All three of the dwarves within that tent stared at Arinya with equal amounts of sheer shock. Their expressions were practically openmouthed, but the elf either didn't care or pretended not to notice. They just stared at her, completely speechless for several long moments.

Finally, King Thrór was the first to answer-or at least in a way he was. He actually started to laugh. Both Thráin and Thorin looked at him, wondering if he had gone mad. "Such a proposition is utterly absurd!" he exclaimed as his booming laughter dying down. "An elf does not fight in a dwarven war!"

Arinya appeared unfazed by the dwarf king's reaction. "And yet, one stands before you, ready, willing, and able to lend her aid," she stated bluntly.

Thráin's dark brow knitted together in obvious confusion. He regarded her for a moment, as if gauging something about her. Finally he said, "Why do you wish to join a war? It is not yours to undertake." From the tone of his voice, Thorin thought he actually sounded curious.

Thorin's head snapped in his direction. Was he actually considering this? Actually considering letting an elf in among their ranks? Such a thing couldn't be allowed, especially her. She was the very symbol of their enemy-related to the bloodline of the woodland king himself. Such a person cannot and will not be trusted. Ever.

"It is a matter that I do not discuss openly and has no weight upon your decision on whether or not to let me join you in your war," she answered, her voice firm.

Thráin straightened, his posture becoming irritated once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I believe that it should be for us to decide whether it does or does not have any weight." He beckoned to her. "Let us hear it."

"With all due respect, this is a personal matter. One that is none of your concern," she responded, a hard edge to her voice.

Thráin's eyes narrow dangerously, but before he could speak, King Thrór cut in. "We have no need for your kind among our ranks. Your request to join us is denied," he declared strongly, a furious scowl on his face. "You will leave immediately," he ordered. He snapped his fingers and the soldier that had escorted Arinya into the tent stepped forward, ready to lead her out.

Arinya didn't even hesitate. She took a sudden step forward, her expression fierce. "If you choose to deny my enlistment, then that is your choice. But, know this. If you deny me, I will still fight the orcs of the Misty Mountains, with or without your aid. So, choose now, which scenario sounds better to you?" she finished strongly. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if that would somehow further her point.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. Something was different about her. She appeared harder, tougher-perhaps even haunted. By looking at her, he knew instantly something had happened since they had last seen one another. But it was not something he needed to care about.

Thorin glanced over to his grandfather. He thought that the king looked like he was about to explode. His entire body was tensed and shaking with a barely contained anger. His large hands were balled into fists, resting firmly upon the surface of the table. His teeth were gritted and his nostrils flared. Finally, he growled, "Take her outside. Do not let her out of your sight."

The soldier nodded his affirmation. He turned his armored body to face the elf woman. With the loud clanking of metal on metal, he gestured with his lance to the exit of the tent. Arinya seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if torn on whether she should comply or stay for a while longer to plead her case. In the end, she chose to leave. Without so much as a backwards glance or a change in expression, the brunette strode forward, disappearing through the tent flap with the dwarven soldier close on her heels.

Instantly, Thorin turned to look at his grandfather. "Why did you not send her away? Why are you having her wait?" he asked, his questions spilling forth. His tone sounded extremely irritated, an effect of Arinya's presence. King Thrór turned his gray head to look at his grandson. When he did not answer right away, Thorin felt a sinking feeling. "You cannot possibly believe that she should join us!" the prince exclaimed in disbelief.

"You heard the elf," Thrór growled, his voice low. His blue eyes flashed dangerously as he looked downward at the maps that had held their attention mere moments ago. "If we deny her a place among our ranks, she will continue to fight without our aid."

Thorin looked at his grandfather with a perplexed expression, not quite understanding what he was getting at. "And how does this affect us? Either she dies with us or she dies alone. It is none of our concern," he said icily.

