Edit: Fixed some spacing and removed a few pointless lines.
"Master Balin?"
The voice was soft but familiar, and the elderly dwarf turned to smile kindly at its source. "May I join you," Elsa asked quietly.
"Of course lassie." Balin was seated on the end of a fallen tree, and the hobbit sank to the ground beside him. The sounds of the Company setting in for the night echoed across their campsite. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Hmm? What makes you think I'm here for any reason but enjoying your company?"
Her companion chuckled. "My dear girl, I've lived too long not to know a curious face when I see one. You're not too hard to read, either."
Elsa smiled sheepishly. "I do have a question..." Balin's eyes twinkled and he nodded for her to continue. "Earlier today I overheard something, and I don't know what it means. It's in a book I read many years ago as well, and I thought it must be a common expression, but... I don't remember ever learning what it means." She looked up at him for guidance.
"I'll be needing a bit more to go on than that," the dwarf prompted.
"Well... It's an expression in dwarvish, and I know your people are very careful to keep your secrets from the other races of Middle Earth. So I guess I'm wondering two things. The first is whether or not a hobbit can know what this- what the saying means, and the other would be what it means. If I can know, that is," she finished.
Balin's expression was guarded but he was still smiling; that put the halfling a bit more at ease. "If I remember right, the phrase was..." Elsa struggled to twist her tongue around the guttural Khuzdul words. "'Unal taerin.'"
The old dwarf made a low sound of surprise. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, leaning back to regard the little hobbit thoughtfully. "I suppose there's no reason not to," Balin mused. "I can tell you what the words would be in your tongue, but some might consider it inappropriate to tell a non-dwarf what it truly meant."
"What what meant?" She jumped at the familiar voice and glanced over her shoulder in alarm. Ori, Bifur, Kili, and Bofur had joined them: the scribe to soak up any knowledge that Balin could provide, Bofur and Kili to entertain themselves, and Bifur to... Actually, Elsa wasn't really sure what Bifur did, in any situation. Bofur stood just behind her, smirking, misinterpreting her shock.
"Our hobbit was just asking me what 'unal taerin' means." Ori's excitement visibly died down as the youngest member of the Company stood to leave, mumbling something about adolescent lasses and dishes to wash. Bofur had turned a strange shade of green and dropped heavily to the ground; Elsa studied him curiously but he stared unseeingly at a tuft of grass.
Balin chuckled and clapped a hand on the hatted dwarf's shoulder. "Directly translated, 'unal taerin' means 'soul love.' The saying is well known to every dwarf." The archer made a noise of recognition and flopped down on his stomach to listen.
Elsa chewed her lip as she digested the new piece of information. She did vaguely remember that the book she'd found the phrase in had been a romance, but that hardly fit the conversation she'd heard that morning.
She'd been returning to camp.
Never a morning person, Dori had silently handed her the breakfast dishes and gestured her towards the trees. Assuming there was a stream nearby Elsa had set off in the direction he'd pointed. Sure enough, within a five minute walk from where the Company had stopped for the night was a small brook. It was only two feet at the deepest point with large, flat rocks that interrupted the flow, making it the ideal spot for a hobbit to perch and clean a few bowls.
The water was cool and clear and she sat enjoying the morning for a short while. April's light showers had faded into the green beauty of May; the sun was shining, birds chirped to each other gaily, and Elsa enjoyed the peace as time slipped away.
A distant murmur of voices brought her back. They- at least, she thought there were two- were too quiet to understand, but their tone was clear enough: whoever it was had been arguing. Gathering the dishes Elsa crept towards the sound, silent as only hobbits can be. Peeking around a tree the halfling could see two bulky figures a few yards away. They were crouched and hovering over something on the ground but even from a distance Elsa could make them out as dwarves, specifically Bifur and Bofur.
Apparently the older dwarf had said something insulting just before she had shown up; Bofur was gaping open mouthed at his cousin, frozen in surprise. A long moment crept by with no reaction from any party. Bifur asked something in Khuzdul to which Bofur shook his head hurriedly.
"What? No. Don't be daft," he exclaimed. Bifur barked out another phrase, waving an arm towards camp in emphasis. His companion snorted and looked away. "Unal taerin? I'm not a child anymore." Bifur replied angrily and smacked his arm. "Yeh can't expect me to..." He ducked to avoid the other's wildly gesticulating hands. "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Some just do it different. And I can't-" Even from a distance Elsa could tell that what Bifur growled out next was profane.
"I am happy, yeh fool. We're still close. Closer than yeh know. I've still got you and Bombur." He sighed. "Besides, I couldn't ask that. That's no kind of life for an outsider, 'specially one so fragile. And yeh of all people should understand family ties." In one last attempt Bifur's hand twitched in a question to which Bofur shook his head. "I know. But I'll heal." The older dwarf clasped his cousin's arm in sympathy before rising to return to camp.
