Fey’ans jumps around in surprise. He had thought he had closed the door, but apparently not, and was visibly embarrassing himself in front of one of the most lowliest of the household.
“As if I need the help from you. You can barely dress yourself with that injury still,” he bites. He wriggles around trying to adjust himself to catch his other sleeve. He had gotten one sleeve on but it had slipped out of his good hand and was struggling to recatch it. If only he had two functional shoulders at the moment he’d be able to shrug things on a bit better.
“You. Tell. No one,” he orders aloud.
Daedra had been watching him for a few moments before she got the nerve to speak up. She hadn’t meant to spy, but the strange shuffling and mumbled cussing would have drawn anyone in ear shot.
She’d been just about ready to rush off in her usual embarrassment, when his barked order made her jump to attention. The maid nodded her head before stepping into Fey’ans’ room to assist.
“Y-Yes, Master Fey’ans, I will,” she said while reaching to grab the bits of his robe. It took her a moment to realize what she’d said, before she hurried made to correct herself.
“–I–I mean I won’t!— say anything to anyone….”
Before anything else could be uttered incorrectly, Daedra shut her lips and went about opening the arm holes wide enough behind him so he could ease him limbs into them.
As she lifted it to rest on his shoulders, she couldn’t help but ask how he’d gotten as he was.
“How did you hurt yourself, Master Fey’ans? You didn’t fall from Cormath… did you?”