By: Dana
Summary: The months Topaz Tunnelly spent in the Lockholes.
Characters: Topaz Tunnelly, and other original charters
Pairings: Ferdi/Topaz is mentioned, but not included
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gen, hobbits in prison, some violence (some shown, and even more implied)
Author's Notes: Beta by Lindelea and Dreamflower.
Topaz is one of SlightlyTookish's Tunnelly OCs (the Original Character Exchange Program lives on!). I said I would write this story for her (one day long ago, perhaps around the time I first wrote 'The Tramping of Heavy Feet'), and I have. I really don't know what this says about me, posting this story on New Year's Eve. Expect to see more in this vein, as I haven't yet finished with OCs, minor characters (and most especially, the Year of Troubles).
I meant to title this sory differently, but then the perfect title ended up being less than perfect :) Still, I knew what sort of imagery I was aiming for, with the title, and so it comes to this.
Series Index: In a Sunless Year.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

SR 1419, from summer to autumn

Topaz woke from the worst possible nightmare, and found the waking was little improved. She couldn't remember much of what had brought her to this place, for even now her mind seemed fogged over. Her head ached, as well, as did her right wrist. And, in a fashion that seemed quite detached, she noticed that she'd torn her dress.

She sat forward from where she'd leant against the wall, just as cold fear took her. Then, she looked about the little room.

It was small, and mostly dark. On the far side, there was a door that looked solid (at least at this distance), but light leaked in round the edges, coming from the other side. There were four others sitting in the little room, all lasses, at least from what Topaz could tell. Distantly, she heard the sound of weeping. At that sound, her eyes burned and her throat tightened – but she blinked away those tears, for she couldn't see the good in weeping. Sitting there, her arms wrapped about her body, she looked about the room, the darkness something tangible.

'Hello?' she said, even as her throat protested. Something rustled in the near darkness – someone rose, then crossed the room, and as the form came closer, Topaz noticed that a little bucket hung from one hand.

'I'd say well met, but that hardly seems proper,' a voice said, one that somehow still held a small smile, as well as dirt and pain. The lass sat, and put down the bucket – hanging from the side, there was a little cup. 'I'm Bellis Goodbody, of Michel Delving. The Men took my brother some months ago, you see, and as I'm second eldest, it was my duty to do what collecting I could do – you must understand.'

Topaz nodded, even as she was handed the little cup. It was small, and dented, and Topaz hardly felt it right to breathe, but she lifted up her hands, and took a slow sip. The water was warm, and tasted dirty, and the sting of tears returned, even as Bellis set her hand on Topaz's shoulder. 'Well, they caught me,' she said, once Topaz was finished, and she'd took the cup away. 'And... well, here I am.'

There was something in Bellis' voice that Topaz didn't dare contemplate. 'I'd hoped I might see my brother, but I've not. They keep us locked up, better than some of the lads and older hobbits. They must think us worth something more.'

Topaz nodded, her eyes still stinging, her throat aching, tight. When she could manage it, she opened her mouth again, and though she was not sure that she'd be able, she began to speak. 'Thank you, Bellis. I'm Topaz Tunnelly, of Applegrove outside Whitwell... but I've removed myself mostly to Great Smials, these days.'

'Mostly removed?' Another smile.

'That's where my lad lives,' Topaz said, her voice small. 'Ferdi Took, do you know him? I don't know if you would. Anyhow, well...' She told him she'd be careful, that he needn't worry, but she'd done a wretched job of that. 'I told him I'd come back,' she said, and one hot tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another.

'It...' Bellis hesitated. 'Here, have another drink – but not too much. It's late now, and if we're lucky they might feed us something in the morning. They're better at making sure we have water, at least.'

Topaz nodded, and accepted the little cup, her fingers half-numb. She took another small sip, the water dirty, warmer even than it had been at first, and when she handed it again to Bellis, she felt another tear slip down her cheek. Bellis looked at her, but didn't say a thing, her face expressionless, her eyes without depth. 'Did they...?' Bellis began, then hesitated, and Topaz felt she didn't want to understand. 'However did you come to this place, Topaz Tunnelly?'