Elsa hid a moment longer, but her friend sat in silence. She wanted to join him but the sounds of the nearby Company were growing louder. It was time to leave. With one last glance at the despondent figure on the ground she slipped away to find Balin.
By the time Elsa had reached the temporary camp the ponies were packed and saddled. Dori raised an eyebrow when she returned the bowls but said nothing about her long absence. Bofur appeared beside his brother just as Thorin ordered the Company to mount up, and Elsa had spent the rest of the day in contemplative silence.
Kili's voice rang in her ears and interrupted her memories.
"Why couldn't Miss Baggins know? She's practically a dwarf by now anyway! Certainly smells like one, anyway." The hobbit kicked him and he snickered. "Besides, you won't shout it from the rooftops or anything, right Elsa?"
"No, of course not, but I wouldn't want to offend anyone. If it's that private..."
"Oh come on, Balin. It's not that much of a secret. And she's one of us now. Isn't she Bofur?" Kili threw a companionable arm around the other dwarf's shoulder, but Bofur just mumbled something vaguely positive.
"Oh all right," Balin grumbled good-naturedly. "But if all of Middle Earth is spouting Ancient Khuzdul by next week I'm holding you two personally responsible." The young Durin grinned wickedly at Elsa's disgruntled expression.
"I'd never..." She huffed dramatically. Out of the corner of her eye she was watching Bofur, hoping to see some sort of reaction. It was unnerving to see the normally cheerful dwarf looking so pained. As Balin shifted into a more comfortable position in which to share his story, Bofur was glancing around nervously, seeming desperate for a distraction. Frowning Elsa slid towards him a few inches and rested her fingers on his wrist.
"Are you alright," she asked quietly. He just looked at her hand as if it he'd never seen one before. "Bofur?"
He coughed thickly. "Yes, fine lass."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, I know your culture is none of my business-"
"Don't be ridiculous, it's fine," Kili countered grandly as though he were doing her some great service. Elsa rolled her eyes and ignored him.
"Are you sure?"
"No, no, it's fine," Bofur said hoarsely. Clearing his throat he mussed up her and Kili's hair like they were children. Without thinking she stuck out her tongue and got a mouthful of hair, much to Kili's amusement.
Bofur nodded at Balin. "Go on and tell her a story, 'afore these ruffians try to skin me." His smile was back and the tension was defused. Balin smiled back knowingly.
"Alright you two, settle down." The old dwarf relit his pipe and began to speak.
"The speech of men would be almost unrecognizable to one that lived in the second age, as would that of orcs, trolls, or goblins. Such short-lived races change their words to suit the times. Even the eternal tongue of the elves has evolved over the centuries. But the language of the Naugrim is as unalterable as the mountains themselves. Few words have been added and none forgotten. One of the oldest and most well known of our expressions is 'unal taerin'. As I explained earlier, it means soul love. The other half of a person's being, so to speak."
Balin paused when he noticed the hobbit's brow crease. "I'm not sure I understand," Elsa said. "It means true love, that bit makes sense, but... And I'm sorry to be so blunt, but why would that be such a closely guarded secret? I'd think most people know what a soul mate is."
"Ah, but it doesn't just signify love, not as you think it." At this Elsa was terribly confused, and Kili was grinning from knowing something the halfling did not. "Now," the battle-hardened dwarf continued, "from what I understand the younger races can love many times in their lives, from childhood until death. Correct? This is not true of dwarves. We have four types of love in our lives.
"The love of our people is simple. It is what's driven Thorin, as well as the rest of us, to embark on this quest. We fight for our home, our pride, and the survival of us all.
"The love of beautiful things should be obvious even to a hobbit, enthusiastic as you are of life's simple pleasures. Dwarves enjoy them too, but no material object brings us near the happiness of gold.
"Love of family is clear, of course. Any mother will fight fiercer than any dragon for her children. I think the two of you know that better than most of us." Elsa nodded solemnly; at her side Kili's eyes had gone hard.
"The last type..." Balin sighed wistfully. "The last type is love of the heart. For a dwarf anything else pales in comparison to it."
"Tell her about the old legend," Kili prompted.
"Yes, yes. Now, Elsa. No one really knows the truth of the matter, but we have a story that we tell our children to explain the subject. I haven't heard it in years, but it goes something like this.
"When Aule created the dwarves, he gave them a burning desire to create handsome things. For many years his people delved deep into the earth, shaping near anything imaginable from the precious metals and gems they found. Together with the god the dwarves worked to perfect their craft, and it brought them great happiness.
