I know that histories of Thorin and Thranduil may render this story completely impossible. Please take this as licence and I hope you enjoy the story! – Vladivos
Disclaimer – I own none of the characters or settings and take no credit for them.
Thorin and Thranduil
Chapter One.
The band of young dwarves began to clamber stiffly up the steep cliff face, littered with scree and boulders. Their hard boots dislodged scores of tiny rocks that went bouncing down to the valley bottom as they slowly ascended higher. Although their progress was slow, it was nonetheless steady, the steadfastness and hardiness that was the hallmark of their race already starting to shine through. Dwarves are Dwarves, and they felt at home among the barren cliffs, however hard the climb may have been.
All told, they numbered four. Four youngsters who had not yet even grown their first beards, but were already strong and proud; as were the characteristics inherited through many generations of their forefathers. One was slightly younger than the others, tagging along behind his older and fitter companions. He was not yet old enough for such a wearisome trek, but when the others had crept away from the council chamber he had threatened to turn them in unless they took him aswell. No-one would even notice they had gone until long after the meeting had concluded, as many sought solitude to think over what was said. Therefore the ones who did not need this time assumed that any missing friends or relations did and did not seek to find them.
The children were forced to attend from a tender age, to instil in them knowledge of how the community was run and grow up to be valuable members. But while the adults were engrossed in discussion and paying little attention to what was going on around them, the children found a marvellous opportunity of escape and adventure. If they were lucky they would get an entire day of exploring places normally resticted, and no meddlesome elders would be there to restrict their actions.
After about 3 hours of steady march, four tousled, wind-blown heads appeared over the brow of the cliff. They stumbled wearily up the last few feet, and gazed in wonder at the scene below.
They saw a deep valley, narrow but barely altering in its width the whole length, almost sheer sides dropping many fathoms to a dark, abyss-like bottom over which flowed a turbulent river, roaring and crashing over unseen rocks and spraying fountains of water high into the air at every obstacle. The boulders, which more resembled petty stones from the companions' vantage point, were worn smooth from countless years of such rough erosion, and the constant water flowing over made then sparkle like glass in the midday sun. The beauty, however, was deceptive, as anyone foolish enough to go and stand on those rocks would be swept away in an instant by the mighty pull of the currents on the water's unrestrained mass.
Every now and then a small 'plonk' would be heard above the melee of the waters – the only indication of an often huge chunk of granite breaking from the rock face to plummet into the confusion of the river below. It was, indeed, a sight to behold, and made all the more magnificent by the fact that they were not supposed to witnessing it.
The youngest Dwarf, Thorin's, eyes opened wide in amazement as he tottered and lurched down a winding sheep path after his companions. The sheep had all but left at the arrival of the meltwater that made the river so unpredictably wild, and the 'path,' if you could even call it that, was disused and overgrown. It was a perilous descent, and fraught with danger, especially for such inexperienced of mountaineers who, although brave of heart and strong of limb, were as yet novices compared to the Dwarves who had tried to keep them from it. The sheep-trail they followed could not be described as more than a series of ledges, barely 6 inches wide that offered the perilously steep, but only available path to the bottom from this direction. There was nothing to separate the comrades from the drop off the precipice to their deaths, but the obvious danger of the trek did not even seem to register in their minds. The Dwarves' heads were full of the dizzy excitement of the adventure, leaving no room for such trivial concerns as fear, and they had been brought up to believe that everyone would face brushes with death.
The increasing number of orc-raiders on their cities meant that many Dwarves were forced to risk their lives defending the borders to protect their homes and families. It was common practice at that time, and was considered shameful for a man of warrior age to neglect such necessary duty. What had not, as yet, entered the minds of the youngsters was the realisation that risking your own life to save that of others who cannot defend themselves was bravery; risking your life for no other reason than to prove yourself in a peer group – especially when you had knowledge of what you were facing – was merely foolish, and achieved nothing useful except to satisfy your own arrogance. And if you lost your concentration, even for a moment, arrogance would be no use as you plunged to your death in the white-capped waters below.