The door across the hall crashed and splintered--Jaskier's heart caught in his throat as it resounded through the wall. Fuck--fuck--fuck--he was still blind. The shapes of the items in the study rose up in the inky blackness around him--a desk, leather chairs, a mantle, a dumbwaiter, a chessboard and chairs beside a curtain--the curtain!
Jaskier dove for it, threw the curtain open and found the window beyond had been boarded up. He stared in horror for a moment until his eyes grew used to the fine streams of moonlight that pierced through the space between the boards. The bottom boards had been pried loose and dropped down, cast outside toward the raging sea. Why? By a maid looking for fresh air? He had no idea why this one window lacked glass, why it had been left gaping when it faced the sea, why there was a decorative pennant of heavy vellum on it--who decorated broken windows?
This wasn't important--
His heart was in his throat--he didn't have time to wonder about ugly Cidarin decor--there was space to climb through if he had a mind to, if he'd had a few extra seconds. The ledge outside was narrow but he was desperate. Something pricked against the back of his neck, some vague instinctual warning, and Jaskier felt his pulse spike. He couldn't hear the Witcher, his ears were good, but even he wasn't that keen. He'd been around Geralt long enough, though, that he could usually feel when he was near--
Jaskier dove away from the window and scrambled to the heavy desk. He ducked under it and out of sight, went very still and held his breath. He could only hope the roaring crash of waves below was enough to drown out the frantic racing of his heart. He didn't have time to make another choice, to try to escape--something heavy and hard hit the door and he heard the cracking splinter as the latch broke away from the wood. The door swung in, bounced off the wall, and then it was just the sound of the waves.
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Jaskier dove for it, threw the curtain open and found the window beyond had been boarded up. He stared in horror for a moment until his eyes grew used to the fine streams of moonlight that pierced through the space between the boards. The bottom boards had been pried loose and dropped down, cast outside toward the raging sea. Why? By a maid looking for fresh air? He had no idea why this one window lacked glass, why it had been left gaping when it faced the sea, why there was a decorative pennant of heavy vellum on it--who decorated broken windows?
This wasn't important--
His heart was in his throat--he didn't have time to wonder about ugly Cidarin decor--there was space to climb through if he had a mind to, if he'd had a few extra seconds. The ledge outside was narrow but he was desperate. Something pricked against the back of his neck, some vague instinctual warning, and Jaskier felt his pulse spike. He couldn't hear the Witcher, his ears were good, but even he wasn't that keen. He'd been around Geralt long enough, though, that he could usually feel when he was near--
Jaskier dove away from the window and scrambled to the heavy desk. He ducked under it and out of sight, went very still and held his breath. He could only hope the roaring crash of waves below was enough to drown out the frantic racing of his heart. He didn't have time to make another choice, to try to escape--something heavy and hard hit the door and he heard the cracking splinter as the latch broke away from the wood. The door swung in, bounced off the wall, and then it was just the sound of the waves.