Three weeks had gone by with no sign of Farkas and Vilkas's mean streak reared it's ugly head. Since he was a child Vilkas had always had the tendency to be rather mean. And when he said something to you when he was in a mean mood, he would say something that hurt. The things Vilkas would say would make you cry. He never meant it though. He just angrily lashed out at people when he was hurting. It was just how he coped.
Vilkas was shocked at himself that he'd lasted two weeks before lashing out. He guessed Farkas's smell kept him okay. But the other's sent was starting to fade and Vilkas grew frantic as he tried to find anything that held the smell of his twin. Shirts, pants, shoes, furs, even weapons. But by the third week, Farkas's sent was no where to be found in Jorrvaskr, and that was when Vilkas got mean.
To try and not upset anyone, Vilkas locked himself in Farkas's room, only coming out for the bathroom or for food and drink or for more ink for his quill or even for a stick or charcoal. So, basically, he never left that room. Vilkas had cried so much those three weeks, he thought he'd become dehydrated.
He sighed and looked down at the paper before him. Another drawing of Farkas, but this one was different. Farkas was drawn looking off to the side, hand on his neck and smiling with one eye brow was the sort of face Vilkas got a lot from his brother and it was a look he hated. So why did he draw it? All the other looks he'd drawn on Farkas's face were angry, embarrassed, sad or happy.
But this one look. The look that read "are-you-fucking-serious-right-now?", why did he draw it?
Okay, so maybe deep down, Vilkas liked the look. Maybe it reminded him that he and Farkas were still brothers and were always going to be childish around one another. Vilkas felt himself tearing up again. He sighed and lied down on Farkas's bed, cuddling the pillow, wishing it was Farkas.
A loud, deep, and boisterous voice suddenly sounded throughout the lower levels of the building. Vilkas cringed, knowing who the voice belonged to. The doors to the room slammed open and Vilkas looked up at the grinning Dragonborn, a Nord most called Lurch because of the way the man lurched forward sometimes. Lurch's peppy aura quickly diminished seeing Vilkas's sad look.
Lurch sat on the bed next to the other man and sighed. "He'll come back, Vilk." he murmured. "Really he will. I promise." Vilkas rolled over, not wanting to deal with the Dragonborn right now. Lurch huffed and threw a sweetroll at Cicero, who was blabbing away about nothing, as per usual. "I'll find him, if you want."
"You look for my brother, I go too, whelp."
Lurch pouted and crossed his arms. He was the Harbinger for Talos sake. He sighed and got up. "Let me know when we can leave." he said, closing the door behind him.
Vilkas finally let go and started crying. He needed Farkas around right now. He needed Farkas to walk in and wrap him up in a big bear hug and hold him close, whispering apologizes and reassurances into his ear. Farkas would just sit like that and hold Vilkas until both fell asleep. Vilkas had taken care of his twin a lot when they were kids, so in adult hood, it was Farkas who took care of Vilkas, and Vilkas needed his brother's guidance. Farkas may have come off as the dim-witted brute others loved to called him, but he was actually very smart.
Farkas used short, easy to say words because he was a blunt person, not because he was dumb. Farkas could have easily talked a Silver Hand into becoming a werewolf had he wanted to. Farkas was an excellent blacksmith too. Had he wanted to be, Farkas could have easily been the thief type with his stealth skills so damn good.
Vilkas stood up and put on his armor and grabbed his weapons. It was time to goo looking for his twin. "Lurch!" he called heading towards the door that lead upstairs. "Let's go! It's high time we find my brother and bring him home!"