"Ye miserable little chatter-box, ye almost cost us the job!"

Before Boheeka could react, Bul cracked his eldest son across the cheek and pinned him against a wall in the den of their home.

A thin line of blood tricked from the corner of Bofur's tight-lipped mouth, yet not tears sprang to his eyes; though he had felt a tooth crack the instant the blow had landed across his face.

"He has done no such thing!" Boheeka growled, "Release him! NOW!"

"He humiliated the king," Bul explained flatly as he stepped back from Bofur, "How many times must I re-remind you and him that excessive talking~"

"Can ruin an opportunity and possibly mean your death," Mocked Boheeka, "and it wasn't you who taught me that. It was Kran, remember?"

"Mahal, help me," He moaned fingering his long black blade, "I do miss the good old days. What are we now? I swear I'm the only professional amongst a band of rag-tag, blundering, and sentimental nincompoops."

"Ye still got the job," Bofur protested, "and Thorin wasn't humiliated at all if ye recall it as clearly as I do."

"You would do well," Bul breathed through clenched teeth, "To not repeat yer actions regardless. I'm trying to build Feyd back up to where it once stood amongst our people!"

"And that would be," Boheeka explained, "A group so despised amongst our people that we faced constant degradation and animosity from those who knew what we truly were! Killers! Murderers for his majesty, King Thror."

Bul turned his burning eyes on his oldest, and only surviving comrade, "Then by all means," He breathed, "Take you and yours and leave. But uh- you mentioned animosity earlier- What do you think will happen if you run into a family member or shamed aristocrat whose still sore over…ye know?"

Boheeka sighed and crossed his arms; having no argument as to what Bul had just pointed out. The images of his haunting past swam in his mind then and caused him to bow his head and wait for Bul to continue but not before ordering Bofur out of the room.

"Check on your mother, then when you've helped with preparing supper, please send Nola to us please."

"Why?" Bofur asked, hesitating in his steps, "What's going on?"

Boheeka lifted his head and stared hard at his eldest child. "Go," He ordered, "It's time for her medicine."

Bofur eyed his father, then Bul suspiciously before stomping out of the den and leaving the two in tense silence.

"He'll be one of the best," Bul finally offered, sticking his thumbs into his fancy, black leather belt, "If he minds his tendency to run that mouth o' his. Ye should be proud."

Boheeka snorted and went to sit in a worn arm chair; "Why?" He asked staring into the roaring fire place, "I've condemned him to a life of death and judgement. This is not the life I want for him. Or my own daughter!"

"He made his own choice when he came of age," Bul explained, "So will Nola. Come now, cousin, ye had many an opportunity to ask to be discharged by Thror years ago, Kran wouldn't have stopped ye either, but ye never did. Even with the all that judgement and hatred ye speak of; which isn't entirely true."

Boheeka looked at Bul with wide eyes while the latter dwarf continued to observe him with a soft smile.

Boheeka asked: "How can you even say that? We were hated by our own kind because we killed own kind! We might be dwarves but to kill our own kind for profit…even me own wife suffered the consequences!"

"They feared us," Bul corrected, "For good reason. We, Feyd operatives, were like the great eagles once. We swooped in, without word, under orders from those whom employed us and left a wave of such defeat and destruction…we helped the line of Durin to endure in Erebor up until Smaug.

And, it's a descendent of Durin that calls upon us once more. I know ye wish we had no need of your son or daughter. But yer wife is dying and your toy making skills don't fetch in enough profit for the medicine she desperately needs to ease her pain. Am I correct in understanding, also, that her remedies are running low and that ye are behind on the rent?"

Boheeka sighed and turned to stare into the flames dancing in the hearth, saying nothing as he took in Bul's words.

"Promise me,' He whispered so softly that Bul scarcely caught his words, "That if at any time…that if my children should demand to be discharged…you will allow it without argument."

Bul, hesitating only a moment, slowly nodded his head; "I promise," He lied, "If it will ease your troubles. After all we should only keep, always keep, our minds on one single task at a time."

"Father, Bofur said ye needed to see me?" announced at voice in the door way; Boheeka rose and ushered the young dwarf woman to enter while Bul went about setting up his pipe to smoke once more.

Nola, whose coming of age birthday had passed only two month ago, was turning into quite a beauty, Bul observed as he lit his pipe.

Though her body was firm and strong, she wasn't obese. Her hair, auburn, accented her fierce green eyes and olive skin.

Her hands and feet were small and delicate and, Bul secretly confessed, he often admired her hour glass figure greatly.

Bul had wondered about her potential as far back as when she was a toddler and capable of wresting her older brother, Bombur of all people, to a stand still when they played around.

Like her oldest brother and parents, she was a fighter with a sharp mind and an inclination to fierce loyalty.

Hopefully, Bul prayed, his plans for her would come to fruition over time. For now there were issues at hand he knew he needed to deal with quickly.

There was much to be done but for now, Bul couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do about Boheeka. Fatherhood had changed him; weakened him in a such a way, Bul knew, all that he desired could be wrenched from him again; as it had been years ago by Thror.

Reconciling what he knew he had to do, he offered Boheeka's young daughter a smile. "Do come an' sit lass!" He offered, gesturing toward another arm chair adjacent to her father, "I-We've a question to ask ye."