Title:  Choices
Author:  Jai Marie (magicy2jai@cox.net)
URL:  http://www.free-joy.org/fiction
Pairing:  Frodo/Sam
Rating:  R
Content:  Implied character death, angst, mild slash
Summary:  Sam is faced with a horrifying choice, and 
struggles with his loyalties.
Disclaimer:  The characters are property of JRR Tolkien, 
and not me.  This is merely a creative fanwork derived from 
ideas inspired by his characters.  No copyright 
infringement intended.
Author's Note:  A thousand thank-yous to LadyJackyl and to 
Beth, who provided beta for this and really made it take 
shape.  It also contains a bit of foreshadowing of ideas 
found in a certain scene of Return of the King.


It had been a long night of travel, and Sam's body was 
heavy with weariness. Frodo, despite voicing no complaints, 
was walking slower by the moment, and his arduous breathing 
told Sam that he was nearing the point where he could 
physically go no further. Even that foul Gollum seemed to 
be dragging his body along feebly. They had slowly been 
approaching what seemed to be a large, block-shaped rock 
formation that marked a distance of about half a mile to a 
stand of trees, and Sam thought that it looked as good a 
place as any to stop and rest for a while. "Just a bit 
further to go, Mr. Frodo," Sam said encouragingly, and he 
thought he saw a slight smile force itself across Frodo's 
lips as they picked up the pace just slightly.

The ground beneath the north face of the formation had a 
smattering of dried grass upon it, which offered token 
comfort more than anything. Sam and Frodo both collapsed 
wearily upon it, struggling out of their packs and making 
up beds. Gollum immediately scampered off into the 
darkness, but Sam stopped caring about him the moment he 
disappeared. He turned his attention to his master, whose 
nodding head evidenced his struggle to stay awake. 

"I'll take first watch tonight," Sam offered, straightening 
his back to appear ready and awake. "I'll wake you after a 
few hours."

"All right, then," Frodo answered, and he seemed in no mood 
to argue. He settled down with his head resting on his 
crooked elbow, and took little time to attempt to get 
comfortable before he fell fast asleep.

Sam sighed as he watched Frodo sleep. He felt as though he 
were the only living creature about at the moment, although 
he knew that Stinker was around somewhere. How he wished 
that Gollum would go away! He reminded Sam all too vividly 
of the power of the ring Frodo now bore. Gollum had 
possessed the ring for a very long time, and it had done 
unspeakable things to his mind, and turned him into the 
horror he had become. How long would it take for the Ring 
to do the same to Frodo? How long before its effects would 
start wearing on him?

Sam knew the answer to that, unfortunately. It already had, 
even though it had been in Frodo's possession for a mere 
blink of time compared to how long Gollum had it. Frodo 
walked with a bit of a stoop even though Sam carried most 
of their gear. He often fell into fits where he seemed as 
though in a daze, or thinking solely about the precious 
thing around his neck and cared about nothing else. He 
became jumpy and nervous if Sam got too close to it, and 
sometimes even snapped at him. He did of course immediately 
apologize, but Sam found those incidents particularly 
difficult to forget. Frodo was growing frighteningly gaunt 
as well, and had begun muttering to himself. Sam pondered 
if Frodo was holding secret conversations with the ring 
itself, because his eyes would dart around suspiciously, as 
if looking to see if someone were eavesdropping.

Make no doubt, the ring was already doing its work on good 
Frodo. The thought nearly broke Sam's heart, and he 
wondered how much worse it would get. Would he soon have 
two Gollums to worry about? Sam shook his head resolutely 
and told himself to stop those thoughts right away. He 
couldn't think of his Mr. Frodo broken, emaciated, and 
driven mad by the ring. He would no longer sing and dance, 
because he'd rather sit and hold the ring. He wouldn't want 
to talk about the berry crop, or muse about what the Elves 
in Mr. Bilbo's books were like, because he'd only want to 
talk about the ring. "Why," Sam thought, his stomach 
twisting, "he wouldn't be Mr. Frodo at all any more!"

