Chapter Text
~Third Age, 2904~
~Ered Luin~
He ignored the way his arm tingled.
Thorin didn’t want to guess. He didn’t want to suspect.
Still, it itched, demanding his attention.
At last, the meeting ended. He bade farewell to his advisors and sent the guards away – save for his cousins:
His first counselor, Balin.
Head of the guard, Dwalin.
His treasurer, Gloin.
And the royal physician, Oin.
“Is everything all right, Thorin?” Balin asked as Thorin stripped off his vambrace and rolled the sleeve up. They surrounded him, eyes wide with shock at the message etched into his skin.
Just testing something. Please write back before sunset tomorrow.
It was written in a child’s hand. The letters were large and a little blocky, but legible and easy to read. An older child, then.
“Well, this is fortuitous!” Balin said as Oin examined Thorin’s arm. “Could be a while yet, it seems, but we can find out where your One is –”
“No,” Thorin said. “I need to think.”
“He’s got a point,” Gloin said. “For now, I’d find out our Queen’s race and age. Young, but not so young as they are not able to communicate, but perhaps still too young…am I making any sense?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” Thorin said. He stroked his beard, trying to think.
He wanted to know more about his One.
“Gloin,” Dwalin said. “You said queen.”
“Aye,” Gloin nodded. “Most men are paired with a woman, though there is a chance our King’s One is not female. I didn’t mean to presume.”
Thorin let them be, still staring at his forearm.
It was a short message.
Unfeeling.
He could surmise that his One was trying not to hope for an answer, but decided to write anyway, even if they did not know if any answer would come.
Thorin wondered what he was going to do. He had so many questions he wanted to ask.
What was their name?
Were they Dwarrow?
How old were they?
Where did they hail?
Yet caution stayed him. Thorin had enemies still. If they were to know he had found his One, and if they learned his One’s identity…
“Is there more that needs my attention today?”
“There is not,” Balin said.
“Then I will depart for the day.”
He strode out of the hall toward his chambers.
Once alone, Thorin sat at his armchair by the hearth and traced his finger over the letters. He had not even thought that it was possible his One was not yet born. He thought he was one of the rare ones who lost their other half before they could meet.
The sun was beginning to set, and the words were beginning to fade. Being washed off.
If his One was still a child, then it would be better for him not to find them yet.
Not until they reached their majority.
He could wait.
He already waited for nearly one hundred and sixty years without even hoping that he had a One. Now he knew he did, and they still seemed to be a child. Young, but coherent.
Thorin stood and approached his desk. He had some charcoal that would be best. It wouldn’t scratch his arm or leave a scar, so he dipped it in water.
But what to say?
“Good evening?”
“Testing what?”
“I exist.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
He didn’t know.
Thorin exhaled and pressed the blunt tip to his forearm.
I’ve also been wondering if I had a soul mate. We now can rest assured we do.
It wasn’t ideal. As unfeeling as the one left on his arm. Still, it was there now. It would have to do.
~Shire Reckoning, Year 1304~
~The Shire~
His parents were soul mates.
Even after their marriage, they’d write little notes on their arms to each other, leaving them with ridiculously dopey looks on their faces. Bilbo at first didn’t get it.
As he grew, he wondered.
He never had anything written on his arms or legs. Not even an inappropriate doodle on his forehead from some nutty cousin or other relation to give him a hint.
Granted, he was glad for that.
It spared him some sort of embarrassment.
“What do you use to write on your arms?” he asked his mother as they washed the dishes after elevensies.
Belladonna hummed. “Chalk is fine. Some use charcoal,” she said. “Why?”
“Just wondering. You and Dad always send each other notes on your arms.”
“We do,” she said. “Sometimes it helps when we’re having a disagreement of a sort. A little time away so to cool down, and then one of us will send a note letting the other know that we’re coming home soon and that we love each other still.” She set the dishes down. “Being soul mates doesn’t mean that everything is going to be lovely every day. Sometimes we fight and it’s natural and healthy for us to disagree here and there.”
“Do I have a soul mate?” Bilbo asked.
“Perhaps,” Belladonna answered. “How about you send them a note. You don’t have to tell them anything if you like. Just a simple ‘hello’ will do. I think if you do have a soul mate, sweetheart, they’ll respond sooner or later.”
Bilbo let her words sink in and he thought that…
What if I don’t have a soul mate?
It was possible.
Rare, but possible.
So, he decided to write something more…
Generic?
Unfeeling?
Well, it wouldn’t be just hello, that much was certain!
After tea, he wrote a simple message:
Just testing something. Please write back before sunset tomorrow.
Bungo arched a brow at the message when he saw what Bilbo had written.
“Bit cold, lad.”
“Well, what would you say to someone you don’t know? I don’t even know if they exist or if they’re alive.” Bungo’s other eyebrow joined the raised one, as though it never occurred to him that Bilbo wouldn’t have a soul mate.
“Let it stay on for a bit, then,” he said. “And wash it off before bed so you don’t dirty the sheets too much.”
Bilbo agreed to that and went back outside to play. His friends and cousins asked after the message but grew bored of it when he said he wrote it.
That night, his arm itched just before he went to bed.
Bilbo pulled the sleeve back and stared wide eyed as a response etched into his skin in precise calligraphy:
I’ve also been wondering if I had a soul mate. We now can rest assured we do.
“Mum!” He shouted, “Dad!”
Bilbo raced out of his room to his parents to show them the message on his arm. Belladonna caught him around the middle before he could tackle Bungo, excitedly showing the message on his arm.
“That’s wonderful, love,” Belladonna said. “Now, really, Bilbo, you must go to sleep.”
“I can’t go to sleep now!” he protested.
“You’re beloved also needs to rest,” she pointed out. “It’s late. You’ll have time to get to know them in the morning.”
Bilbo conceded, but he kept a candle lit, tracing the words written on his skin.
He had so many questions he wanted to ask, each one flitting through his mind.
Who were they?
Where did they live?
Were they a Hobbit, too?
Sometimes a person’s soul mate was of a different race. It was the case of Beren and Luthien, as well as many others.
Bilbo thought on that and hoped that they weren’t of the Big Folk. An elf would be all right, he supposed, but it’d be a bit awkward, no matter how you spun it.
When Bilbo at last fell asleep, he dreamed of meeting his beloved…