Calling lunch awkward would be a polite lie. Orla was chatting away, obviously enjoying the unexpected company, while the Companions desperately tried to avoid each other's eyes.
“Love, how come your friend is so quiet?“ she finally asked Hagen. He only shrugged in reply. “He's always been shy.“ The priestess of Dibella just chuckled. “Well, he certainly wasn't shy when I met him for the first time.“ Farkas tried not to blush at her suggestive wink. Now that she mentioned it, he did remember a short fling with her. She was terribly grateful back then when he saved her life, but he hadn't thought of the encounter in years. It just wasn't really worth remembering.
After eating up as fast as he could, he desperately looked for an excuse to flee the manor, when once again Orla beat him to it. “So, how does the armour-fitting go?“ Hagen and Farkas looked at each other for a split second. Armour fitting? The young woman noticed the confused glances and added as an afterthought “That is what you did down there.... or am I mistaken?“
Hagen intervened immediately. “Of course, what else could we possibly do down there. It goes well enough I suppose.“
Farkas swallowed.
“I see...“ Orla, however, did not seem to be convinced. “Well, since we are lucky enough to have another seasoned warrior in the house for the day, maybe the two of you could go out and hunt us something nice for dinner?“ She shot an accusing glance towards Hagen. “You see, Farkas, my dear husband has promised for days now to bring home some fresh game, but he always seems to have more important things to do down in that basement of his. Maybe you could go hunt together?“ she sent Farkas a pleading look, but he could not stand to be in Hagen's presence any longer than necessary. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid...“ - “Of course we will go hunting together. That's what he's here for, after all.“ Hagen interrupted him, shooting him a glance that threatened death should he dare contradict him.
Farkas just took another gulp of mead. How was he supposed to survive this day?

After lunch Hagen left the table to search his armory for a bow for Farkas. The Companion found himself alone with his friend's wife, and at a loss of words. Orla just looked at Farkas who tried to look as unsuspicious as possible, which – since he was Farkas – failed miserably. Her eyes, earlier so full of joy and affection, now seemed appraising and cold.
“I do love him, you know” she said all of a sudden. Farkas was unable to hold her gaze and quickly took another gulp of mead. “I know. You are his wife after all.” “That does not necessarily mean anything. People marry for many reasons.” Farkas just nodded. He was well aware that, especially in Skyrim, not all weddings were based on love. “I was lucky enough to marry the man I could easily consider my best friend...” Orla continued. Farkas just wanted to be anywhere else but here, talking about anything but Hagen. Yet there was no escape. He could only pray that his friend might find their weapons soon and get him out of here. For once his prayers were heard as the dragonborn returned to the dining area before Orla was able to finish whatever speech she had come up with.
She spared Farkas one last glance as the Companions got ready for the hunt. “Take care of my husband for me, Farkas.”
“I will, I promise.”
Hagen swallowed nervously.