"You are not understanding, Thorin," his father spoke up suddenly. Thorin shifted his blue gaze to look at Thráin. "If we deny her, and she does indeed stay true to her word and begin to fight on her own, what do you think will happen? She could give away our positions, compromise battle strategies, even cause more death on our side without even realizing it. She cannot be allowed to go unchecked," he stated, his voice clearly showing that he wasn't happy about the situation either.

King Thrór shook his head, his weathered face contorted into a scowl. "She has effectively backed us into a corner and given us only one option: let her join us," he said through gritted teeth.

The prince scoffed. "So then she just gets her way?" Thorin asked in a disbelieving tone.

Thráin nodded slowly. "It appears for now, yes. It isn't as if we can simply kill her ourselves. We cannot fight two wars at once," he said, his voice filled with meaning.

There was a silence among the three of them, different scenarios of such a venture undoubtedly circulating through their minds before being tossed away. To be perfectly honest, Thorin didn't like the idea of killing Arinya, or even having her die in the war she wanted to join so much. Perhaps it was the residual feelings of the person he had thought was his friend. Or perhaps he simply didn't relish the thought of killing an elf, no matter how much he hated them.

"So what do we do with her then?" Thráin asked his father, breaking through Thorin's reverie.

Thrór sighed heavily. He braced his hands onto the table and leaned forward, not once taking his eyes from the maps before him. "We will have to let her join us. There is no other option without compromising our own endeavors," he said.

Thorin shook his head, not entirely believing what was happening. He crossed his arms over his chest. "The other clans will not approve of this. If they hear of an elf among our ranks-regardless of the reasoning-how do you think they will react? They will more than likely pull their support," he said with a hard edge to his voice.

Thráin nodded in agreement. "He is right," he said, seconding his son's thought.

"They will not know. We will put her with a unit out of the way and less likely to encounter many other battalions," Thrór began. He paused. He reached up a hand and stroked his large beard thoughtfully. "We'll put her with Fundin's unit. They are a scouting group, more separated from the others. It would keep her out of the way."

Thráin shook his head. "Fundin will not like this," he muttered.

"We are not asking him to," the king answered. Thrór looked up suddenly, directing his attention to his grandson. "Thorin, I want you to escort the elf to her new unit and inform Fundin of the situation. Be sure that you request he keep a special eye on her."

Thorin nodded stiffly and began to turn and walk towards the exit to the tent. He was still in a mix of disbelief and anger at the thought of an elf-Arinya-joining their war, so he didn't argue. It was as if her mere presence was guaranteeing their imminent defeat. He utterly despised having her anywhere near him. At least for now he could pass her off on someone else's unit and have her be out of his sight and, hopefully, out of his mind.

Arinya leaned up against a barrel, no doubt filled with supplies for the war, outside of the command tent. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she almost casually surveyed the camp. It was night; the stars and moon were shining in the sky, casting their pale glow down upon the world. From everywhere in the camp, there was the sound of activity. The ringing of a hammer striking metal as a blacksmith created or repaired weapons and armor. From somewhere deeper in the camp, Arinya could hear the cries of the wounded, probably coming from the medical tent. There was row after row of tents, each one given a specific purpose. Whether it was to give the soldiers a place to sleep, store supplies, serve as armories, or a place to heal the wounded. Torches lined the walkways between the rows, illuminating the area with their flickering orange glow.

Arinya tightened her arms around herself. She cast an apprehensive look towards the tent, waiting to hear what their answer would be. It was a good sign that they didn't simply send her away, right?

A dwarven soldier passed in front of her, his arms laden with weapons of all sorts. His dark eyes shifted in her direction as he passed and instantly narrowed, filling with hatred. He uttered something then-more than likely a curse or some heinous insult in Khuzdul. Arinya didn't even react and looked away, letting the soldier pass. She could hear his footsteps retreating further into the camp until they were gone altogether. If she was going to join this war alongside the dwarves, then she was going to have to get used to the fact that none of them wanted her here. She was going to have to deal with plenty more insults and curses directed at her. The best way to get through this was going to be to simply not react and create a conflict. It would also, perhaps, give them a reason to no longer allow her to stay. She didn't want that.

