He felt the ravaging symptoms of what ailed him course through his being. It was worse than what he remembered. His head pounded as his nose continuously filled itself with mucus whenever he brought a rag to his face with intent of purging the foul, brightly colored nasal slime in the first place. Soft lights from the candles became mini suns in sheer brightness, furthering the pain that surged through his head. The slightest sound was almost unbearable to listen to, and he was by no means a stranger to heightened hearing. The only difference was that at least that his formerly heightened senses did not overload him to the extent that his current affliction was doing.

Next to his bed were several glasses of water and two - or was it three, he could not tell with the intense headache causing his vision to blur - buckets. Their sole purpose being so that he could relieve his stomach of bile, which happened once every two hours minimum. Occasionally, the rags he used to blow his nose would find themselves unceremoniously thrown into one of the buckets.

Aside from the pain that went on a ceaseless rampage in his head, his muscles had pain that was just as bad tearing through them. The slightest shift in position set fire down his limbs. His throat was in a fiery pain of its own class, putting the Alik'r Desert to shame. Well, that is if unquestionable thirst counted as pain. If it did not, then it should. His throat felt like it would crack and bleed at any moment if the dryness was not sated soon.

Then there was the matter of temperature. He could not tell if he was the one who hot or if the world around him became a blazing realm of Oblivion. Whenever he brought a hand to his forehead to clear away the sweat, his skin would feel clammy and viciously cold, furthering to his confusion over whether or not he was getting too hot or not.

Being sick was just awful. He could not go and see what his fellow shield siblings were up to. Whether or not if Athis and Njada started yet another brawl over something not-so-important and amusing. If Tovar was actually training for once like he recommended the lazy drunkard to do time and time again. Spying on what his twin was up to with Ria. Seeing what Aela caught on one of her hunts. Then there was the question of what New Kodlak was up to. Unlike Kodlak, who kept himself stowed away in his room and talked to anyone when he or she were in need of advice, New Kodlak was usually out and about running more errands than Farkas could keep track of on his not-sick days.

On another note, New Kodlak should ask for help from the other Companions a little more often rather than handle everything alone all the time in Farkas's opinion. Doing everything yourself was generally a bad move, and even Farkas himself knew that. You were pretty much asking for some form of trouble if you went off without a shield-sibling on almost any job. That even counted the occasions where what was supposed to be a lone troublemaker happened to have a few extra troublesome buddies that no one knew about.

Overall, Farkas was missing all of the good stuff that was going on. All on the account of the blasted sickness that struck him a few days after curing himself of another disease, one that doubled as a horrible curse. One that had ensnared his very soul. He wanted to be out and about swinging his big sword during his own training sessions and sharing a toast with his twin to fully being men like they were prior to falling for the same trick and curse that all other Circle members had fallen into, especially in the past. Being sick was by no means what he had in mind when it came to celebrating. All it did was dampen his usual good mood and deny him a well earned celebration of his freedom with his brother.

A knock sounded on Farkas's door. The sick Companion let out a hoarse "Come in," prompting for the person outside his room to open the door. It was his twin, Vilkas, who was holding tray that had a bowl of warm soup, a loaf of bread, and a potion bottle on top of it. Farkas slowly propped himself up in his bed, allowing Vilkas to put the tray on his lap.

"I told you to pack more furs for that trip, brother," Vilkas said with a sigh as he pulled up a chair beside Farkas's bed. "Just because Nords can tolerate the cold better than most doesn't mean we're immune to it."

Farkas gave a sheepish chuckle between coughs. "Guess I kinda forgot that."

Farkas dug into his soup slowly, not entirely feeling hungry but knowing his body needed the energy that the soup would provide. Or at least that was what the healers at the Temple of Kynareth had told him. He would not question their advice if it meant getting back on his feet sooner.

For the next several moments, he ate in silence as Vilkas sat next to him to provide company. That was until an odd and possibly stupid thought popped up in his head.

"Don't you sometimes miss it?"

Vilkas furrowed an eyebrow in confusion, "Miss what, brother?"

"You know, not worrying about getting sick all the time."

Vilkas shook his head, "The costs were not worth it. Maybe at one point, if I had relinquished the curse when I knew nothing of the drawbacks, I would have missed it and the endurance to fight longer than the most highly trained soldiers in all of Tamriel. With what I know now about the blood through Kodlak's research, I am very thankful to be rid of it."

Farkas did not disagree with his brother's words. After all, Vilkas was usually right about the majority of things. The subject of the curse that they once shared was one of them with no doubt. Farkas had been lucky to have an easier time with the wolf spirit that had burrowed deep into his soul. However, he was well aware that Vilkas had not shared that fortune for reasons that he could not think of both then and now. And just knowing that his egg-headed twin had been suffering in that way crushed him. And that was not getting into the effects such as restless sleep, if you could actually get to sleep in the first place, various bodily aches and pains from shifting between one form into another and back again, an overcrowded mind as the wolf spirit injected thoughts of hunting and shifting into its host at the most unwanted of times, the soul being denied entry into Sovngarde in death, and much more that Farkas could not think of off the top of his head.

"I hear you," Farkas said with a grin.

Another moment of silence and coughing passed before Farkas spoke up again, "You want to go slay a dragon with me? To celebrate our good fortune."

Vilkas smiled back warmly as he handed his brother a fresh rag to clean up the new wave of mucus that was coming out of his nose, "Let's focus on you getting better first."