The thoughts only gave way to more thoughts, compounding 
themselves into what-ifs and unanswerable questions that 
made Sam's head hurt. He didn't want to think about Gollum 
any more, and he especially did not want to think about 
Frodo becoming Gollum. He tried to turn his mind to other 
things, and thought about where Merry, Pippin, and the 
others might be, or whether the apple trees back home were 
blooming, but those thoughts only troubled his taxed mind 
further. Sam soon fell fell into an unwilling, 
uncomfortable slumber. However, his overwrought mind did 
not rest.

Sam startled into awareness, and he glanced around in 
confusion. The air felt strange; it was almost hot and 
heavy, like it felt back home when he would put his head 
under the covers to block out the morning sun to get a few 
more moments of sleep. He felt as though he had been 
sleeping forever, and he couldn't tell what time of day it 
was. Something deep within his mind warned him that all was 
not quite what it seemed, but the message soon became 
forgotten whe Sam turned over to ask Frodo if he felt 
anything queer as well. Sam rubbed the sleep from his 
bleary eyes, and stifled a yawn as he turned to call out to 
his master. He cut himself off with a gasp of shock when he 
saw only a wrinkled bedroll where Frodo had been sleeping. 
Sam's heart immediately leapt into his throat, and he 
cursed himself for taking his eyes from his master for so 
long. Doing that had nearly cost them the ring once before, 
when Boromir had cornered Frodo, and now there was no 
telling what had befallen the weary ringbearer. As Sam 
scrabbled to his feet, he called out, "Mr. Frodo? Mr. 
Frodo!" He received no answer, but an indistinct shape 
moving in the distance, near the trees, caught his 
attention. "If that Gollum's done anything to Frodo, I'll 
have him!" Sam thought as he crouched and moved swiftly 
toward the trees.

When Sam reached the trees, whatever it was that had been 
out there had disappeared, so he crept through the brush as 
quietly as he could, listening intently and peering all 
around for some sign of Frodo. He suddenly heard the snap 
of a breaking twig and whirled toward it, by a bit of luck 
catching a glimpse of Frodo as his Elven cloak caught on a 
bush, revealing him for a moment. Sam dashed toward him, 
calling his name beseechingly.

Frodo did not answer, although Sam was certain that this 
time there was no way Frodo did not hear him. With Frodo 
securely in his eyesight, Sam followed at a distance. Brush 
rustled as it caught on Sam's cloak, and twigs snapped 
beneath his feet despite his best efforts at stealth, but 
Frodo never seemed to notice. It appeared he was either not 
concerned with being followed, or he truly did not realize 
Sam was there.

They continued their path through the trees, and Frodo 
seemed in no hurry to stop. Although his head was high and 
his gaze distant, it appeared he had a particular 
destination in mind, and after several more vexing minutes 
of winding through trees and brush they came to another 
clearing. Frodo stepped into the center of the clearing, 
his gaze now fixed on something that was approaching from 
the other side. Sam moved to step out of the shelter of the 
trees, but then froze in horror as a Black Rider emerged 
from the other side of the clearing, leading his mount. 

"Mr. Frodo! Stop! Come back!" Sam dashed through the trees 
toward Frodo, hoping to drag him into the thick underbrush 
where they could hide among the pungent foliage. However, 
his movement caught the attention of the Nazgūl's horse, 
which reared and gave a horrifying whinny. The Rider 
immediately turned toward Sam, brandishing his sword. Frodo 
stood by, almost in a trance, neither moving to help Sam 
nor to flee.

"Master! Run!" Sam cried. He would do whatever it took to 
save the quest, even if it meant giving his own life. They 
had come too far. Sam stumbled as he backed away from the 
Nazgūl, so focused on trying to lead it around the clearing 
and away from Frodo that he could barely watch where he was 
going. To Sam's surprise, it pursued him, despite Frodo 
having possession of the ring.

