โฑ โ โโ even as children โโ a link has bound us, one to the other. โโ
among the oldest records preserved beneath silvermere lies mention of a phenomenon so rare that even within house silverlance it has appeared only a handful of times throughout the centuries. it is said that before dragons became the pride of valyria, there were those whose magic did not command flame, but blood. sorcerers who forged covenants not only between dragon and rider, but between kin; believing that no power surpassed two lives willingly intertwined. the oldest scrolls do not describe such children born of this as merely twins. they are two bodies, one soul, born beneath the same stars โโ and bound by blood older than the freehold itself. though the rites themselves were lost long before the doom, proof of its existence remains within the blood of house silverlance.
when these children are born, they are recognized immediately โโ both bear the royal mark, both inherit the same bond... and neither will ever truly walk the world alone. their connection is neither telepathy nor prophecy. thoughts cannot be read, nor words spoken across impossible distances. instead, it is something far older, far simpler. instinct. recognition โโ a shared thread woven into flesh itself.
pain belongs to them both. if one suffers injury, so too shall the other.
a knife drawn across one twin's palm opens the same wound upon the other. a broken rib steals breath from both alike. distance dulls neither wound nor ache... only death severs the bond. for this reason, these children are seldom separated for long during youth. should one fall ill, the other is watched with equal care โโ should one require a maester, two beds are prepared.
lord nuada silverlance and his twin sister, lady nuala, are the first of their kind in nearly two centuries. throughout childhood, neither understood the significance of what they possessed. scraped knees, split lips, fevers, and fractured bones arrived together so naturally that they believed all siblings shared the same burden โโ only with age did they come to understand that what united them was not merely blood, but something ancient; a remnant of valyria's oldest sorceries lingering stubbornly within a dying line. it is this bond that renders every campaign a quiet horror.
whenever lord nuada marches to war, lady nuala prepares alongside him; despite never leaving silvermere. the castle maester remains constantly at her side, fresh linens laid ready, bandages folded, milk of the poppy within arm's reach. victories are not awaited by raven alone โโ they are measured by whether the lady has remained standing. there have been evenings where she has collapsed without warning as a spear found her brother hundreds of miles away... there have been mornings where she has woken bleeding from wounds inflicted before dawn on some distant battlefield.
every sword lord nuada raises risks not only his own life, but hers. among the smallfolk surrounding silvermere, old women whisper that the gods mistakenly divided one soul between two children. the maesters dismiss such stories as superstition... but house silverlance has never seen reason to argue, for they have watched the blood answer for itself.