"But as time passed the minds of the everlasting Naugrim grew heavy with an emptiness that no object could fill. Aule saw the melancholy of his people. 'Why do you sigh so sadly,' he asked them. 'Why do your golden halls no longer echo with song or your art with passion?' The dwarves had never wanted for anything and could not answer their god. 'Our hearts are heavy with a desire we can not name,' they told him. 'Even the finest work from the most skilled of craftsmen invokes nothing in us.'
"After some thought their maker realized the source of their plight. The dwarves fashioned beautiful things each day but had no connection to their fellows. In his haste to create life Aule had forgotten the ties of companionship that bound every living thing, but hadn't filled the need they still felt for it. The god returned to the home of his people to present them with an offer. He would split each soul in half upon creation. The two halves of the spirit would search for each other, meeting again and again for all time, trying to be one once more. That feeling of wholeness would be called love and would be stronger than any iron the Naugrim would every forge. Aule would only do this, however, in exchange for the dwarves' immortality. The souls would be pass on and be reborn until the world's end, forever losing, seeking, and finding pure joy.
"The skilled craftspeoples agreed, sacrificing their deathless days. They called this choice and the course that followed 'soul love.' In his last message Aule told his chosen people how to find their one mates. 'Each dwarf,' he said, "will be born with a sign leading his to his unal taerin. Some will be marked and others will know their beloved's face. A few will hear the voice of the other singing to them in the night, and some will be drawn together from the pull of the unknown. You will know your soul when first you see them.' With that the god left the dwarves to find their ways in Middle Earth, and has not been seen again since.
"Do you see now lassie? We only love once in our long lives, if at all. A dwarf without his love is doomed to live a miserable life, and when one half of the soul passes the other soon joins.
"Some never find their mate. It is a lonely existence but not one without hope, as we all understand that the hardships of this life are but a single cycle of our time here. We know that we are never truly alone."
Balin leaned forward and rolled up his sleeve. Detailed across his inner wrist was an intricate tattoo; it was an amalgamation of delicate lines woven through two thick lines of what were presumably dwarvish runes. Elsa studied them in interest but couldn't make heads or tails of the writing. Whatever it said, the tattoo was strong and elegant, a truly beautiful design. She didn't turn to investigate the noise but loud whispers could be heard from across the campsite. The speakers in question seemed to be rather offended by the conversation between hobbit and dwarves.
"The signs that lead us are generally a rather private thing, discussed only between lovers or close family members," the old dwarf explained. "Some might see me showing you my wrist as an improperly private gesture to be done around so any."
Elsa looked thoughtfully at her teacher. "You said before that soul love isn't exactly love as it would normally be defined. What does that mean? Is the bond always between... romantic partners?
"No." To her surprise it was Fili that answered. He'd wandered over to join his brother and had caught the very end of the tale. The blonde rested his large hands on Kili's shoulders. "Usually, yes, but not always. Siblings can bond, too. Every once in a great while relatives will share a love, or the age difference will prove too large for anything other than platonic care. In fact" he asked his brother, "wasn't Gurda's unal taerin quite a bit older?"
"197 to her 52, and a distant cousin to boot. But Lian's mate was a cousin too, and they're both alright."
"What happens if the tie between family members is romantic," Elsa wondered. "Or if they're both the same gender? Is it considered unnatural?"
"That sort of family love happens," Balin replied slowly, "though rarely enough to be something of a grey area." He gaze shifted to the brothers before him. Fili's smirk had faltered. Kili placed a hand over his brother's and was staring stonily at Elsa while Balin continued. "Not everyone is comfortable with such things, but unal taerin is a sacred thing and thus never looked down upon.
"As for your other question... Less than a third of our race is female. If we only fell in love with those that could bear our children, then too many of us would lead miserable lives." Elsa was suddenly aware of two dozen piercing eyes on her. "Soul love is what we search for from near infancy. It is more important to us than life and worth dying for. No matter how it manifests, no dwarf would reject their other half." With that Balin settled back on the log, done with the tale.
The hobbit turned to Thorin's nephews with a question on her tongue, but the fierce look in Fili's eyes as he gripped his brother's shoulder was the unspoken answer. "We've known since Kili was born," he said firmly, tone daring criticism, but he'd get none from Elsa. If love was that rare and powerful to her friends then who was she to judge them?
She wasn't entirely sure what to say so she just smiled at the brothers. Balin chuckled when they relaxed visibly.
"I think I understand now," Elsa told the old dwarf gratefully. "Thank you for sharing the story with me." He nodded kindly and tapped his pipe with one gnarled knuckle, dislodging the ashes. She rose to prepare for sleep, deep in thought.
A/N: Welp. There's that. I've wanted to write a soul mate/red string of fate story for ages, but this didn't turn out quite like I'd hoped.
I honestly just googled "Tolkien dwarvish" and picked through various dictionaries to get 'unal taerin'.
As always, but for this chapter in particular, all and any concrit is appreciated. Thanks for reading!