Hey everyone! so there are two more days until my eighteenth birthday so as a b-day present for myself to myself and to / for all of you I have decided to try to post one chapter of each of my stories for all your viewing. Doesn't it just make you happy?! :D

I will also post one or two more stories (this one included of course) so that is also another reward for both myself and all of you. Happy b-day wishes are always welcome. ;D

On a more somber note . . . . .

Please keep in mind that I did not write this just for kicks. I only felt that this might be one way to view the responsibility Fili feels and how he might deal with it. Do not romanticize this nor think badly upon it. This is for the support of those who deal with this on a daily basis.

So this story is dedicated to my best friend Victoria who herself struggles with this every day. You are loved and cared for. You are the best friend anyone could ask for. And I will always be here for you. If you are reading this know it is true. Love ya Vicki. 3 3 3

WARNINGS : M - rating for violence, dark thoughts and attempts and undertakings of suicidal tendencies.

DISCLAIMER : I do not own any part of "The Hobbit' including it's characters, main story line and anything you make recognize from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. All credit goes to him so sadly I do not own anything. :'( But happy thoughts for I get to borrow them while I write this! :)

Now without further ado here is the story...

Ever at your service,

LonelyWinterRose

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EASY EMPTINESS

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Prologue

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He could do it, it would be only all too easy to lift one of his blades and lay the blade on the underside of one of his wrists or the the soft skin of his throat, it would take just a little bit of pressure he was sure, just put a little bit of weight onto the blade and move it across his skin, it would be only all to easy to make a simple deep cut or even a few shallow ones.

It would take just a single second maybe not even that and the world would fade away to dark easy emptiness where he wouldn't have to feel anything or worry about anything anymore.

The thought is tempting, a sinful whisper in his ear, a shadow always in the forefront of his mind, and a dark promise that is perhaps one of the prettiest he had ever heard.

It's never far from his mind and he has caught himself starring at his blades for hours on end contemplating just how simple and easy it would be, the way he would hold one of his blades in hand, what it would feel like to hold the ice cool razor shape blade to his warm skin over his life beating pulse.

Would there be a rush of adrenaline running through his veins? A ringing in his ears? Total silence? Would his heart race in excitement or last minute fear?

Of course he knows that there are other ways, a length of rope, falling from a high up place, breathing in water, taking a trip down a flight of steep stairs, maybe something heavy or hard coming in contact with his head, even eating something from a healers herb stores.

Easy, maybe to easy and too common place. But that can be solved after all there are plenty of dangerous things roaming Middle Earth, Orc's and Warg's being among them along with Goblin's and Troll's and one of them would probably be all too happy to make a go at him.

Then there is just the risk of nature in general, a cave in, quick sand, a rivers under current, lightening, high winds blowing him from a tall cliff, really there are just so many ways to welcome the easy emptiness that he can't decide which to take up on the offer.

A quick slice of a knifes blade to one of his wrists or to his neck would be quick, he really had no desire to choke or drown himself to death, nor to run the risk of taking too long and risking an unwelcome person trying to play hero where they are not wanted.

A battle full of more than enough enemies to over power him wielding mortally dangerous weapons that they carelessly swing about has a nice ring to it but waiting has never been one of his greatest suits though he pretends different and he is not very fond of a great deal of suspense either.

But again he can never just settle on one and be done with it, he is not hesitating or putting anything off, he knows what he wants and wishes for but setting to the path to finally reaching that easy emptiness needs to be as perfect as he can get it.

After all he's been thinking about it all long enough to have already settled on which action to take, and yet, he still finds himself indecisive about the whole business.

He knows what he wants to do and he will do it but he cannot decide how to go about it since it's not like he can just ask someone, he can only imagine how that conversation would turn out.

His mother Dis would tear up weeping at her eldest sons thoughts and he was sure a part of her would die, his Uncle Thorin would have him sent away or worse guarded day and night to ensure he couldn't do as he wished, and his little brother Kili would probably blame himself for his wanting to embrace the easy emptiness.