Sam was at first relieved, then hit by a wave of paralyzing 
fear when the Nazgūl shrieked and lunged toward him. The 
rush of air that hit Sam's skin as the sword barely missed 
his throat returned his wits to him, and he drew his small 
blade, which seemed to glow and glimmer in a way he hadn't 
seen before. He held the sword defensively in front of him, 
flinching at every slight movement of the Nazgūl's sword 
and waiting for it to strike. He tried to remember how to 
parry, as Strider had taught him, but those memories 
suddenly felt vague and surreal.

The Wraith attacked again with a swinging strike that Sam 
managed to block, but the force of the blow knocked him off 
balance. He tumbled to the ground and crawled behind the 
creature, disorienting it enough that he had time to regain 
his feet and take a stance. "Feet shoulder width apart, one 
just forward, one just back," a voice faintly intoned in 
his memory, and his body immediately obeyed. "Wait for an 
opening. Be patient."

Frodo soon disappeared from Sam's awareness as he focused 
all of his meager reserves of mental and physical energy on 
the duel. He stayed on defense, blocking the Nazgūl's 
blows--although he knew he could not exhaust him, he hoped 
that soon the Wraith would make a mistake and thereby give 
him an opening. The hope seemed to be fading, however, 
along with Sam's strength. The Nazgūl struck again, and 
while Sam managed to block it, his heel caught on a root 
jutting from the ground and he tumbled backward. Sam hit 
the ground square on his back and everything went black for 
a moment as the air was knocked from his lungs. It came 
back a moment later with a flash of stars, just in time for 
Sam to roll out of the way of a downward stab.

This time, luck was with Sam, as the sword embedded itself 
in the ground where he had been lying. The Nazgūl gave a 
wail of rage and yanked at the sword, the momentary 
distraction enough for Sam to lunge forward with a 
desperate stab into depths of the black cloak. The Nazgūl 
shrieked and tried to parry Sam's sword, but the parry was 
off balance, and Sam's sword sliced into the Wraith's arm, 
severing it. With a screech, the Nazgūl grabbed up its 
sword with the remaining hand and sheathed it. The Wraith 
then swiftly mounted its horse, crashing through the brush 
as they disappeared into the woods.

Sam lay on the ground for a moment, stunned. From their 
previous encounter with the Nazgūl, he had expected more of 
a fight. "Guess he can't have much of a fight without his 
sword arm," Sam panted as he struggled to his feet. There 
was nothing but a scattering of ashes where the severed arm 
had been, and an eerie silence fell about the glade as the 
hoof beats disappeared into the distance. Sam then 
remembered Frodo, and as he sheathed his sword, he wondered 
what direction his master had fled.

Frodo, however, stood where he had been before, staring in 
the direction that the Nazgūl had disappeared. Sam 
approached him hesitantly. "Mr. Frodo? Are you all right? 
What's wrong? You're acting queerly."

"Nothing's wrong, Sam," Frodo replied, his voice strangely 
flat. "It's all right. It's all going to be all right." It 
seemed as though he was attempting to be soothing, but his 
voice had a sinister tone to it that made the hair on the 
back of Sam's neck stand on end.

"Let's get you back to camp, Mr.-- Mr. Frodo? What are you 
doing?" Frodo had pulled the chain bearing the ring from 
around his neck while talking, and was dangling it inches 
from his eyes, staring at it as though bewitched. "Mr. 
Frodo, don't let it take you again!" Sam cried out in 
alarm, rushing over to try to shake him out of his trance.

Before he could even reach him, Frodo turned on Sam with a 
sharp hiss, his eyes flashing for a moment to a sinister, 
familiar, Gollum-like green. "It's mine! Don't you come 
near it!"

"I... I wasn't going to take it..." Sam recoiled, taken 
completely off his guard. He circled Frodo cautiously, 
scrutinizing him. Frodo turned with Sam, eyeing him wildly. 
He seemed to be a bit more stooped than he had been before, 
and his skin was even paler, almost an unnatural gray.

"Don't care!" Frodo interrupted, his eyes flashing again. 
"I say who can come close, and who cannot. I'm the master! 
*Gollum*"

Sam's stomach dropped, and his heart went cold with horror 
as he continued to circle his master, or what had once been 
his master. The very thing he had dreaded was happening 
before his eyes! "Mr. Frodo, what's happened to you?" he 
pleaded. "Mr. Frodo, come back to me!"

