-- Turpin : 5 years later, 86th year of the age of Arnaud. ---
Koliada had brushed the world with a pristine sheet of white. Snow frosted the branches of the Draugr pine that surrounded the small cabin that Sintija lived in on the outskirts of the village. Turpin stoked the fire and watched crimson flames lick up, blackening the logs. They were suited for the cold but they still enjoyed the warmth of a fire and each other. The scent of her lingered though he had not seen her since the morning. They had taken to spending their evenings together here on and off for two seasons to avoid his mother's well meaning but prying eyes.
Turpin's schedule was open and he was content to laze about to wait for Sintija to return from her morning patrol of the village. It was late afternoon when Sintija burst through the door. Snowflakes sparkled motes of light around her golden tresses as the ermine of her hood fell away. She was shaking with excitement as she started rummaging through her belongings.
"What happened?" Turpin felt the need to ask though he already knew what the answer was. He had never seen her so animated.
Sintija's cheeks flushed red as she glanced up at him for a moment from her weapons' trunk. "I've been called to the north," she gushed. She looked down when her news was met with a frown, her bow and quiver in her hands.
"To do what this time? Not moving another minya hini temple, I hope?" Turpin struggled to keep his voice neutral, there was nothing wrong with Sintija taking pride in her job. He took pride in being a smith, but then, people didn't try to kill him in the course of his duties. It tore his heart to see her so happy to possibly go to her death. The smile he managed was pained.
The flush of her cheeks deepened, Sintija's voice faltered. "N... no. A templar is headed towards the Havador, I am to intercept him before he crosses the boundary into the reaches. He can't reach the cavern."
Turpin's ears perked at the way she put the stress on the "him". He was suddenly filled with a sense of dread. "Surely, this isn't the templar that almost killed you last time."
"No," she replied as she closed the trunk. Her sword and dagger were quickly secured at her waist in their sheathes. She hesitated in answering but answered just the same. "This isn't Sir Arand. It's Sir Louvel."
His eyes narrowed. The way Sintija said the name made his heartache and his throat tighten. "Sir Louvel? What's his given name?" His fist clenched as he rose to his feet.
Sintija hesitated and reached for her travelling kit, still refusing to make eye contact with Turpin.
"Sintija. I deserve to know," he insisted, his jaw tightening.
"His name is Markos," came Sintija's wistful reply. Turpin was beside her in less than a heartbeat.
A resounding slap echoed across the walls of the small cabin. Sintija glared at Turpin in disbelief, lightly touching the white hand print he had left on her face. He couldn't stop himself, she tried to back away but he had caught her. "No. Give the mission to someone else," he growled, suddenly yelling.
"You don't get to make that choice, Turpin," her eyes blazed threateningly blue. He felt a jolt that made him let go of her. She held her hand against her face and he suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt. Disbelief shifted to betrayal before giving to rage within her eyes. Her shoulders were tense, as her hand at her side clenched into a fist around her bow.
He stared at his own had in disbelief. "Did I really hit her?" He wasn't sure why he was so angry or why he felt the need to lash out. Had she deceived him all this time? Or had he been lying to himself all this time? Wasn't she his partner? Wasn't he the one that received her wreath? He shook with anger.
Sintija drew up to her full diminutive height and shoved past Turpin towards the door, her kit in hand. "I had hoped to spend more time with you before I left but I can't trust you now," she stated without looking at him.
"Wait," Turpin reached out to touch her shoulder but stopped himself, afraid of what he might do. "You'll die if you go after him. He's no good for you! Look at what happened last time! Those humans are worse than animals! You saved that templar and he repaid your kindness with a Maraium blade!" He wanted to stay calm but he was shouting. "YOU ALMOST DIED! Why do you have to go!?"
"I am the one that was called," she turned to face him. Some of the color had returned to her face, he felt the building charge of the air. A warning of an approaching storm of his making. "Do not try to stop me. I have to go."
"Why am I wrong? I want you to live," he pleaded, his fingers tugging on her cloak. "Stay here with me. Be happy and safe here."
Sintija glanced over her shoulder at him. There was something about the look in those sky blue eyes that chilled him to the bone. "You do not understand. Laima is calling me and she won't be denied," Sintija's voice dropped into a whisper and he struggled to hear her. "I won't stop seeing his ghost if I don't go. She wants me to go to him, the longer I delay the more vivid the dreams get. I'll go mad without him." She yanked her cloak free and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door closed behind her. The walls shook in response to her constrained rage.
Turpin placed his hand over his aching heart. It all made sense now. His mother's comments, what Sintija said about being possessed by love, why Sintija had said that name on the night of the festival, the restlessness… he had hoped it was him. He thought he was Sintija's first love but he realized from the look in Sintija's eyes that he was wrong.
It was Markos.