'I was leading a group of children from the Tookland,' she said, voice small. 'We went cross the road, out of the Tookland, and would have made our way through the woody hills to the west of Whitwell...' She blinked through her tears, another wave of fear washing over her, then pulling her down. 'Oh, stars, Bellis, I wasn't alone. I can't – I can't remember, I got knocked upside the head, you see, but I can't remember if they found El and Roddy, if they found the children too.'

'I think – well, I haven't heard a word of there being children here,' Bellis said. 'So, you shouldn't fear.'

But Topaz did fear, and it ate at her, cold and hateful. She buried her face in her hands, and did her best to muffle the sound of wet sobs, felt like such a wretched fool, for letting herself be caught. She supposed it might have been worse, but that gave her little comfort, sitting in the darkness. Then Bellis slipped her arms round Topaz's shoulders, and gave her a little shake. 'I can't say it'll be all right,' she said, no smile in her voice. 'Try and not weep too loudly, Topaz, for the Men might hear otherwise and see what's about.'

Topaz nodded, sniffled, tears leaking down her cheeks, with hope, and freedom, such a very distant thing. When she'd quieted down, Bellis smiled, then gave her cheek a pat. 'Good lass, Topaz. Here now, come meet the rest of our friends.'

There was a lass from Waymeet, Calathea Waymarch, who insisted she be called Cala. There was another lass from Nobottle, by name of Dahlia Twofoot, with too much pain and sadness in her voice. And the last was Nyssa Broadbank, from Whitfurrow, who reminded Topaz of her cousin Aster, in face and in voice, and in age as well.

Dahlia hardly dare speak, but for Nyssa, once she'd spoken, it hardly seemed that she would ever stop. And she wanted to share how she'd come to this place, and Topaz wondered if there was some strength in telling one's story. She hardly thought telling her own would make her feel strong.

'I think I was just unlucky,' she said. 'I'd taken to running messages for Freddy Bolger's rebel lads – my cousin Wil was with them, you see, and I'd wanted to do him proud – and I was just unlucky.' She rested her chin on her knees, something unsaid drifting in the darkness of her eyes. 'They didn't think to question me – they mustn't think I knew anything of importance. I...'

She shut her mouth, frowned, and Cala picked herself up, then moved closer, putting her arms around the lass' shoulders, pressing their faces cheek to cheek. Nyssa blinked her eyes, then rubbed away bright tears, and the smile afterwards hardly seemed bright enough, but at least it seemed real. That was something small, given this awful dark place, and that at last seemed like some small hope.

'Are you well?' Cala asked, and Nyssa nodded, but when she went on, her voice had grown small.

'I hope cousin Wil hasn't been hurt, or got himself caught. And I hope my ma is well, and that she doesn't worry herself sick – her or my sibs.' Then she leaned against Cala, finished with her story. She relaxed some, and Cala whispered something against her ear, and Nyssa turned closer, now clutching at her.

The silence, after that, seemed unbearable, and Topaz couldn't stand it. But then, from far off, she heard a scream, and then ragged weeping, and that was more unbearable that any silence might have been. She saw Nyssa turn her head, press it against Cala's shoulder. Dahlia grew tense, her gaze dark then distant, and she lowered her gaze in order to study her dirty feet. As well, she clutched at her dress. And Topaz, shaking, felt like a fool, and one who'd likely never see sunlight again, for having thought she could be brave. Perhaps, before, she might have thought no darkness too great, for she was Took-blooded, after all, and there was little that could stop a Took. But now she felt something break inside, for this was too dark, too much, and she wondered if she'd ever be free.

It surprised her, then, when Bellis covered her hand with her own, and Topaz found some small strength in that. Oh, but it was small. Topaz wondered if it would be enough.

They brought food, early on the day after, but there wasn't very much. While the others ate, crowded round each other, Topaz sat, silently defiant.

Bellis looked up, frowning softly. 'Come here, Topaz,' she said, and Topaz's stomach grumbled unpleasantly, so Topaz stood.

