some sleep and a good meal."

Asterix shook his head, sitting down on a nearby stone. "By Toutatis," he muttered. "Wrong, this whole thing is wrong!"

"But I just told you—"

"No, I mean all of it is wrong! Feeling helpless! Being taken care of like an invalid!"

"You are an invalid, in case it had escaped your notice," retorted the druid. "And just how did you think you were going to salve your own back?"

"Obelix shouldn't have to take care of me!"

"Wait a moment, Asterix. If Obelix were as badly injured as you were – still are – would you begrudge him the time and care needed to treat his injuries?"

Asterix shuddered, unconsciously looking at Obelix to reassure himself he was all right. "Of course not, but…"

"Would there come a time when you felt, 'That's enough, he's taken up enough of my time', and left him to his own devices?"

Asterix blinked. "No, never."

"Then why do you deny him the same privilege?"

"Because I'm the one supposed to be taking care of things! Not Obelix! It's my job!"

"NOW JUST WAIT A MINUTE!" bellowed Obelix. "ARE WE FRIENDS OR ARE WE NOT?"

Asterix rose to his feet. "OF COURSE WE ARE!"

"AM I A MAKEWEIGHT OR AM I JUST AS IMPORTANT AS YOU?"

"A MAKEWEIGHT? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? OF COURSE YOU'RE IMPORTANT!"

"THEN WHY WON'T YOU LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU THE WAY YOU'D TAKE CARE OF ME?"

Asterix paused for a long moment. Then he smiled wryly. "Mea culpa, Obelix. Mea maxima culpa. You're quite right. I'm so used to being at the helm, I forget I've got you at the helm with me."

"Well," Obelix broke into a loving smile, "that's just silly."

The friends smiled at each other. "Not everything is on your shoulders, Asterix," said Beatnix, who had watched the exchange with bemusement. "You have friends who will help."

"And you're one of them." Asterix looked him straight in the eye. "We owe you more than we can ever repay."

The druid blushed and shuffled his feet. "Let me go and get your things."

A few hours later, they were all loaded up in the cart. The druid and Obelix had stuffed a mattress with straw and placed it in the rear, which had a tent over it like a covered wagon. "In you get," commanded the druid.

Asterix looked up at the rear and balked. The mattress looked comfortable, even inviting, but was this really what he was supposed to be doing? "I could take the reins for a while…" he said, feeling a lot like Cacofonix asking to be allowed to sing.

"You do know what 'druid's orders' means, don't you?"

"You said travel by cart," Asterix shuffled his feet and grinned sheepishly as Obelix and Beatnix fixed him with withering glares, "you didn't say anything about taking the reins…"

"Asterix," the druid sighed. "You've said you owe me. Will you do something for me?"

Asterix nodded.

"Good. Then… When you get the opportunity to rest, or take medicine, or receive treatments, will you imagine that it is Obelix in your place?"

Asterix shuddered, unconsciously wrapping his arms about his elbows. "I'd rather not."

"For example," the druid continued as though Asterix had agreed, "right now. Let us imagine that Obelix has been terribly injured. Let's say, burned badly."

Asterix shuddered. "We don't have to get too—"

"…Still in terrible pain. Half his body covered with scars," the druid sailed on, "his back and shoulders raw and still heali—"

The image of Obelix in agony, his freckled skin burned off and bleeding, made Asterix sick. "Get to the point!" he growled.

Beatnix smiled. "Would you tell him to take the reins, or lie in the back of the cart?"

"You must be joking! Take the reins in his condition? I'd make him lie down and get his rest whether he liked it or not!" Asterix suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked from Beatnix to Obelix, face turning red.

"That's what I want you to do," said Beatnix smoothly.

Snookered, Asterix climbed up into the rear of the wagon. The druid gave him a potion, which he drank. There must have been something in it to make him sleep, because he was snoring before they were properly away from Divodurum, the little dog curled up happily at his feet.

Obelix, at the reins, sneaked a peek at Asterix, sound asleep, the soft mattress cushioning his fragile body from the jolts and bumps of the road. His eyes were closed, little Dogmatix curled up at his feet.

There was quite a way to go before their next stop. But he'd take care of Asterix every step of the way. The mission would get finished and they'd win their bet. Asterix could make the plans, and he'd carry them out. They'd be all right.

Fixing his eyes on the horizon, Obelix let the road lead them forward.

THE END