Pride and Prejudice

'Hey, watch it!' Farkas yelled at his brother. In pain he dropped his great-sword and clutched at his shoulder. He stumbled backwards a bit. Vilkas instantly sheathed his weapon and removed his brother's hand from the injury. 'Let me have a look.'
Farkas cursed under his breath as his brother creased his face into a frown. The fabric of his shirt was torn and already blood-stained, The hit of Vilkas's axe had left a gaping wound.
'Sit down here and press some fabric to the cut,' Vilkas ripped a piece off of his own shirt and handed it to his twin. 'I'll get Tilma, she's gotta stitch that.' Farkas grimaced, he hated stitching.
Vilkas ran off and wondered why his brother had been so distracted, what had caused him to swallow one stroke after another. Surely Farkas wasn't the smartest person on nirn, but he never let down his guard in a fight. The twins were a seasoned team and when sparring together, they never had to wear a full set of armor. Maybe they'd have to reconsider that now. This irritated Vilkas, because a severe injury prevented one from training, which was never good. He hoped this wouldn't put his brother out of action for too long in the end.

Farkas threw his head back and contorted his face with pain. He really despised stitching. Most of the time he got out of having it done to a cut, but now it seemed necessary.
Tilma opened a small bottle whose content smelled of pure alcohol. She poured a little bit on a piece of cotton and applied it to Farkas's shoulder. He gave a whimper of pain and writhed. It burned like hell on the already aching arm.
'Don't be such a wimp,' His brother taunted. Vilkas held the injured arm tight, so Tilma, who was the companions' general servant, could work on the wound. A few of the whelps stopped by and watched Farkas, snickering. He didn't seem to recognize them, though. The elder woman shooed them away and after that didn't pay any attention to the big warrior's lamentation. She really asked herself why the two brothers out of all companions would rather endure such a painful procedure than just drinking a potion or visiting a healer. She shook her head over their false pride and continued treating the injury.
'And... done,' she said, after a sheer endless period of time. Tilma cut off the thin tendon she used for stitching the wound with a small knife and bandaged the strong Nord's arm.
Farkas slumped down on the spot. 'I need a drink,' he groaned and closed his eyes in relief, for the patching up was finally over.
'Just be more careful next time, boys.' The old woman gathered up her materials. 'And go easy on that arm of yours for the next few days, Farkas,' she called over her shoulder and left.
Vilkas laughed at the sight of his pretty exhausted looking brother. 'Now let's get you a strong mead you big wuss.'
'I'm no wuss,' Farkas grunted, heaving himself up. His shoulder was still very sore and he couldn't really move his left arm, even though it was all stitched up now. Vilkas snorted, but he knew better than to tease his twin brother too much, because at last his other arm was still fully functional.