She didn't want to say, I want to go home, for all she did want to go home. She sat down beside Bellis, and Bellis put her arm about her. 'See, we'll have a bit now, and keep the rest for later.'

There was hardly more than a bit already, and Topaz couldn't see how it could last. She nodded, instead, and picked at a piece of staling bread. Her stomach rumbled, then knotted up queasily. Still, she ate.

They had to be careful with the water, Bellis told her. 'See, we only get so much, and if you try and make them give you more, well, they might be angered.'

'How could it be any worse?'

Silence, and it was Dahlia who answered. 'Just know it could be,' she said, and Nyssa covered Dahlia's hand with her own. Topaz looked at her, saw her flinch, close her eyes as she tried to steady her breath. When she opened them again, she went on, saying, 'You were sleeping still, but one came round so Bellis could take out our mess.' When Topaz frowned, Dahlia laughed, bitter, hard. 'What, it has to go somewhere? And here, we're theirs, we do as they say. Afterwards, we got fresh water – fresher water, anyhow.' She looked down.

'I don't know how you do it, Bellis. Don't you ever think to run?'

Topaz looked at Bellis, for she wondered at Dahlia's question. All Bellis did was smile, but the smile was so wide and tense that Topaz knew it as fake. 'You do as you can do, Dahlia. That's all there is.'

Topaz wasn't feeling very hungry, for all her stomach wasn't very nearly full. Bellis' arm was warm, though, and Bellis gave her a little shake. 'Oh, Topaz, don't get too down. This won't last for ever.' Topaz looked sideways, saw Bellis' warm smile. 'It simply can't.'

Topaz wanted to believe that, wanted to smile – and she tried, and only managed to smile, but it hurt her cheeks. Bellis then patted her arm, and turned back. 'My Da always told me that, when I was younger – Bell, you can't think a bad thing will go on for ever. I still believe him. After all…' She took a deep breath, then only smiled. What else could she say?

They all had a bit of water after that, then went back to sitting at opposite sides of the room, Cala and Nyssa together, Bellis and Topaz likewise, and Dahlia, at her own insistence, alone. Topaz put her arms about herself, and rocked a little, thinking of sunlight and fresh air. She remembered walking with Ferdi beneath the trees in the Tookland, and how she missed him. Had he heard the news? And had that news gone to her Mam and Dad? She didn't want to think of it, of troubling them like this. She had made this choice her own self, after all. She hoped Ferdi wouldn't blame himself. This was all her own fault.

And time went on, after that, quiet hour after quiet hour, sometimes rough talk coming from behind the heavy door, sometimes screams or cries coming from further off. Or, more shockingly, close at hand. Sometimes, Nyssa would bury her face in her hands, and do her best to not hear, with Cala's arm about her. And Topaz wasn't so strong that she didn't do the same thing, and she was grateful, grateful like a small child would be for their older cousin, whenever Bellis touched her hand, or put one arm about her, or embraced her. She liked that the most.

Dahlia, though, would sit and look, hard broken darkness in her arms.

And time, somehow, went on.

'How long have you been here?' she asked Bellis, one day. Bellis looked startled, then shook her head, and gave a soft smile.

'Bad luck, is all. It was this or worse, I suppose. And luck – well, luck has played a part in it. I haven't had it so bad as some others.'

Topaz, really, truly, honestly, could not see how some could have it worse. Certainly, she thought this bad enough. Still, all she could do was put her hand on Bellis', and press tightly. 'Oh, but don't have me go on,' Bellis said. 'One day, this will all end. It will.'

And more time went on, five lass' sitting in the darkness, listening to each other's breathing. Dirt and rubbish, that was all they had now. Just dirt and rubbish, and quiet, and sound – and Topaz couldn't tell what of all that was most terrible, for it all seemed very bad.

Yet one morning, a lucky morning where they had food, though less than more, Dahlia told off the guard who'd come in, big and rough looking, dark in his eyes. Topaz found that more terrible, sitting like a thing frozen, so terrified she couldn't breathe, as Dahlia was dragged out by her hair, the one guard laughing at his fellow, and Dahlia screaming so loud, there could never be an end.

