A/N: To those of you who have stories that I have been reading and responding to, but I have recently faded from view . . . there is a good reason. The reason is as follows.

I am pleased to announce that the writing of "While We Dwelt in Fear" is complete. It has ended up totaling 46 chapters, with an Epilogue containing three sections.

Thank you so very much, all of my readers, for staying with me on this journey. I apologize that is has taken such a dreadfully long time. I will post twice weekly from here on, with this posting being two chapters. When I started "Fear" I knew it would not be a short work, but I had no idea of the ride it would be. There have been panics when I thought I had lost parts of the story. There have been (as many of you are aware) several periods of "writer’s block", and times when I was writing but it was worse than pulling teeth, one time taking 6 hours to get two pages of text.

So, once again, thank you, thank you, thank you . . . more than I can express . . . to all of you who have read and enjoyed "While We Dwelt in Fear".

XXXVII

Names

A hobbit paused just inside the gloom of a stand of trees near to a hobbit house on the outskirts of Stock. He looked cautiously about. He had his ears, so to speak, wide open. As far as he could tell all was well, there in the near darkness of an overcast night. Rolo Boffin crept stealthily across the open yard of the house then up the path to the kitchen door.

Tap! Tap-tap! Tap!

Light gleamed into the night for a few moments as Rolo slid quickly through the door.

Something covered the whole lower half of his face, his arms were held tight to his sides, his back held firm against someone else’s body. Rolo started to squirm.

"Keep movin’ that way," a coarse voice growled in his ear, " ‘n I’ll wrench yer neck ‘round right quick ‘n ya won’t move ever again."

Rolo was trussed then sat on the edge of the kitchen table before he could even think about trying to respond to the threat. Farmer Sandybanks and his family sat in a row upon the floor, bound with ropes, handkerchiefs tied over their mouths. The room seemed full to overflowing by the presence of only three Ruffians.

"Where be the Shire Rat what’s thinkin’ ya pathetic little scums can get back what ya gave o’er ta us Gatherers? We be on ta yer thievin’ ways. Where be he ‘n what be ‘is name?"

Rolo Boffin said nothing.

The Ruffian struck him hard across the face, knocking him over onto his side. A huge hand grabbed Rolo by the hair and yanked him back up.

"Where? Who?"

Rolo said nothing.

One of the Ruffians picked up the Sandybanks youngest child, a tiny little lass whose eyes were huge with horror above the handkerchief that covered most of her face. He sat her on a chair right in front of Rolo. The huge Man struck her hard across the face, then drew his hand back to deliver a second blow. Rolo stared, his gaze frozen on the face of the little girl.

"Brockenbores. Freddy Bolger," Rolo whispered before the second blow could fall. The Man’s strong arm swept him off the table and into a wall. Rolo Boffin slid unconscious to the floor.

Near The Yale. Near to Whitfurrows and Frogmorton. In hobbit houses and holes along The Water, nearly to the Oatbarton Road on the west and nearly to the Bridge of Stonebows to the east the words that came from beaten hobbits were the same. Some held out longer but all eventually betrayed the names: Brockenbores. Freddy Bolger.

It surprised the hobbits. Surprised them that the large usually blundering Men had been able to sneak up on them. But these Ruffians were hunters and trackers who knew their work well. They had searched out the correct abandoned mine. They had laid their trap. All the Re-Gatherers were beaten, bound and loaded onto wagons. Fredegar Bolger took his blows, He thought of Frodo and Merry and Pippin and Sam. He held himself firm; they would not and they did not make him scream. Fredegar Bolger walked before the wagons. Fredegar Bolger dragged a ten-pound keg of ale behind him, extra punishment for the leader of the "Shire Rats Rebellion". Fredegar Bolger was watched by every hobbit on every farm and in every town; forced from their homes to stand along the road as the grim company passed. Fredegar Bolger and his Re-Gatherers were paraded all the way to Michel Delving where he was placed alone in the darkest, dankest, smallest cell in the Lockholes. The windowless door slammed shut. Fredegar Bolger’s heart begged the forgiveness of the hobbits who had been hurt. Fredegar Bolger wept.