Title: What He Cannot Say
Pairing: Merry/Pippin (who else?)
Rating: PG
Summary Sequel to What He Doesn't Know. "And Pippin will hold Merry's face, look at him with those great green eyes—and say, "Silly Merry". And his careless kiss would send an arrow through his heart."
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a broken stereo. Especially not anything or anyone from Middle-Earth.
Distribution: Really? You want it? Sure! Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback: I'm a feedback ho. I crave it like cheap wine.
Otherwise, it's at my site
Dedication: For Natalie and everyone else that emailed me and asked for a sequel. I'm overwhelmed and amazed that I actually got *feedback* for my first fic. You're all great.
Note the First: Pre-Quest.
Note the Second: reference to a "Tuckborough accent" is movie canon.
Note the Third: "Bilbo's Eagles" refers to "The Hobbit".
Note the Last: For the life of me, I can't remember if it's "lay with him", or "lie with him" (and I used to be an English major). Someone let me know and I'll...um, say 'thank you' very politely.
Pippin hums to himself. Tuneless ditties that follow Merry throughout the Shire. Sometimes, it's just the same few notes over and over, until you think it would drive you mad. But Merry loves the sound of Pippin's voice, whether in song, or in sleep; whether humming or speaking. Merry's always known this.
He doesn't know how to put this into words. He's afraid that if he tries, all Pippin will hear is a tuneless noise—a humming of his own. And Pippin will hold Merry's face, look at him with those great green eyes—and say, "Silly Merry". And his careless kiss would send an arrow through his heart.
Merry knows Pippin's heart. He knows his love of nature, of beautiful things. Pippin is happiest under a tree, or in a field—anywhere open and free. He is all that is wild and untamed, and as free as Bilbo's Eagles.
What Merry doesn't know is how to love someone—tell someone—and let them keep their freedom. Would Pippin find love to be a form of bondage? Love because of "ought", and not because of "want", is no real love at all.
Pippin is charm itself. He'll always get the last tart, the extra butter for his bread. Who can say no to that upturned face, that Tuckborough accent? Merry knows all of Pippin's tricks, and even he is not immune to them.
He wonders if Pippin could ever fall under his spell—if he could make Pippin blush with a smile or a look. At night, Pippin is soft words and deep sighs—but passion isn't love. At least, not always.
Pippin snores when he's asleep. Not too loud—just enough to let you know he's there. (As if Merry could forget!) His mouth slightly open and an errant curl hanging over his eye.
To Merry, every sound, whether sleeping or waking, is beautiful. He would be happy to lie with him forever.
Merry would risk everything for Pippin; but he is afraid to risk Pippin himself—to have his pure love turned into sullen obligation. If he could only find the words to explain that his love has no price, no obligation. He's scared that if his words are badly chosen, he will lose the one thing that really matters.