"Mr. Frodo is still here," Frodo smirked, and the 
condescension in his voice stung Sam. "But he is more than 
Mr. Frodo," he continued, slipping the ring from its chain 
and holding it in his fingers. "He is Master of the Ring... 
Master of the Precious..." He held the ring to his finger 
and began to slip it on.

Sam realized immediately what he meant to do, and wondered 
how he hadn't seen it earlier. "No!" he screamed as he 
lunged at Frodo to attempt to knock him over. However, he 
was too late, and by the time he tackled Frodo to the 
ground, the ring was firmly on his finger. Frodo, now 
invisible, shoved Sam off, the strength that had been 
robbed from him by the arduous trip seemingly immediately 
replenished. Sam looked around wildly, and then to his 
shock Frodo began to reappear, first as a shimmering 
vision, then slowly solidifying, the ring still upon his 
finger. He stood over Sam, the wild green light in his eyes 
brighter and more intense. "Will you still call me Master, 
Sam?" he asked. His voice was cold, and it echoed around 
Sam as though it was being carried by a chill wind, which 
made him shiver uncontrollably.

Sam scrambled to his feet and stared in horror at Frodo, 
who with the ring upon his finger made a more terrible 
sight than Sam had ever seen. He struggled with an answer, 
until he felt his hand of its own volition going to his 
hilt once more. "No," he told himself, but he could not 
stop his arm. He drew the blade, and then he moved forward 
toward Frodo, who did not back down.

"You betray me," Frodo wailed, his voice raspy and 
croaking. "My servant, my FRIEND!" He raised his hands, a 
strange glow emanating from them, as though he was about to 
cast some horrible spell that Wizards could do.

"You betray *me*!" Sam cried in agony, and before he knew 
what he was doing, he cast himself toward Frodo, the sword 
flashing terribly as it made one sure cut.

The light in the glade dimmed. The sword fell to the grass 
with a soft *thunk*. Sam sank to his knees, and hesitantly 
put a hand on Frodo's shoulder, where he lay on the ground, 
and pushed him onto his back. His eyes were open and once 
more their natural color, but they were now blank and 
unseeing. His skin was again its fair color, although 
already it was paling, the pristine surface marred by a 
vicious red gash across his throat.

"Frodo," Sam sobbed softly, frantically looking him over. 
He pressed a hand to Frodo's chest, trying to feel a 
heartbeat. There was none. 

Sam lay beside his master for several long minutes and 
sobbed wildly, until he could barely breathe and could cry 
no more. Then his grief-wracked brain began to focus on a 
solitary thought: the ring still needed to be destroyed. He 
would to take it to Mordor, to complete the quest for 
Frodo--for all of them. Sam grabbed Frodo's hand to take 
the ring from him, but found to his alarm that it was gone. 
With a grieved cry, Sam crawled around the bloodstained 
area of grass where Frodo lay, desperately searching for 
it, but it had vanished. They had failed, both of them.

Sam sank to his knees and sobbed anew as helplessness 
overwhelmed him. His eyes shifted between staring at the 
thick blood still oozing from the vile cut on his master's 
throat and looking at the sword by his side that was 
stained with it as well, and bile began to rise in his 
throat. He had murdered Frodo, who had been so kind to him, 
and who hadn't deserved any of this. "I should have let you 
take it," Sam choked out as he gazed down at Frodo's ashen 
face, his tears leaving dark green spots amid the red ones 
staining Frodo's Elven cloak. "I should have followed you 
even then, as a good servant would do. I never should have 
forgotten my place. And now I don't have a place." He was 
distraught and at a loss for what to do now. What could his 
life be in a world condemned to darkness--a world without 
Frodo?

His sword called to him with the answer, and he picked it 
up, staring at it. Never in his wildest dreams would he 
have thought himself capable of doing such a thing before 
now, but now it didn't matter. He had to get rid of the 
pain, the hatred of himself for what he had done. He had to 
follow his master, to make amends for this. He thought it 
sad as he stood, the tip of the blade pressed to his 
stomach, that nobody would know now how their story ended, 
and that their bodies perhaps might not ever be found. At 
least, though, they were together. 