The only person Fili could think of that he might be able to talk to would be his older cousin Dwalin since he had heard that he had once had thoughts like his own when his Uncle is well into his cups but then again Dwalin is loyal to his Uncle Thorin through and through and so would probably tell him and he would tell his mother and then Kili being the nosy little brother he is would over hear their mother and Uncle talking and everyone would just end up hurt and yelling at each other.

It is something he wishes to avoid at all costs, so no, he couldn't see such a conversation going over well at all.

He's had the thought of taking it upon himself to kick his own bucket while on a hunting trip since it isn't all that uncommon for him to begone several days to a week or two when he goes hunting, only Kili would want to come along and he can't refuse his younger brother anything except for him not seeing him when he chooses to go.

It all comes back to his family and what they would feel when they find out, if they find out, just how far gone he is for them and the world.

His mother Dis is his mother and he would never wish to hurt her, the same goes for his Uncle Thorin who had stepped in to raise him and Kili after their father died, then of course thinking about his mother and Uncle leads to thinking about his little brother Kili who is the last person in Middle Earth who he would wish to hurt or see lose their smile.

He really wished that he didn't care so much about them it would make it easier if he didn't, Mahal knows it would, and he wished that they didn't care so much about him but they do and no matter how much he tries not to it makes him feel guilty about his thoughts of leaving them.

It's an important time for Durin's folk, at least this is what his Uncle has been saying for the past few years, time are moving forward and the winds are changing with its breeze leaning in their favor.

Erebor, that's what his Uncle is talking about when he says such things hes been planning retaking it long enough years decades even and his Uncle plans for him to be in the center of it by his side one step behind him.

To close and nearby to let him fall on his own without stepping in to be the unwelcome hero trying to save his poor sister-son from himself, he thinks darkly blinking his dry eyes and clearing his film covered vision shaking himself from his thoughts with the wake up call of his Uncle and idol depending on him, his heir, and nephew.

Its a sour thought, one that lingers like a poison in his mind, far more deadly than his regular thoughts on pondering his own death.

His Uncles rare smiles and the hard thump of his heavy hand patting his back are what he dreads most, more so than his mother loving hugs and his little brother joy filled laughter.

His mothers love he can deal with breaking, it would crack him too in the process, but he could do it because he is her son and a mother never stops loving their children no matter what they do.

Breaking his bothers Kili's trust and ruining his happy smile and robbing him of his child like laughter would surely destroy him but he could bare it and live with it no matter the pain it might cause the both of them.

But to hurt, to betray, his Uncle Thorin, his father in all but blood and name, his idol and hero, the one he has always looked up to, by abandoning him and not standing by him as his Heir would surely kill him for being a Prince, his Uncle's Heir is ingrained and carved deeply into his very being.

It is what he is no matter how much he wishes he wasn't.

Responsibility. Dependability. Loyalty, Steadfastness. Honor. And yes even Stubbornness in an amount that would see even Durin the Deathless' longevity put to shame are the words that forged his young mind from a babe.

He had always known that being a Prince was to be his path, Mahal himself laid it down and placed the stones himself for his feet to follow just as the duel swords his Uncle gifted him upon his sixtieth naming day were blessed by Mahal when his Uncle forged them for him, his Heir.

But that's all he is, an Heir, a son, a brother, a Prince, that's what everybody else sees him as not Fili. After all how could they when he himself doesn't know who he is?

He really doesn't remember the last time he could say that he was Fili and Fili likes the color blue, or I am Fili and I like to wield my duel swords while I spar with my younger brother, or even "Hello my name is Fili son of Dis daughter of Thror sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield and Heir to the Kingdom of Erebor and it is my pleasure to meet you good Sir's and Ladies.

What the use of stating that he is anything when he does not feel like anything?

Rubbing at his stinging dry eyes he slowly stands up his bones creaking like an old mans as his gets up off the edge of his bed and walks over to the window on the opposite side of the room.

