Title: Curving Paths

            Rating: PG-13 (Just to be on the safe side...Probably mostly PG)

            Disclaimer: I am not, and do not claim to be, at all associated with J.R.R. Tolkien, the brilliant author of Lord of the Rings, whose characters I am borrowing temporarily.

            Time Period: Mid to late 1420 of the Third Age, by Shire Reckoning.

            Additional Note: This is a revised version of the previous draft of the story.  The plot has remained intact, for the most part; I have simply made a few adjustments so that everything fits into canon a bit more smoothly.

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            Upon arriving in town, Frodo questioned a few hobbits conversing outside a dimly lit pub and learned from them that Pippin was inside.

            He was greeted by a few acquaintances as he entered but failed to see Pippin at first. He wound his way to the back corner and caught sight of him laughing and singing in a crowded booth.

            Pippin glanced up and noticed Frodo, greeting him cheerfully, "Why, it's Frodo! Frodo, let me order you an ale, give me a moment!"

             "No, no, Pip. That's alright. I was simple wondering if I could talk to you alone for a bit."

             "Well, alright, Frodo, but are you sure you want to be passin' up a mug? It's not so bad here. Almost as fine as the Pony, eh?"

            Frodo accepted an ale to appease his friend, then led him to an enclosed booth by the fireplace.

             "Pip," Frodo began when they were both seated, "I have something to tell you." He paused, uncertain how to continue.

             "What is it, Frodo? Has something happened to Sam?" 

             "No, no, Rosie and Sam are fine." He drew a deep breath. "It's you I'm worried about. Pip, Jasmine is not who you think she is."

            To Frodo's surprise, he thought he saw a fleeting look of panic flare in Pippin's eyes, but it was gone in a moment, and Pippin leveled him with a quizzical gaze of almost apathetic confusion.

             "I'm afraid she does not share the feelings you have for her." The next few sentences came out in a hurried jumble. "I was cleaning her room and I saw a piece of paper on the floor and I didn't know it was a letter, but it was from Jasmine to some lass named Ruby. She only wants your money Pippin. She doesn't truly love you."

            Pippin was silent for a few long minutes. Frodo was shocked at how well he seemed to be taking it. Maybe Pippin had matured more than he had guessed.

            Suddenly his friend began to speak quietly, his eyes averted downward where they examined the ale sloshing in his mug. Frodo had to lean forward to catch the softly spoken words.

             "I have to say I'm not surprised Frodo. I've noticed clues here and there, so no, I'm not surprised. I suppose I just never really expected this of you."

             "Of me!" Frodo leaped to his feet in confused indignation. "I'm sorry I was snooping, but it wasn't purposeful and-"

            Pippin cut him off, a hard tone added to his voice. "Look Frodo, just stop. You and I both know there was no snooping because there was no letter. I'm sure you're lonely, but I'll not have you insulting my lass."

            Frodo protested loudly, pleading with his friend to believe him. "Pippin, I am not lying to you! I don't understand why you won't trust my word! I'm part of your family, your friend, and yet you have only recently met Jasmine. Why would you favor her word over mine?"

             Rather than attempting to out-shout his cousin, Pippin's voice remained low and cold. "I know what you're trying to do Frodo, but don't.  Don't try to involve yourself in things which do not concern you and that you do not understand."

            Frodo was beginning to feel desperate. "Don't understand? Pippin, it was as plain as the nose on your face! Have some sense, for once!"

            He regretted his wording the moment it left his mouth, but Frodo held out hope that it would shock his friend into belief. 

            No such luck.

            Pippin slammed his mug on the table, a look of mixed frustration and agitation clouding his figures.  He leaped to his feet, grabbed his cloak from the booth, and stalked past the table, leaving Frodo with his head buried in his hands. But as he passed, a word reached his ear, quiet and pleading: "Please."

            He turned, but Pippin was gone, and the sound of a carriage soon sounded, retreating into the night.

           

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