Every few minutes he shuffled his feet to ward off the chill seeping through the bottom of his boots. He alternated keeping his hands in his pockets or outstretched toward the fire. It was a crude one, sunken as it was into the bottom of a barrel. But it worked. The layers he wore created a cocoon of warmth around the rest of his body. And although they made him feel bulky and noticeable, Wyatt knew he could still disappear into the shadows if needed.
Watchman. It was his night and his eyes continued to roam around the area, casually and systematically familiarizing himself with every movement, shadow and whisper. The breath that left his lips in a silent sigh, pooled in front of him as a soft white cloud. A glance at the fire let him know he’d have to add wood before too long.
Wyatt quietly wandered over to one of the piles and knelt to bundle several logs into his arms. The movement was stiffer than usual because of the heavy jacket. As he turned and rose in a fluid motion, his gaze landed on a lone figure approaching. Squinting against the icy wind that rushed past him, Wyatt estimated the height and weight of the stranger. It was impossible to see yet if there were weapons. He moved back toward the fire, depositing all but one log into the pile.
As the stranger in the heavy coat and dark navy wool hat grew closer, he held his arms out to his sides with palms open. “I come in peace,” he called out quietly.
His shoulders tense, Wyatt nodded and allowed him closer. Strangers didn’t often wander here, but better to have the man close than drifting in the shadows. “It’s a cold night to be out.”
“It is at that. Do you mind?” The man reached his hands toward the warmth of the fire. His hands were clean but had a roughness to them that spoke of hard use at one time. After a few moments, one hand stretched out directly toward Wyatt. “I’m Ned, by the way.”
“Wyatt.” He shook the man’s hand, surprised by the confident grip and found himself meeting the assuring smile across from him.
“Probably not the help you had been hoping for?” Ned asked with a chuckle. “I’m not as useless as I look”
“No one’s useless,” Wyatt replied quietly. He warmed his hands at the fire, keeping them available. “Who sent you?”
The wind cut through them again and Ned pulled his coat tightly around his neck. “They said you guys were wearing a bit thin, but it took a while to get here.”
Wyatt reached over and pulled a thick scarf from a bag near the makeshift benches. Tossing it over to the man, he replied, “You certainly didn’t come prepared.”
“Passed a few others who needed it more than I did at the time. Thanks.” Ned gratefully wrapped it around his neck, tucking the ends into his woolen coat. The layer shielded him from the chill and he finally started to warm up again.
Wyatt continued to glance into the shadows.
“Has it been rough?” Ned asked quietly.
“We manage.”
“I can see that.” As he spoke, he gazed around at the men sleeping in clusters, bundled against the cold and against frostbite.
“Who sent you?” Wyatt asked again.
“My father,” Ned replied, staring at the flames. When he saw Wyatt’s gaze he added, “Daniel Arthur Burton.”
“You expect me to believe that you’re Prince Edward?” Wyatt scoffed.
The clouds overhead shifted restlessly with the wind that was moving in from the west. For brief minutes at a time, moonlight streaked through the shadows adding highlights to the grey scene. Ned studied Wyatt’s face, meeting the hard skeptical look without flinching. He’d met plenty men like him over the years. He knew what their position required.
They were silent for several minutes before Ned finally nodded and moved to sit down. The benches were pieces of log and wood that had been scrapped together. Rough but secure enough to hold the heaviest of them. He ran his hands over his face a few times, attempting to transfer some of the fresh warmth of his hands.
Wyatt caught sight of the signet ring on Ned’s right hand, the blue stone buried in the middle glinted against the firelight for a fraction of a second before disappearing in darkness again.
“How many fires have you stood by like this, alone?”
“Too many. We tend to be forgotten.”
“Never forgotten,” Ned said quietly. “And my father hasn’t forgotten his promise to you, either.”
“King Daniel is a good man,” Wyatt replied gruffly. It had been many years since they had worked closely together, but the character of the man had been solid as granite. His eyes drifted closed at the strength of the memory, breathing deeply as it washed over him. He didn’t let himself remember often, but those had been days full of hope. And hope was wearing thin.
“I know I’m not what you expected.”
“Expected.”
“When you asked for a sign.”
“Who says I asked for a sign?”
Ned smirked. “My father. We’re going I circles here, Wyatt.”
After a moment, the older man placed a few pieces of wood into the fire, sending sparks toward the sky. They danced in the wind before vanishing completely.
“He knew you were starting to lose hope, so he sent me.”
“Never said anything about hope,” Wyatt grumbled.
“You didn’t have to; he could hear it in your message. I’m here so that you can know that your king has not forgotten you, Wyatt,” Ned told him. “In the freezing cold, sitting by a fire, in the middle of the night.”
Wyatt stared at him, gauging the weight and truth of the younger man’s words. He had his father’s eyes. Rich, intent and full of compassion. “Why now?”
“I only know what he’s told me. I didn’t get the ‘why’ this time, just trusted him on this one. You’re important to him, so you’re important to all of us.” Ned rubbed his hands together and looked around at the sleeping men, thankful their conversation hadn’t woken anyone.
“I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“He still knows you.”
Wyatt’s shuddering breath was the only response. As the fire strengthened, he realized that his body was no longer tense and his shoulders sagged carefully with relief.
“We can chat if you like, but I believe the intention was for you to rest,” Ned added, glancing up toward the sky. The clouds had either dissipated or blown past, leaving a clean line of sight to the hundreds of stars beyond.
“Rest.”
“Correct.”
Wyatt’s expression was perplexed and uncomfortable. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t tell if it was a suggestion or command, he wasn’t sure what rest was anymore.
“Wyatt, you’ve always taken the toughest assignments, the coldest and hardest watches. That’s why you’re running a fire in the middle of the night, on Christmas Eve, so they don’t have to,” Ned said quietly. He studied the older man, waiting until they could make eye contact. “Go rest. That’s why I’m here.”
He acquiesced and sat down on another bench warily. Rest. In a life of constant vigilance, rest was a weakness. But now his king was telling him to rest. Ned didn’t say another word, but stood closer to the fire, eyes roaming the lines of the forests and village.
As the wind wrapped around him, Wyatt stretched out across the bench, staring silently up at the sky. And ever so softly, Ned was singing into the night.
They looked up and saw a star shining in the east, beyond them far; and to the earth it gave great light, and so it continued both day and night.
Noel, noel, Noel, noel, Born is the King of Israel
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