Revenge

                                    

                                          
"Please tell me I didn't hear what I think I just heard?"
The issue with the badgers the previous night had been easily solved by removing the honey cakes from Kíli's pockets and giving them to the honey-loving creatures. As all of them learned, the honey badgers and their cousins had been given their nicknames and infamous reputations for a very good reason. According to Currin, even the faintest whiff of honey was more than enough to whip her companions into a frenzy, their natural urges and extreme lust for honey overriding basic decency and common sense. No harm or foul had been done, but Bilbo had a strong feeling that the youngest prince would be avoiding anything with honey in it for quite some time. And Bilbo had moved the honey jars to the back of the kitchen cabinets this morning, hidden behind the sweet smell of apples and an unusually large potato. Just in case.
"Eh? What'd you say?"
Bilbo blinked, internally sighing at the ear trumpet that was now directed towards his face from across the table. The older dwarf's hearing was much sharper in private, but noisy settings like Erebor's western mess halls basically made the healer deaf to everyone around him.
"Listen. To the table behind me."
The Royal Healer paused, dark eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the group of miners and smiths sitting directly behind the hobbit. Several seconds passed without Bilbo or Óin hearing anything, but then a bunch of sniggers erupted from the group, the burliest of the dwarves pointing towards the kitchen food lines. And despite his gob being stuffed full of food, Bilbo could still understand every word that came out of his big, fat, uncouth mouth.
"The runt's still as bare as a babe's bottom."
"Disgraceful to the whole line of Durin, is what it is. My twenty-year-old daughter has more beard than him."
"Looks more like an elf than a dwarf."
"Doesn't look an ounce like that Firebeard father of his, either. Far too delicate. If it wasn't for the lad's dark coloring, you'd never suspect his relation to the princess or his uncles. Very strange."
"At least the other archers have sideburns."
"Those Firebeards always were strangely friendly with the elves and local men. It wouldn't surprise me if that boy's got mixed blood in him."
"Aye. Far too peculiar that he's still bare at his age."
"Must be why the King's assigned him to the eastern tunnels. Keeping him out of sight and out of mind. Terrible business."
"Would've mistaken him for a lass if I'd not known..."
The hobbit reached out and grabbed Óin's shoulder, his short arm straining as the elderly dwarf tried to stand up from his seat, ear trumpet brandished in hand like a deadly weapon. Teeth gnashing and nostrils flared, Óin looked ready to throttle the disrespectful dwarves who'd insulted the youngest prince of Erebor.
"Wait, Óin! Wait!" hissed Bilbo. "We've got to think this through. By the Valar, save me from the rashness of dwarves. Sit down!"
"But you heard what they said! It's downright—"
"Yes, yes, I know, I know," assured Bilbo. "But attacking outright wouldn't look good for us, now would it? No, don't give me that look. I don't care what you dwarves do about insults and whatnot. I've got a better idea."
"Really?"
"Of course, we hobbits can be quite crafty when we want to be," said Bilbo with a snooty sniff. He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes narrowed at the snickering group of dwarves at his back. "And I've a strong desire to utilize that craftiness right now. They'll not know what hit them."