"I'm coming, Master! Don't go too far! Don't go where I 
can't follow! Forgive me..." His last words were strangled 
as he fell forward and the sword plunged into his gut, 
blessedly stealing him away to eternal servitude, by his 
master's side. He only hoped that Frodo hadn't gone too far 
ahead of him.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam sprang up, wobbling on his feet and 
clutching his stomach, the world rocking and blurred. He 
received no response. Sam quickly shook his head free of 
the fog of unwelcome sleep and rushed to his master's side, 
and he found to his relief that Frodo's throat was not cut. 
He was asleep, although fitfully. Gollum was nearby as 
well, snoring loudly, and for the first time Sam found a 
small comfort in his presence.

"Sam?" Frodo opened an eye and blearily regarded him as he 
sat up on his elbows. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, sir," Sam replied as he sank weakly to the ground 
next to Frodo. "Nothing at the moment, at least." 

Frodo nodded. "Get some rest, then, while the moon is still 
high," he whispered, smiling forcedly. "No need to trouble 
yourself over things that have yet to happen. We'll do the 
right thing when the time comes." He gave Sam's arm a 
reassuring pat and then settled back down, taking more 
pains to get comfortable than before. Sam nodded obediently 
and took a moment to shift his pack and bedroll closer to 
Frodo's. He slowly reclined against his pack, shifting 
until his body was just touching Frodo, so if he moved at 
all in the night, Sam would know it. 

Frodo's stillness made Sam realize to his shock that he was 
shaking quite hard, and he drew some deep breaths, 
struggling to calm himself and reassure himself that it was 
all right; it all had just been a nightmare, brought on by 
their stressful predicament and exhaustion. "I'm not a 
murderer," Sam whispered to himself as closed his eyes. 
Just saying that word made a new wave a nausea wash over 
him, so Sam tried to put it completely out of his mind. He 
tried to think of pleasant thoughts again, and the soft 
wheeze of Gollum's breathing finally began to lull him, 
until he realized with a start that it was not Gollum at 
all. He was hearing it closer to his own ear, coming from 
Frodo himself. 

Sam's heart froze, images of Frodo's transformation in his 
dream appearing vivid and unbidden in his mind. He sat up 
abruptly, chest and stomach heaving, and stared at the sky 
to will them away. It was several minutes before he was 
calm enough to relax again, and he then turned his gaze 
back to his beloved master. "Could I really do it?" he 
asked himself, a quivering hand stealing down to the hilt 
of his small sword. If Frodo claimed the ring, there was no 
telling what really would happen, he figured. Perhaps it 
wouldn't unfold as direly as they all had predicted--

Sam was startled from his thoughts when a sputtering, 
choking sound came from the other side of the camp, and 
Gollum got up, muttering to himself and continuing to cough 
as he slunk off into the distance. It was then that Sam 
knew exactly what his answer had to be. There was a 
difference between murder and doing what needed to be done, 
he reasoned. The images from his dream and the thought of 
his Frodo becoming like Gollum--a creeping, deranged, 
miserable creature that cared not for the things in life 
that made him a Hobbit, and most importantly of all, cared 
nothing for the one who loved him the most--gave Sam all 
the answer he needed. 

Kings, Men, Elves, and warriors could have their debates on 
power, darkness, light, good, and evil. All he wanted was 
Frodo, and if that ring took Frodo completely from him, 
then there was no reason for him to live, and the corrupt 
shell of what used to be Frodo would have no right to live. 
"I'd go through with it," Sam resolved as he lay back down 
and draped a protective arm across Frodo, who sighed in his 
sleep and pressed closer. When they were dead, their 
friends could tell their tales and write their songs as 
they tried to wrap their minds around what must have 
happened to bring about such a tragic end to the journey. 
They could never truly know the true reasons for his 
choice, but Sam knew that Frodo would understand. He was 
the only one that ever did.