Seeing the bright colors of the coming dawn lighten the sky he realizes that he must have once again stayed sitting on the edge of his bed looking at his blade as if into nothingness thinking all through the night once again, it isn't the first time and glancing down at the bright silver of one of his many knives held in a death grip in his right hand the first rays of the sun shiny through the window glinting off its clean surface he knows that it will not be the last.

He has lost count of how many nights he has passed in row like this but he thinks that it is at least four this time, better than nine but worse than one but that is neither here nor there nor does it even matter he has gone longer days without sleep and the heavy as lead feeling weighing down his limbs is like a familiar friend.

Welcome with open arms and not minded in the least as it lets him know that he is still alive and at the same time that he is dangerously close to having his body so exhausted that he might make a mistake and a blade might cut him purposely on accident instead of purposely on purpose, not that the why, when or how matters anyway.

If felt like his fingers were locked like claws onto the hilt of the knife the digits stiff and unmovable as if hey were fused to the hardened leather, just as his eyes seemed fused to looking at the dancing silver of the five inch blade before flickering to his opposite wrist that flashed with pale creamy skin with even paler pink and silvery lines of old scars and fresh wounds what still had bright red scabs decorating the paleness in stripes of scarlet.

The scars and still fresh wounds were testament of his years of inner struggle, decades really since the pales silver scar on the outside of his wrist was the eldest and he remember quite clearly the day fifty old years ago it was when he first starting carving his life blood to the surface.

Flash Back

He'd finally gotten his wish, the thing he had begged and asked for for nearly six years now was finally in his grasp; his first blade!

It wasn't very big or fancy but it felt right in his hands as he looked at the bright polished silver of the five inch blade that jutted out from a simple dark dried and hardened leather covered hilt that had his name runes branded on its haft in Ancient Khuzdul the harsh lines blackened by the fire that put it their just do he could read it.

His mother had said to be careful with it while glaring at Uncle Thorin who had gifted it to him probably thinking that he was too young to be able to handle such a weapon - even as small as it is - but his Uncle had only laughed and jokingly said that, "The boy is well and old enough sister. Let the lad be he knows to be careful with it, if he didn't I wouldn't have gifted it to him. Besides I've arranged for Dwalin to begin teaching him how to use it."

Of course he knew why his mother was worried he had always been a little to happy to get rough with his play mates and didn't really know how to control his strength yet, but he was well and old enough to own a blade just as Uncle had said.

He was excited to begin weapons training wit Master Dwalin even though it meant that he would have less time to play with Kili, but then again Kili was too young to play with a knife and when mother had him play with his younger brother he always got hurt because he always forgets that he is bigger and stronger than his little brother.

It is always dreadfully embarrassing to have his mother scold him for not being gentler even though he had been being as gentle as he was able, especially when sh scolded him in front of hid friends who always made fun of him afterwards for being a baby and a mamma's boy even though he was only two scant years younger than them and they still a bit weaker than him.

He also knew that if his friends saw his new blade they would take it from him and probably damage it but he didn't want it to even get the littlest bit dirty. so he was taking it to the place he knew no one lse knew about not even little Kili who followed him everywhere.

Since he has always made sure not to be followed or seen by anybody when he goes to his secret hide out he knows that now his new knife will join the his other treasure in the small chest he keeps their so they are safe from nosy mothers and even nosier little brothers.

Of course his secret hide out wasn't very secret since it was pretty much in plain sight but he had heard his Uncle say that the best place to hide was in plain sight and he supposed that hiding a place to hide in was as much as the same as hiding one's self so it worked out.

It also helped that nobody even came to the old stables since half of it was pretty much falling down, and even though he knew that his mother had called this place unsafe for young children to play in, he wasn't playing in it and since it hadn't fallen down on his head yet it probably never was going to do so.

He has just determined that grown ups over react too much with mothers doing double times of the worrying and since he wouldn't become a grown up for at least another sixty years or so he had a long time to not worry until then, at least that was his logic and since Master Balin said that his logic is very sound and very logical he must be right.

Ducking behind the last building and looking around him to see if anybody had seen him he darted across the dirt street and into the tall grass on the other side before running right threw it all the while hugging his knife to his chest until he catches sight of the tall burned brown planks of wood that make up one wall of his secret hide out.