Movement to her right caught her attention. Arinya's green eyes flicked over just in time to see Thorin exit the tent. His blue eyes briefly scanned the area until they landed on Arinya. As the light of a nearby torch fell upon his face, the brunette noticed a furious scowl on his face. It was very clear that he was not pleased with her presence. He looked her up and down for a moment, his expression one almost of disgust, before his blue eyes flicked back up to her face.

He gestured to her. "Follow me," he said, his voice dangerously low. Without waiting for her reaction, Thorin turned and began to walk down one of the pathways between the rows of tents.

Hurriedly, Arinya pushed away from the barrel and lengthened her strides until she caught up with him. She chose to walk behind him instead of beside him. She didn't exactly want to see the look of pure hatred on his face if she walked beside him. Instead of a fierce expression to deal with, though, Arinya had to look at his body language. His broad shoulders were set, every muscle in his body tensed. She could see one of his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. Arinya felt a cautious feeling well up inside her, as if she worried that he was debating about using his sword right then and there and be rid of this problem he believed her to be once and for all.

They didn't talk at all, Arinya simply following Thorin as he led the way through a maze of tents. They passed many other dwarves in their trek, each of them throwing her looks of utter loathing, some of them even hurling insults. Arinya just kept her gaze directed forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much those insults bothered her.

After what appeared to be ten minutes of walking, Thorin broke the silence. He didn't stop or even turn his head to look at her, keeping his gaze directed forward. "Why are you here?" he asked. From the sound of it, he was talking through gritted teeth.

Arinya shifted her green gaze, focusing on the back of his dark head. She wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one that he was talking to her. She had thought that perhaps he had been giving her the silent treatment-only speaking to her when it was deemed necessary-but apparently that was not so. She was silent for a brief moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer him. "I told you," she said finally. "It is a personal matter and is none of your concern."

Thorin stopped suddenly, whirling around so quick that Arinya took a step back despite herself, fearing that he might actually strike her. His blue eyes flashed dangerously. "I am making it my concern," he growled in response. "Is this some plot on your part to make me repent my decision to cut you from my life? Because if this your intent, then I assure you, you will be waiting a long time before you hear something like that from me."

Arinya scoffed and shook her head. "That is not my intent."

Thorin opened his arms in a disbelieving gesture. "Then what is it that you want from me?"

The elf woman's brow furrowed, her lips contorting into a frown. "I want nothing from you." She pointed a finger menacingly at him. "And don't you dare try to make this about you," she snapped.

Thorin's scowl only deepened as his arms returned to his sides. "Then what am I supposed to think?" he asked in an exasperated tone.

Arinya shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, Thorin, I do not care what you think. I am done," she stated, her voice sounding weary.

The dwarf prince stared at her coldly for a moment before he turned sharply on his heel and began to stride in the direction they had originally been heading. After a moment, Arinya hurriedly strode after him. For the rest of the walk, neither of them talked. Thorin simply led the way with Arinya following. As they walked, Arinya briefly wondered if the day would ever come that he could see clearly-see that she was not his enemy.

After a few tense moments of walking in silence, Thorin slowed his brisk gait. Arinya took a moment to look around at her surroundings. They were near to the edge of the camp, only a few rows of tents between them and the open expanse of the rest of Middle earth. To the west, Arinya could clearly see the Misty Mountains rising up over the land, mere shadowy giants in the darkness of night. In front of them was a small battalion of soldiers. They were all congregated close to one another, gathering their belongings and weapons together. It was apparent that they were getting ready to set out soon. A few of them looked up as the two figures approached. When they recognized Thorin, they nodded their heads in a respectful greeting. But as they shifted to Arinya, their faces contorted into ones of confusion and loathing. That was certainly a look she was going to have to get used to.

