She looked at home in front of the forge, her hair pinned out of her face and a blacksmith apron tied twice around her middle. The sun had only been in the sky for about three hours, but it seemed as if Mara had been at work for quite some time. Farkas had half a mind to lean against the stone, content to simply watch her, but she sensed someone and turned her head.

"Good morning," she greeted, her cheeks pink from the heat. She held what looked to be part of a pauldron over the fire with a pair of metal tongs.

"Morning," he replied. "What's that you got there?"

"Eorlond is letting me practice techniques for finishing armor." She gestured with her chin at what looked to be two pots stacked one atop the other she had set up near the anvil. "You put a small amount of water in the first pot, then beeswax in the second. Place both pots over heat until the wax melts, and then add in oil. After, you rub the mixture onto your metal and heat the piece over a fire."

"And it turns out brown?"

She nodded. "At first. If I keep this up and let the mixture burn off evenly, it will eventually turn a black color that will look lovely once it's buffed and polished." She had seen her father do a similar process countless times, but she had never gotten the opportunity to learn how for herself. "This is a scrap piece he wasn't happy with, so if I mess up, it's of no importance."

Farkas leaned against the stone wall. "You've been up here since coming back from your trip, haven't you?"

Mara looked away. "Yes, I have. I couldn't sleep, so I came up here." The Skyforge had become a sort of refuge, a place where she could go and think when nightmares of Helgen burning woke her. If Eorlund was awake and at work, he never asked questions when she made her way up the stairs and besides giving her some mindless task to keep her hands busy, he left her to her thoughts, which she appreciated.

"You never told anyone where you went." It had been unlike her. Every one of the Companions took some time away from Jorrvaskr to do some job or another; he himself had only been back for a few days after a weeklong excursion north to take care of a request. In the three months that Mara had been with them, she'd only left Whiterun perhaps a handful of times, and each time she'd been back within a day or two.

Apparently, this time she'd been gone nearly as long as he had. She still hadn't shown up a day after he had gotten back, and if she hadn't returned before dawn that very morning, he would have gone out to search for her, lingering aches and fatigue from travel be damned.

She'd looked terrible when she entered the hall. Gone was her usual cheery self; her skin was pale and it looked as if she hadn't gotten much sleep. He had wanted to do something to take the grim look off her face, but he hadn't known what to say. Instead, he had muttered a brief welcome home, Sister to her and watched as she limped down the stairs. Still concerned, he had followed her down, stopping at the door where the lower level Companions slept. He found her sitting at the edge of her bed, her head down and arms draped protectively around her pack. It had taken everything in him to turn away instead of wrapping his arms around her and asking what he could do to ease whatever burden she carried.

Mara bit her lip. "I took a trip south."

"South is pretty vague. Did you trade some of those daggers you'd been working on with Alvor in Riverwood?" She had gone off on a day trip some time ago and had come back with a pack full of iron ore, which she then spent an entire afternoon at Warmaiden's smelting down into ingots that she then hauled back up to the Skyforge. For hours, he could hear the forge's hammer strike down on metal, the sound lighter than what Eorlund usually made, telling Farkas that Mara was the one at the anvil. The finished result was a case full of razor sharp iron daggers with sturdy leather wrapped hilts. He recalled that she had been particularly pleased with them, even if she had doubts that she could get the asking price of ten septims each when she tried to sell them at the market.

"Yes, and he bought all of them." She tilted the tongs and inspected the now blackened piece of armor. Nodding her head in satisfaction, she set the still hot piece on the forge's stone ledge to cool. Taking a breath, she looked back up at him. "After, I went to Helgen."

Ah. Now he understood the look on her face early this morning. "You could have asked me to come along," he told her. "You could have asked any of us to come with you," he quickly amended, tongue tripping over words he wanted to say yet didn't know how to properly express them.

She shook her head. "No, this was something that I had to do by myself." Busying herself by straightening up her workstation, she untied her apron and held it close to her chest. She had put off visiting her hometown for months, mostly because she didn't want to face the reality that her parents and many of her friends were dead. In Whiterun, she could pretend that she was being sent off to an apprenticeship that her father had arranged for her so she could better learn their craft. She often lingered in the marketplace, pretending that she was scoping out the stalls to see where her mother's wares would be best suited to sell at good prices. On the road, she could imagine that she was either going to or coming from a successful trip to one of the bigger holds to sell her father's weapons and armor, but once she saw the charred remains of Helgen's walls, she had been faced with the harsh reality that all she knew and all she had loved were gone.

"Bandits had made their home in the town. There weren't many; I dealt with them all." That had enraged her. To see thugs skulking around familiar places, to witness thieves sift through what few possessions remained within the home of a boy she had once been sweet on was unforgivable. To actually see someone pick through her father's shop and try on his wares had sent her into such a fury that she had seen red. Common sense had stopped her from taking her axe from the loop at her belt and unleashing all her pent up anger. Opting for stealth instead, she had switched to her bow. Mara had been quite the tomboy in her childhood. Out of all the other children in the village, she was the one that knew all the best hiding spots. That knowledge had served her well, providing her with vantage points to pick off her prey before they had even known what had hit them.

