no good deed goes unpunished

Malmr sat in his rooms in Namarast, alone for the most part. Lucie slept in the room just across from his, and he’d be able to hear the soft way her breathing rose and fell if the winter wind didn’t howl so strongly outside his narrow window.

His jaw was aching again, which is what kept him up tonight. It took very little to steal his sleep these days, and he sat at the edge of his bed with his linked fists pressed against the bridge of his nose – a mockery of prayer when his thoughts stirred so dismally.

Earlier that day, he’d only gone so far as to shop for necessities for Lucie – clothes he thought might fit her, treats he could hide under the bed after her lessons with Agathias were over, toys for her and her new friend to play with.

He didn’t expect the wagon full of the accused to break through market like that, ruining an otherwise hopeful day. It hurt to look at it and do nothing but watch – so he turned away from it, guilt eating at him under his skin. He shouldered his gifts for Lucie and told himself that he might be able to do something for them later, in the prison cells, but not now.

When he turned, he nearly ran into someone with their hackles set so high, they might as well have been feral. The man snarled at him in a language Malmr had never heard before, shrugging their heavy furred cloak with a bitter sneer.

It was the long, roped scar across the back of their throat that gave them away. They didn’t pull their cloak up fast enough to hide the one defining characteristic from the Wanted posters that every Witchfinder was mandated to memorize.

“Wait,” Malmr took a step towards him, which was a mistake. The man instantly bolted, and Malmr chased after him on instinct. “Wait!”

The man pushed through the crowd violently, throwing market barrels behind him to bar his way. Malmr had to dance through raised voices and indignation, and Malmr was far from lithe. He lost ground quickly, only managing to snatch glimpses of that tattered fur between pressing bodies. "Stop!" Malmr yelled after him. "I just want to ask -!"

It was unfortunate that a group of Witchfinders rounded the corner at the exact wrong moment. Doubly so that it let Malmr catch up and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, far too breathless to get out the question he wanted to ask.

It was unfortunate that this was assumed to be the man’s capture. The man was recognized once he tried struggling away from him, and he was quickly swarmed.

....It was unfortunate that Malmr was given the credit for something he never intended to do, and the guilt crept up his throat like a hand made of ice, choking him. He just wanted to see if he might tutor Lucie. That’s all. The Wanted poster had damned him as a teacher of wild magics, and Malmr’d been spurred on by hope of helping Lucie as much as he could.

In the end, Malmr had been left with a heavy sack of gold in his hand for catching the ‘traitor to the crown’, and was left to watch, as cold as stone, as the mage was taken away kicking and screaming.

He’d handed the sack of gold to the first pair of hands he saw, and stiffly walked back to his rooms in the central tower of Namarast, where his jaw had begun to ache again.

By Geirr's grace, he could do nothing right these days.