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Bilbo was no stranger to words, but he preferred to read and write them, and public speaking had never been his forte. Yet he could scarcely believe he’d just stood rambling on in front of the Master of Laketown and a crowd of sceptical and very tall men and women, hoping to make them see what he himself had come to understand, that these rough dwarves were noble and their quest was worthy, despite their less than fortunate circumstances.
His impromptu words vouching for Thorin’s Company he couldn’t quite recall, but they had been full of fervour, about their quest to reclaim Erebor, their blood’s right, and their unquestionable honour. Most importantly, they had won over the Master and the townsfolk, securing them a place of stay for a few days and supplies for their journey onward.
As they trudged through the wet streets to their new lodging, Bilbo was uncharacteristically silent, though the dwarves around him were abuzz with excitement, talking between them, mixing Westron and Khuzdul as they tended to do. After months on the road with a throng of dwarves, Bilbo had grown used to hearing the guttural secret language here and there, and he had even picked a few words, so he listened to see if he could catch anything familiar. And he did.
"Bunnel?" one of the dwarves muttered, followed by muffled laughter. Bilbo cocked his head. Surely it was not what he thought? But the word came again.
"Thorin was right, he’s a true bunnel", said Bofur, chuckling. The dwarf was walking just a few paces behind him with his family, and so the word rang clear in Bilbo’s ears.
Bunny?
His heart sank as he remembered Beorn calling him "little bunny" during their stay in his house. Could it be that the dwarves had picked up on that insult? Were they mocking him for being small, harmless, a useless creature? He could already imagine Thorin sneering behind his back, calling him bunny to his fellow dwarves. No matter what he did, he was still an outsider, a small, poor creature, a halfling.
Now that he stopped to think about it, he heard that word before, more than once, from Thorin himself. He recalled with sudden clarity how the dwarf king had muttered the word in awe, when Bilbo showed up in Mirkwood's prison cell, carrying the heavy key chain in his hands. The word had been stammered, strangely elongated, perhaps choked up a bit by that same intense emotion that had also filled those big blue eyes, staring at him through the cell bars. Something like…bunny-bunny? Bilbo had blushed, but really he had bigger bones to pick at that time, so he had let it go as he turned on his heels and ran ahead to free the other dwarves from their cells.
They arrived at their new lodgings, and as the dwarves settled into their drinks and meals by the fire, speaking in small family groups, in a bubble of their own, Bilbo’s irritation continued growing. He sat down heavily near the hearth, trying to shake the feeling of being belittled. But the more he thought about it, the more it festered. He could hear the dwarves talking among themselves in Khuzdul, with that word, bunnel, cropping up here and there.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Bilbo approached Thorin, who was sitting in a quiet corner, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Bilbo cleared his throat.
"Thorin” he began, a little more sharply than intended, "may I have a word?"
Thorin looked up, brow furrowing. "Of course, Master Baggins".
Bilbo hesitated, but then the words tumbled out. "I’ve heard you and the others use the word bunnel when you talk about me. Is this some kind of joke? Are you calling me bunny behind my back, like Beorn did?"
For a moment, Thorin stared at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. Then, a low chuckle escaped him. It wasn’t filled with derision but genuine and warm, a rare sound from the dwarf king.
"Ah, I see", Thorin said, rubbing a hand through his beard. "You think we’re mocking you".
"Aren’t you?" Bilbo asked, trying not to sound too defensive. "I’m not a fool, Thorin. I know when someone’s making fun of me".
Thorin’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice so that only Bilbo could hear. "Bunnel", he repeated. "It does not mean 'bunny'. Not in our tongue. Bunny would be…maybe masaddazulmuzmazum".
Bilbo blinked, taken aback by the amalgamation of unpronounceable sounds. "That’s… quite the tongue twister…. Massa does all mousse ma’am zoom?”
Thorin guffawed in a most undignified way, and continued laughing for a solid minute, as Bilbo looked at him, feeling once again the tendrils of irritation and self-consciousness in his stomach. The other dwarves had turned around and were gaping at them, unused to seeing their leader lost to open mirth like that.
“I’m just… glad there was no Khuzdul requirement for the Burglar job”, Bilbo muttered finally, when he saw the laughter had calmed a bit, trying to make it look as if he was the one that had cracked the joke, and not the butt of it.
“There wasn’t indeed”, said Thorin, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “You see… our language is never taught to outsiders. I see now why that is”.
Bilbo scoffed.
“Well, maybe the other mortal races in Arda weren’t designed with tongues long and flexible enough to utter these… abominations”, conceded Bilbo, quirking the corner of his mouth a little. He could tease too.
“Abominations?”, asked Thorin. “Do you think our sacred language, crafted by Mahal himself, the model for all other languages, is an abomination?”
Bilbo looked at him. Thorin was glaring at him now, but that didn’t impress the hobbit as much as it used to do. There was still mirth in the depth of his eyes.
“So what does ‘bunnel’ mean?", he finally asked. “Am I allowed to learn that one word, on account of it being used to talk about me?”
Thorin’s expression grew more serious, as he hesitated for a while, his gaze once again lost in the fire. Bilbo was starting to believe he was being dismissed from the conversation, when the dwarf spoke again, his voice little more than a murmur. "In Khuzdul, bunnel means treasure”.
"Treasure?" Bilbo echoed, his confusion deepening. "But why would you call me that?"
Thorin fixed his gaze on him again, his blue eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Because, Master Baggins, after what you did today, speaking on our behalf before the Master of Laketown, securing our aid and supplies, you’ve proven your worth once again. Not just to me, but to all of us”.
Bilbo blinked, speechless.
Thorin continued, his usually gruff tone sounding earnest. "You’ve done more for this company than any of us could have asked. You are not a warrior, nor are you bound by loyalty to our cause, yet you’ve saved my life more than once, all our lives really, and now you’ve stood before that crowd and vouched for us when we needed it most. To us, that makes you a treasure. Bunnel".
Bilbo’s cheeks flushed as he processed Thorin’s words. This was not the scorn he had feared. This was... gratitude. A recognition of his value. He tried to say something, anything, but no words came to him.
Thorin sighed, rubbing a hand through his dark beard. "It’s not easy for a dwarf to admit he depends on others. Especially not an outsider. But, you… master Baggins… I… all of us, really, have come to trust you”. His blue eyes were still fixed Bilbo’s, steady and earnest. "You’ve earned that name. You are our treasure”.
"I… I see" Bilbo managed to say at last, his voice a little hoarse. "I thought… well, never mind what I thought. I suppose I misunderstood”.
Thorin gave him one of his rare, full smiles. "You’re no bunny, Master Baggins. You’re a bunnel".
Bilbo chuckled.
"Thank you, Thorin", he said softly. "Though I think I'd still prefer Master Baggins, if you don't mind".
Thorin bowed his head, magnanimously. "As you wish, Master Baggins”.