After she had been sure she had killed the last bandit, she made her way back to her home. It had survived the worst of the dragon's fire, but the roof of her father's shop had partially collapsed. She had lingered there for some time, remembering the last time she had seen her parents. Both of them must have taken refuge in the cover the shop had provided, never thinking that the place that had supplied their livelihood would have inadvertently caused their deaths.

"Are you all right?" Farkas asked. Mara might have been standing beside him just then, but she was miles away.

She nodded. "I spent the night in my old room," she told him. "I barricaded the front door and reinforced the windows in case more bandits arrived. Our house was one of the lucky ones; there was hardly any damage and for some reason, looters had left it alone." She held up the apron she was holding. "This was my father's spare apron. He often…" she had to stop, her breath solidifying in her throat. "He would often let me wear it when I helped him. He always said that one day it would be mine, but I don't think he meant for me to have it this way."

Farkas was at a loss. "Don't cry," he quietly said, stepping closer to her. Women in tears unnerved him more than anything else.

"I'm not crying," she replied, her lip quivering. She had thought it odd that she couldn't shed a single tear when she walked among the destruction, but it seemed as if the dam she had created to hold all her feelings back had finally broken.

"Of course you aren't." Farkas' arms automatically went around her and she leaned into him, her sobs muffled by his shoulder.

"Imperials must have come back after," she said after some time, her voice wobbling. "I found the gravesites. Someone had been able to identify the dead, because everyone had a marker." At the back of the graveyard, there was a giant tree Mara's mother had often admired in the fall when the leaves turned blazingly red and orange. It had almost seemed fitting that she and Mara's father had been put to rest directly underneath its shade. "I stayed away for so long because I didn't want to face the truth. My family is dead, Farkas. I have no one left."

Farkas awkwardly pat her back, wondering what he should say. He was positive that Vilkas would have had some words of comfort to offer, but he was coming up empty. "You have us," he finally settled on. "We can't replace your birth family, but you're never alone as long as you have a Shield Sibling."

"You mean that?"

"I do."

Mara sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "It's not like Skjor has given me anything to do besides mend his socks."

Farkas grinned, relieved that he saw a glimmer of Mara's normal self peeking through her grief. "Ah, he's only dragging his feet because he wants to send you off on something good to prove your worth. Nothing big has come up yet, but give him time." He watched as she yawned, her hand unable to hide the way she wavered on her feet. "You haven't slept much, have you?"

She shook her head. "I caught a few hours in Helgen, but every little noise woke me up. You can't really sleep on the road and I wanted to get back as soon as possible, so I didn't stop in Riverwood." She had spent more than one day in Helgen, taking time to hide valuables she hadn't been able to carry in places that looters wouldn't think to look. Between checking her shoulder every so often for intruders and fortifying her family home, there hadn't been much time for sleep.

"Then come on. You need your rest." He led her down the path and into Jorrvaskr, pausing only long enough so that a handful of others awake could call out their greetings to her. Taking her hand, Farkas led her downstairs and down the hall.

"Wait, you passed my room."

"I know. I said you needed rest, and if you were sleeping out in the open, someone will probably wake you up just by moving around." He held open his door. "So you can borrow my room. Don't worry, I don't charge rental fees."

She smiled. "I think this is the first time I've been in here." Looking around, she raised her eyebrow. "Is that a bar over there?"

He shrugged and looked sheepish. "I like my creature comforts. Sometimes it gets too cold in the winter to make the walk down to the Mare."

She placed the folded apron on top of the bar. "I'm shocked that Torvar hasn't made himself at home yet."

"He tried, but I learned to hide the alcohol. When he saw that the bar wasn't stocked, he lost interest." He watched as Mara toed off her boots and slid underneath the furs he had atop his bed. "Well…" Farkas absently rubbed at the back of his head. "I'll leave you to it. Sleep well."

He stopped short when she reached for his hand. "It's been so lonely on the road and after visiting Helgen…" Her voice sounded small, vulnerable. "Will you stay, at least until I fall asleep?"

Farkas really didn't have to think about it. He knew he was lost the moment Mara had looked up at him with those big blue eyes of hers. "Until you fall asleep," he agreed, sitting on the side of the bed to take his boots off. There was a brief moment of figuring out where arms and legs went – the bed was built for only one Farkas-sized occupant, not for two people – but they wound up with Mara facing the wall and Farkas spooned behind her. He had initially thought that the position would be cramped, but he discovered that sharing such a small space underneath the furs was rather cozy.

"I want to go back," she said. "I could only carry a few of Father's tools in my pack, but I want to get more things from the house, especially items that Mother had made. It's silly to be so attached to things, but…"

Farkas shook his head. "It isn't silly. I'll go with you whenever you want."

Mara laced her fingers with his. "Thank you. For everything."

He lay there listening as her breathing evened out, but instead of easing his arm from where she had dragged it across her waist, he settled further against the pillow and inhaled the scent of her hair. He normally associated the smoky, metallic scent with Eorlund, but the smells of the forge seemed to mingle with whatever lightly floral scented soaps Mara favored, creating something pleasantly new.

Lulled by the soothing sound of her heartbeat, Farkas tightened his hold on Mara and eventually followed her into slumber.