It was Nyssa who spoke up, next, after the men were gone, and Dahlia, too, when silence settled over them all like a thick layer of dirt, her voice small. 'She couldn't have wanted that. She couldn't have.'

'Better to feel than not,' said Bellis. 'Or maybe she'll break so hard she won't have that worry anymore.'

Topaz sat shaking now, looked at Bellis in disbelief. 'Living's harder than you think,' she said, and Topaz nodded, jaw gone slack. Oh, Dahlia. She closed her eyes, shook harder, and Bellis wound both arms about her, holding her close.

'Think of bright things,' Bellis murmured, but Topaz couldn't, for there was nothing but darkness, for ever, and she was lost, half-alone, trapped. Better put than that, she was stuck.

Dahlia didn't come back that night, nor the day after, and the men must have forgotten about them – oh, perhaps they simply didn't care –for there was no water, nor any food. 'They likely just don't care,' Cala said, and she echoed Topaz's own thoughts. 'Not that they want us dead, no. They only want to have us suffer, and suffer all we can.'

No food, just dirt, and less than crumbs; and no water, for the bucket was full of other things. And time went on, and the stench grew and grew, and Topaz thought, that if something did not happen, then she might soon lose her mind.

Or that Bellis had already, to hum beneath her breath. No, she as well, for she put her hand in Bellis', and hummed along with her. It was but a moment, and one for them to hold onto, both. But Topaz felt tears in her eyes, felt her gut twist and knot, and she felt like there was still some light in the world. At least, she had to hold on.

She shouldn't have let it get to her – but it did, and it was simply too much. When th Man came to check on them, to see that they had some water, and even a bit of food, Topaz had been sitting to the side. And she likely acted without thinking, because she would not have done so if she had known. All she knew, then, was the Man that loomed before she. She was swimming in dream, or waking. She couldn't tell what was which.

The blow to her face, oh, that was spark of hot fire, and reality returned.

'Don't hurt her,' Bellis pleaded, voice on the edge, near hysterics. The guard, dripping, stinking, struck Topaz across the face, and Topaz went down, rolled to the center of the room – she couldn't remember it, having thrown the bucket at him. Even now, as reality returned, it all seemed like some sort of great, and terrible, dream.

The Man caught Bellis up, after two long strides, and cuffed her upside the head, though he hadn't needed to, she didn't protest. Topaz saw all this, though her vision was in a haze – she opened her mouth, for she would protest, but no sound came, nothing at all. And out Bellis went, filth and darkness in the air. The door slammed, the lock was secured. Topaz pulled herself up into a small ball, her cheek burning, agony in her heart and eyes as well – then, she began to weep. Darkness, and almost alone.

Cala and Nyssa let her be, but then, once screams came from afar, Nyssa crept to her, and made her sit. 'She won't come back, will she?' Topaz asked, when Nyssa looked her in the face.

'She might,' Nyssa said, but Topaz couldn't believe her. Hope was knocked from her, and her cheek smarted, and there were still tears in her eyes. She didn't want to be held, and she didn't want to think of false hope. All she wanted was to go home, but she knew, somehow, that that would never be.

She woke again, and all was gloom. From across the room, there was a thump, and a low moan. Topaz roused herself from sleep, fully, gut aching, eyes burning.

'Nyssa? Cala?'

Another low moan, and a jeering laugh. Then the door slammed shut, and Topaz was awake completely, even as she heard Cala and Nyssa stir, even as she heard one more, and heartbreaking, low moan.

'Oh, Bellis,' she whispered. The light was low, but she could see Bellis' dirty, bruised face, and that was all she could see. 'Bellis, what did they–' but she couldn't ask, her gut knotted, another wave of tears burning in her eyes, falling down her cheeks. 'Oh Bellis,' she whispered, heartbreaking, as she gathered the dear hobbit to her, tried to take on some of her pain. Her dress was a ruin, and yet retained some lasting strength, to have stayed in one piece.