They headed down to the 'Bannered Mare' and Farkas took a seat next to his brother near the fire place. He stared off into the flickering light, the pain in his shoulder deadening his mind. His brother ordered the strongest mead they offered at the inn and watched Farkas for a while as they waited.
'Could you tell me why that happened?' he asked him inquisitively. 'Do we need to wear full armor now for the simple training?'
Farkas grumbled something. Right now he wasn't capable of wrapping his mind around his brother's questions. He received his mead and emptied the bottle in one go.
Vilkas was a little worried. It almost seemed to him as if his brother had been... thinking hard about something this morning - and something of the kind didn't occur all too frequently.
'A girl?' he asked Farkas who was still gazing into the flames.
He huffed. It took a long time for him to respond. 'Yeah,' he said slowly, 'but not what you're thinkin'.'
Farkas turned silent again and his brother sighed.
'It's like pulling teeth with you. Can't you just tell me what is going on?'
The big Nord groaned and rolled his eyes at his brother, for he really disliked it when he was quizzed by him like that.
'I dunno,' he said. 'It's that Khajiit- that Cat-Person.' The pain was really blocking his mind. 'Met her here yesterday. Kinda felt sorry for her... she tried to drown some trouble with the mead.' He used his healthy arm to order another drink.
'You know the cats can't be trusted,' His brother reminded him.
'Yeah, told me that before. Think she's different, though.' Farkas eyed him, a grim expression on his face. Vilkas couldn't tell whether it came from the pain or because he had probably angered his twin.
'And what makes you think so?'
'Well,' Farkas growled, 'the Khajiit aren't normally allowed to enter the city, are they?'
Vilkas nodded slowly. 'True,' he admitted and drank up his bottle of mead, too. 'So what exactly is the matter now?'
'Hm. I invited her to Jorrvaskr to join us, talked to the old man about it.' Farkas yawned, the pain in his shoulder made him sleepy. Or maybe it was the alcohol, he wasn't sure. Maybe both. 'He said I could test her skills when she'd arrive.' The Nord let out an angered groan again, thinking of his arm. 'And now I can't!'
Vilkas quickly worked over the possibilities in his mind. Perhaps he could persuade Kodlak to change his mind and think this through again. They already had an elf in their group and to the grim warrior this was by far enough. Although, he had to concede this to the Dunmer: he could fight like a true Nord. No fancy magic, just blade to blade. Still, he disliked the idea of a Khajiit possibly joining them. Most of them were thieves and sneaky creatures in general.
'You don't think it's a good idea, do ya?'
Vilkas shook his head, 'No, not really.'
His thoughts suddenly darted back to a rather unpleasant event in his life. Both their lives. When they were but little kids, their mother had brought them into the deep forest surrounding Falkreath - one of the smaller cities of Skyrim - and had abandoned them there. Vilkas was aware of the fact that they had actually been way too young to even know about this, but on the other hand – his memory had always been impressive. The twins had been scared and at sundown they had become completely lost in the woods. Vilkas recalled a few black-robed men who had suddenly appeared, taking the two brothers with them. They had ended up in a cold, dark cave then. A male Khajiit with a black cowl had tied the two little boys up, and began throwing strange spells at them, chanting eerily. Every day he had given them the promise they could soon return to their mother, but the twins would never see her again.
This horror had continued for days, no matter how much the children had cried or begged for mercy, the Khajiit necromancer just had not let them go. That was, until one day a man with the armor of the wolf had broken into the cave to slay the black-robed robed wizards, including the Khajiit who had tortured the little children. The warrior had rescued the boys and later came to be the man who they called their father. Vilkas knew for sure that his brother was oblivious to all of this. Their father Jergen had never told them the full story, but the smart Nord knew about it anyway. Since then he loathed the Khajiit for what they were to him: gruesome beasts, liars and deceitful creations of the gods.
At this moment he was boiling with rage, but focused on suppressing his frenzy for the sake of peace and quiet. Farkas clearly couldn't remember any of it and Vilkas was far from willing to tell him. If his brother had blocked out that memory, it was probably for his own good.
Farkas now darted an angry glance at his twin, but it didn't impress Vilkas a lot. He shifted his weight on the log in front of the warming fire.
'We'll just see if your precious lute's gonna make it through the first night.'
'She wouldn't steal.' The big warrior didn't like Vilkas's prejudice concerning the feline-folk.
The two brothers exchanged a hasty glance, they rarely disagreed on a subject, but when they did, it always formed a deep chasm between them.
'I'm just saying the Jarl wouldn't prohibit them from coming into town without reasons.'
'You always say not to mess with politics,' Farkas muttered angrily.
Vilkas tried hard not to loose his temper. 'This is not about politics, fool. It's a matter of... trust. The companions are a group that fights for honor and for glory. See, I simply cannot trust the Khajiit, they have no honor within them!'
Farkas remained stubborn. 'That's what you say. But where's the honor in judging someone by their race, brother?' with that said he stood up and left the inn.

I know that it seems to be common lore that Farkas and Vilkas were rescued from a group of necromancers by Jergen, but I personally have no clue if this official TES-lore. (I know it's sad) So I just decided to go with it and partly take up the issue in this chapter.