Ducking under a loose eave and walking inside he goes straight to his own little spot and takes out his little treasure chest from behind a pile of hay that he had brought here handful by handful so he would have a comfy place to sit and lie down should he want to.

Opening and smiling at his collection of random knick knacks of string, ribbons, rocks, wood, an old cracked pipe, a few toy warriors with chipped paint, an old rag doll that he found int he forest near by, and an assortment of buttons, clasps and sharp little pieces of glass, metal and flint, he proudly organized them into patterns around his new knife making an incomprehensible design that only he could see.

Picking up the knife again and gazing at the shiny blade in wonder he slowly drought the tip of his pointer finger to the tip of the blade to test its sharpness and to wince and jerk in pain as it pricked his skin and a single drop of scarlet welled to the surface part of it smearing on his skin as he quickly drew the blade away from his now cut finger.

It stung a little but it didn't hurt as terribly as his mother had made it out to be like then again it was merely a little prick of the skin barely what a thorn would have done to him should he have carelessly gotten tangled in a thorn brier bush again.

Shrugging his small shoulders carelessly he brought the blade to the inside of his wrist and carefully with great concentration made a bigger cut about an inch long but deeper than he had planned to cut causing blood to rise from the cut immediately and drip down the curve of his wrist and onto the dusty dirt ground below him.

Skewing up his eyes in unexpected pain he quickly dropped the knife onto the ground and pressed down on the wound with his now free hand just as he had been instructed to do should he ever have need to stop some heavy bleeding.

Of course he didn't know if this was the kind of heavy bleeding that needed to have the flow of blood stopped but it felt better the longer he pressed on it until their was once again only a slight skin and a pulse every so often that reminded him of the brief pain he had felt with every beat of his heart.

Taking his now red painted hand away from his wrist he watched as slowly only a few more drops of blood rose from the fresh cut staining his normally pale skin a brilliant scarlet matching the blood on his palm.

It hadn't hurt much wen he first cut himself it had only felt cold but once the blade moved to slice and he withdrew it it started hurting a lot more making him think that his mother was only half right, it hurt but not for a long time like she had told him it would.

Seeing such a rare color against his skin had been cool and that his head felt a little light was nice in a strange way but even though his natural curiosity pushed for him to try and do it again he knew that it was probably not wise to make another cut so soon and that it was probably best to get his cut looked at and taken care of.

He would of course need to make up a story of how he came by his new cut that didn't involve his new knife or that he had purposefully done it out of mere curiosity since he was sure that the later was a bit morally wrong and the former would get his birthing days present taken away and himself smothered by his mother attention until he couldn't breath.

And he had done just that, making sure that his new blade was safe inside his treasure chest before making his way home and telling his mother how he had nearly caught a mouse in the stables while he went to see the ponies only to get cut by a pitch fork while trying to grab it.

End Flash Back

He had been a naive child back then, naive of just how addictive seeing his life blood well to the surface would become and how he would soon after seek the release of his stress of learning to be his Uncle's Heir by cutting open yet another wound on one of his arms and letting himself admire the scarlet on pale white until his head grew cloudy where upon he would tend his new wound and wait for the bleary feeling to fade away so he could go through the ritual again.

And it was a ritual for him.

Every time his stomach started turning in anger or frustration at his lesson to become his Uncle's Heir or when ever he got in an argument with one of his family and even after he gets done sparring he sneaks off to his room and sometimes his old hide out and takes his first blade from its sheath on his belt and he makes another cut letting his stress and anger bleed out with his scarlet life blood.

Walk way, hide, take out knife, bare arms, place blade on skin, cut, pull out of new wound, hold pressure, when bleeding stops move up an inch and cut again as many times as it take for all his rage and stress and every other feeling he feels fade away leaving him with a bleary slow moving head on the edge of the easy emptiness, then when he is sufficiently dizzy and numb clean the new wounds, bandage them and repeat.

Watching his pale skin get over taken with pale pink and silvery scars like a beautiful tapestry never ceases to amaze him on at least one level.

