Foe Dreamflower, who wanted something with Sam and Merry in the Conspiracy. This takes place shortly after the events in "The Trouble With Love" though it's not necessary to have read that.

A Meeting of Conspirators

Forelithe 1418 SR

“Things are getting bad, Mr. Merry.”

Sam is fretting, as he has been since taking on this assignment.   

We’ve been meeting every couple of weeks at Three-Farthing Stone when we’re both able to get away. Or when Sam is able to get away. As I’m currently ensconced at the Great Smials with no real responsibilities, the only thing I need worry about is coming up with an explanation for my constant disappearances. I don’t know whether to be grateful or irritated that everyone assumes I need all this time alone to lick my wounds over Estella becoming engaged to Gordibrand Burrows. I settle for grateful, as that means they don’t pay too close attention to anything I’m doing. Except Pervinca, but that’s another matter.

I turn my attention back to Sam, who’s standing there wringing his hands and looking ready to lose his breakfast. “What happened?”

“He’s having talks with the S-Bs, lots of them. He’s got in his head as he’s got to sell Bag End to make his excuse of running out of money believable.”

“And he’s planning to sell to them?” I shudder. Certainly, Frodo can’t be that desperate. Why would he sell Bag End? “Can’t he come up with some other story for moving? An ailing cousin, an extended visit, a much-needed holiday.”

Sam shrugs, looking miserable. The poor chap looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I think he’s lost weight as well. “He’s not announced it yet, but seeing how smug Mistress Lobelia was the last time she came for tea, I’m thinking it’s not far off. There’s more: Gandalf got him some maps leading away to Rivendell, and they’ve been going over all the various routes as we can take.”

“Is there any indication of when he may be planning to leave?” I ask.

Sam shakes his head. “It ain’t got that far yet, sir, I can tell you that much. Gandalf’ll be leaving soon though. Says he’s got some business or other down south a ways. He wants to gather information, find out what he can about what all the Enemy’s doing afore Mr. Frodo sets out.” 

He gulps and fails to suppress a shudder. Thinking of the Enemy is daunting at best. Even I feel the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Better to get Sam thinking about something more pleasant. 

“At least you’ll finally get to meet some Elves,” I say. 

Sam nods, but I don’t think he really hears me. If he were thinking about Elves, he’d have that dreamy-eyed look of his. As it is, he looks as resolved and exhausted as I’ve ever seen him.

“It won’t do Frodo any good if you pass out hiking across the Shire,” I tell him, speaking lightly. “You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you, Sam?”

“Of course, sir,” he says. The lie is so obvious, it doesn't bear acknowledging. He glances up at the sun and gets ready to leave. “I best be getting back. I’m supposed to meet Tom and Jolly at the Bush.”

We leave the shelter of the stone and Sam’s already walking away when I ask, “How much is he asking for it?”

Sam turns back but doesn’t stop walking. “That I don’t know, sir, but he’s sharp enough to ask whatever they’re willing to pay, and that’s a fair sum.”

I watch Sam walk away and return to the shelter of the stone. I sit down and lean my head back, planning to brood over what Sam had just told me. I close my eyes, but it’s Estella’s face that floats into my mind’s eye instead. I remember Estella’s kiss, the last one I’ll ever receive from her, and decide I don’t need to rush back to Tuckborough just yet. Perhaps everyone is right, and I do require licking my wounds after all.

‘Gordi, you better take care of her.’

GF 12/22/11