From the throng of soldiers, a solitary figure stepped forward to meet Thorin. Arinya found herself hesitating as she saw him step forward. He was few inches taller than Thorin, easily the largest dwarf Arinya had ever seen. Tattoos were laced up and down his arms and even over sections of his face. His head was bald but he had a large brown beard laden with an array of braids and clasps. A massive war hammer was strapped across his armored back, its hilt just visible above one shoulder. His entire body was powerfully built, corded in muscle. As he stepped forward from the rest of the dwarves, sharp brown eyes shifted briefly from Thorin's face to Arinya's and back again.

For the first time since their little argument, Thorin turned around to look at Arinya. "Wait here," he said tersely. The elf woman nodded in response. Turning his attention forward once more, the dwarf prince strode towards the intimidating dwarf, who had stopped to watch his approach.

Arinya crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably. She could feel the weight of several pairs of eyes upon her, their hatred filled gazes boring into her sides. She glanced at them briefly before looking away. She shifted on her feet as her vivid green eyes looked back to Thorin and the other large dwarf.

They were talking quietly, but Arinya's elven hearing could still hear them well enough to know that they were speaking in Khuzdul, probably to prevent her from over hearing them. After a few moments of talking, the elf woman saw the other dwarf tense up, his posture becoming deeply irritated. His speech began to come more rapidly and increase in volume. He clearly wasn't happy. But after a few words from Thorin, he fell silent. He crossed his arms over his broad chest as he listened. When Thorin finished, he was quiet not saying anything. Finally, he nodded, clearly unhappy but not willing to refuse his prince. With that, the two of them turned and began to head over to Arinya. The elf woman felt ever muscle in her body tense as they neared her.

When they reached her, they stopped. Thorin gestured to the large dwarf who crossed his arms over his chest as he looked up and down. "This is Fundin, son of Farin. He is the leader of the company you are now assigned to. You will follow his every order. Is that understood?" Thorin asked, a firm edge to his voice.

Arinya glanced over at Fundin warily before looking back to Thorin. She nodded. "Yes."

"Good." The dark haired prince turned to look at Fundin. He clapped a hand on the large dwarf's shoulder. "Good luck, Fundin. You are going to need it." With one last dark look directed at Arinya, Thorin turned on his heel and began to head back the way they came.

Arinya watched him walk away until he was nothing more than a shadowy shape in the darkness, and finally disappeared altogether around the side of one of the many tents within the camp. She watched the area where he had been only moments ago before looking back to Fundin.

The large dwarf was regarding her with a hard expression. It appeared as if he was trying to gauge something about her-perhaps her trustworthiness? Arinya found herself shifting on her feet, uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Finally, he gestured to her. "Is this everything you have?" he asked in a deep baritone.

Arinya glanced down briefly at herself, as if to remind herself of just what she had brought with her. Her green eyes flicked back up to his face as she nodded. "Yes."

Fundin's expression didn't change, remaining chiseled from stone. "Do you know how to use those weapons of yours?" he inquired. He pointed from the bow and quiver across her back to the two long knives secured on her waist before letting his hand fall back to his side.

Arinya nodded once again. "Yes. I have some experience," she responded.

"Have you ever seen battle?" Fundin asked, continuing to inquire about her.

Arinya hesitated for the briefest moment. Her thoughts shifted to her encounter with the wolves and even the bear all those years ago alongside Thorin. Finally, the brunette shrugged. "Somewhat. I have never fought in an actual battle, though," she answered honestly.

Fundin's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, clearly displeased with her answer. "Then pray that your death is swift and painless," he stated harshly. Arinya felt her stomach twist, making her suddenly feel sick. He turned around and began to head back to his men. "We are leaving within the hour. Be ready or we leave without you."

A/N: There you go. Another chapter done! Please let me know what you think! Oh, and let me know what you think of Fundin. Anytime I tried to picture him, I always saw him as being somewhat like Dwalin. I would love to hear your opinions.

As always, welcome to any new followers and favorites and thank you to my ever faithful reviewers! I look forward to reading your thoughts and opinions anytime I post another chapter and am eager to hear what you think about this chapter and others to come!