Chapter 2. OCs and Free Lunches

Just then a massive face appeared under the lip of the table. ‘Er, what seems to be the trouble, little masters?’ Barliman Butterbur said. He frowned at Frodo. ‘You’re not about to pull one of your tricks, Mr. Underhill, er, Baggins, are you?’

‘No, no,’ Merry said hastily, popping up from under the table and hauling at Frodo’s arm. ‘My cousin, er, dropped something and we were looking for it.’

‘P’rhaps I can help,’ Mr Butterbur said. ‘But you all come up from under there. You’re drawing attention, and folk are beginning to talk.’

‘We cannot have that!’ Frodo snapped, giving in to Merry’s pull so abruptly that Merry fell backwards, hitting his head upon the table behind him.

‘O Mr Brandybuck, are you all right?’ Mr Butterbur said in alarm.

‘No harm done,’ Merry said faintly, though his head was ringing and he saw distinct stars in the air before him.

‘Come, sit down now,’ Mr Butterbur said worriedly, assisting Merry back to his seat. ‘I’ll bring you some dinner, best that’s in the kitchen, on the house, of course.’

‘Very kind,’ Pippin said promptly, and elbowed Frodo. ‘Sit down, cousin,’ he said. ‘I’m sure a bit of food will put some cheer into you.’

Frodo sat down resignedly. He knew there was no leaving with an offer of free food before them, and besides, he’d wanted to slip away unobtrusively. Now it seemed as if the attention of all in the room was upon them. Had he seen an avaricious gleam in more than one set of eyes as Merry’s head hit the table?

‘There you are, Mr Frodo,’ Sam said, relieved. ‘When I didn’t find you in our room or the stable or taking the air outside, I began to wonder, like the ninny-hammer I am. What was I thinking? Naught ill could come to pass now that the Troubles are over.’

Just then a barmaid came with a wet cloth, which she proceeded to press against the back of Merry’s head. ‘Is that better, Mr Brandybuck?’ she asked worriedly.

‘Fine,’ Merry muttered, pushing her hand away. ‘Really, please don’t fuss.’

‘Why Merry!’ a cheerful voice said, ‘Don’t tell me you’re in your cups already, and falling into tables!’

‘Berilac, what are you doing here?’ Merry said.

‘Ilberic told me you were off to Bree, and I thought I’d help you drink up the beer before you did yourself some harm,’ Berilac laughed. ‘Hullo, Frodo!’

‘What would you know about anything?’ Frodo said rudely. ‘You’re only an OC after all.’

‘OC? What’s that?’ Berilac said, mystified.

‘Frodo’s on about something, I can’t quite make out what it is,’ Pippin said, then his face lit up as Barliman came up with a well-loaded tray.

‘There you are, little sirs,’ he said. ‘Eat up, and plenty more where this come from.’

‘You can ask them what an OC is, if they’ll even talk to you, which I doubt,’ Frodo said bitterly, gesturing to the tables of Big Folk. When they saw him pointing to them, they immediately left off watching the Shirefolk and pretended to busy themselves in talk. Soon genuine talk had arisen again, and the room rang with laughter.

‘All right,’ Berilac said unexpectedly. ‘I shall!’ He got up from the hobbits’ table and sauntered over to one of the large tables, climbing onto a stool.

‘Hullo, you’re a cute little fellow,’ one of the Big Folk hailed him. ‘What’s your name?’

Something unpleasant glittered in the eyes of those around the table, and Berilac, though he didn’t know why, felt compelled to give a name not his own. ‘Hornblower Bracegirdle,’ he said, seizing on the first name that came to mind.

‘Ah,’ one said in dismissal. ‘An OC.’ She turned away to talk to her tablemate, obviously thinking him beneath her attention.

‘What’s an OC?’ Berilac asked the one who thought him a cute little fellow.

‘Ah,’ she sighed, a smile of remembered pleasure touching her lips. ‘Someone who’s tall, dark and handsome, has muscles but isn’t muscle-bound...’

‘Does everything right,’ another put in.

‘Saves the Fellowship in the nick of time,’ a third added.

‘...and does everything you want him to do,’ a fourth said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. A snicker ran around the table.

‘Not all OCs are Marty-Stus, you know,’ one of them said.

‘Marty-Stu?’ Berilac said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know him.’

‘Mary Sue’s little brother,’ one of them laughed.

‘Big brother, you mean,’ she was contradicted, and to Berilac’s mystification, a great laugh resulted. He didn’t even want to ask who Mary Sue was.

‘Well, it was nice chatting with you ladies,’ he said politely.

‘Nice to meet you, Hornblower,’ the one who thought him a cute little fellow returned. He slid from the stool, bowed, and returned to his cousins’ table, scratching his head.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ he said to Frodo, ‘with this OC business. I asked them, and I don’t think I’m an OC at all, from what they said.’

‘Hah!’ was all Frodo said, and Berilac peered at him more closely.

‘Frodo?’ he said slowly. ‘You don’t look all that well to me.’

‘They’re at it again!’ Frodo cried wildly. ‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted.

‘I think he’s delirious,’ Berilac said worriedly to Merry. ‘Didn’t you say he was on about something?’

‘No, I said that,’ Pippin replied through a mouthful of food. Samwise had immediately put down his fork at Berilac’s words, and reached his hand towards Frodo to check for fever. Frodo batted the hand away.

‘Mr Frodo, I think you ought to lie down,’ Sam said firmly, his eyes meeting Merry’s. Merry nodded. He didn't think there was all that much wrong with Frodo, he'd probably imbibed a bit too much of the beer that those Big People had been buying him earlier.

‘Yes,’ Merry said. ‘Come, cousin, Sam and I will take you up to the room.’

‘No!’ Frodo shouted. ‘No! They’re at it again! Tell them to stop! Stop it!’

‘You need any help?’ Pippin asked, cutting another slice from the roast.

‘No, we’ll be fine,’ Merry said. ‘Save something for us, will you?’

‘Plenty more where this come from,’ Pippin said, quoting Barliman. Frodo wasn’t delirious, of course he wasn’t; his face wasn’t flushed, he didn’t look feverish to Pippin. More likely he’d quaffed a bit too much of Barliman’s fine beer. Pippin was confident he’d be fine after he slept it off. He’d seen Frodo in his cups once before, and naught had come of it, though he’d been quite startled at the time to see a drunken Frodo, one midnight at Bag End when Pippin had come unexpectedly to visit. A drunkard at Bag End, whatever would Bilbo have said had he seen Frodo attempting yet another way of leaving the memory of the Ring behind?

‘Come on, Fro, you can sleep it off,’ Merry said soothingly as he and Sam each took an arm. Frodo gave in suddenly. At least in the room he would be out of sight of those watching eyes...

‘I’ll sit with him, Mr Merry,’ Sam said. ‘You go on down to supper once we get him settled.’

‘I’ll bring you a plate up, Sam,’ Pippin said.

‘Yes, if you don’t eat all the food up yourself,’ Berilac laughed.

‘Plenty more where that come from,’ Mr Barliman reiterated, plonking down another platter.