Bellis put her cheek against Topaz's, and Topaz couldn't tell who wept more – then Topaz called for Nyssa, and Nyssa came. 'Hold her, please,' she whispered, for she could not bear to speak louder. Nyssa nodded, said she would, then took Bellis from her – oh, what had they done, what had they done? Topaz felt sick enough, she knew just what had been done.

She went to the door, legs steady, hands numb – sense knocked back into it when she knocked on the door, shaking as she did. 'We need water, please,' she said, as loud as she dare – even as Cala hissed that she be quiet. She shut her eyes against the tears, against the terror. Then she knocked again, and called out once more, and terror above terror, he heard the lock as it was undone, and then the door came open.

'We need water, please,' she whispered, then spoke again, more loudly. 'Please, we do.' She looked up, the cruel curve of the Man's smile, his gaze focused on her – and somehow, she held herself straight.

'Please,' she gasped, voice shaking.

From behind him, there was another voice – 'we haven't the time, Radge wants us out' – but he looked at her once more, said he would fetch her her water, and afterwards, well, afterwards, he would take his price.

The door was shut and locked, and it was an age away (but must have only been minutes), when the door opened once more – the bucket was pushed towards her, water spilling on her hands, and Topaz blinked through her shock. That was it. The door was shut and locked, once more, the Man was gone – she heard a small, pained moan, and she steeled herself, and turned, and went to Bellis. She thought of her Ferdi, so very far away, and how she should be brave for him – and how, somehow, she had been brave for Bellis, though she couldn't tell how.

The afterwards never came: the Man who would have come for her, he was killed by rebels, or so she overheard – and one of those rebels was brought in, and well punished he had been. And that all went on on the other side of a locked door. In the dark of their own room, Topaz held Bellis, or simply sat near her. It couldn't happen, not with them so close as they were, but Topaz simply didn't want Bellis to be far away.

She made sure she drank, and that she had what food that they were given, often giving of her own: and Bellis wouldn't speak, and hardly seemed to even want to move – but no wonder, given the hurt she'd suffered, the hurt she was still in.

For all it was Nyssa who reminded her most of cousin Aster, Topaz often found herself speaking to Bellis as though she were a younger cousin: and always, that Bellis should hold onto hope: and always, that day would come.

But it was dark and terrible, and Topaz felt there would be no end to it, the terror, and the dark.

Some days after that, Bellis finally spoke. 'Thank you,' she said, her voice a small whisper. 'I think, if I'd given myself the chance – well, I think I might have wanted to die.'

'Bellis–'

'I don't think that now, though. I don't think much, but – oh, I don't think that.'

Topaz was happy to hear her voice, but didn't much know what to say – and Bellis wasn't much wanting for conversation, and silence was something that Topaz could give.

Some more days after that, when Topaz dreamt, her dreams were dark as nightmares, and as ever, the waking only somewhat better.

Some few days after that, Topaz woke to weak sobbing – and when she reached for Bellis, Bellis at first tensed but then let herself be held, holding Topaz with all the strength she could manage, muffling her sobs against Topaz's dirty shoulder.

And what seemed a lifetime after that, there was life again, and light: for those hobbits who had been held prisoner in the Lockholes, they were made free: and Topaz, feeling as though she had wandered into another dream, and this one good beyond any belief, wept for that freedom, and all she felt had been lost.

Caring hobbits took Bellis away from her – Bellis, bruised but healing, yet torn inside – Bellis, who she should have called for, who she shouldn't have let them take away – Bellis, poor Bellis, and her eyes burned and ached. She should have better held onto her, that was it.

So she found her cousin Jed, bruised but whole – Jed, whom she hadn't thought to see here. She had hoped her family had gone untouched. When they fell into each other's embrace, Topaz could only think of Bellis – she would find her, again, and see that she was well. Jed said, 'Are you well? Did they hurt you?'

They hadn't hurt her, not really, not on the outside, anyhow. So she said, 'For the most, I think they left me alone.' She felt as though she was only one small part of a much larger picture, and she needed to be filled in – El, and Roddy, and the children… There was so much she needed to yet learn.

And she held him, and didn't ever want to let him go.