He knows that he is not perfect, far from it, after all its point that becomes clearer to him every day, but when he looks at his scarred arms he thinks that they are both roof that he is imperfect and a way to make his once blank skin beautiful.

His thoughts are twisted, he knows this, has known it for a long time now, he is sure as Mahal is his creator that his thoughts of finally claiming the easy emptiness he so yearns for and his decades worth mutilated scarred skin certifies him for not being normal.

If it wasn't for his blasted sense of duty towards his family and people he would have already brought about taking care of his little deliberation and even now day by day that noble sense of duty was fading being erased out by his own want and desire to see more scarlet upon white cream skin painted in silvery lines, enough of his blood welling to the surface for there to be no doubt that the easy emptiness would claim him body, soul and mind in mere moments.

Was it so bad for him to want something for himself for once?

All his life he has been pushed and shoved into being somebody everyone else wanted him to be and doing what everyone else wanted him to be, so was it all that strange for him to want to choose something for himself for once?

He was a smiling loving son for his mother that never raised his voice and was soft spoken with words of polite wisdom coming from his mouth when he did get put on the forefront to give his own opinion that wasn't his own opinion at all but what everyone one else wanted to here from him.

To his little brother Kili, he was happy and joyful with a mischievous streak large enough to circumference his own, a older brother to look up to, a role model, the apple of his younger brothers eye and the center of his whole world.

And to his uncle Thorin he was the quiet dutiful silver tongued Heir he had always wished for, skilled with wielding duel swords and a good enough warrior to beat even the great Dwalin, perfect to no fault whatsoever.

But he was none of those they were just a mask, a farce that he cloaked himself with so no one would truly worry about him when in truth he was really nearly too far gone for anyone's words to get through to him.

Prying his fingers from the hilt of his knife and setting the blood covered blade on the window sill he walked over to his bed side table and the bowl of slightly pink water it was filled with to clean the not dry crusted blood off his fore arms.

Seven new cuts of various depths and lengths decorated his already scar and scab covered forearms with three cuts on his right and four on his left.

Dipping his hands in the cool water and gently brushing his wet hands over his dirtied skin cleaning off the dried blood he takes a moment to admire the darkening pink tinged color of the water in the bowl and how drops of the water caught on the hairs of his arms and the slightly raised puffy scars and barely healed cuts as they gave off faint glitters of light like small diamond in the morning light seeping through his room.

His eyes were burning from not blinking as the drops drew together and slowly ran in thin streams down his forearms to his hands and into the now dark watery pink water in the bowl so he dried his hands to rub at them again feeling the gritty crusts at their corners made from sleep being wasted all night.

The lacking of sleep is a normal occurrence and the feeling of burning and itching dryness in his sleep deprived eyes is quite normal for him just as the heavy lead like feeling dragging in his limbs is, familiar and welcome promising a faint whisper something.

He never knows just what the something is but it always leads to compelling himself to dress and wrap his new wounds before his brother or mother came in to wake him for the day.

Finishing wrapping a white length of bandage around each of his forearms he pulls on a clean long sleeved dark blue almost to the point of black shirt making sure that the white of the bandages is unseen before making his way back over to the window and picking back up his night and placing it in its sheath at his hip without bothering to clean it.

Normally he would not let any of his blade go uncleaned or cared for but today is one of the days that he feels not a care for anything except maybe just looking at the sun.

And that just what he does, standing at his window looking out at the brightening sky unaware of time as is passes and uncaring of just how long of a time passes, its just him and the sun and the faint numb tingles of pain that echo in his forearms with every pulse.

He stands there in silence going over his thoughts the pads of his fingers stroking the hilt of his sheathed knife in a gentle caress completely deaf to the sound of the door to his room opening and his brother softly calling his name...

So tell me what you think. Like it? Love it? Hate it?

Leave a review or two.

Again this story is for my best friend Victoria who is the best friend I have ever had she is like a sister to me and though it hurts to see her hurting I will support her no matter what happens.

Ever at your service,

LonelyWinterRose