With a gasp of horror, Sam clutched Sting in his trembling hands, although he knew that he had no chance whatsoever of saving his master from these fiends. Much to his astonishment, however, the wraiths bowed before Frodo and laid their swords at his feet.

"O Great One," their hissing voices were filled with reverence and awe, "we bow before Thee, O Lord of the Rings. No longer are we Thine enemies, but Thy slaves! Have mercy upon us for our past misdeeds!"

Frodo marveled at the worshipful devotion of the Nazgûl and benevolently nodded at the three kneeling wraiths, who all gleamed with a soft luminescence like a corpse-candle in the dark. No sweeter victory was there than to behold one's defeated enemy groveling for mercy at his feet! These fearsome warriors were now his to command; they would protect him, and love him, and worship him as their Master.

"I am Khamûl, Second of the Nazgûl and Lord of Dol Guldur… and Thy humble servant." Khamûl grated the words out, as though they tasted foul to his mouth. The Second Nazgûl was a man of middle years, with deep tawny skin, black hair, and a neatly trimmed beard that was peppered with gray. A turban rested atop his head, and he wore a brocaded caftan wrapped around the waist with a wide sash and topped with a long fur-trimmed vest. Though Khamûl's manner was quite obsequious, Frodo could sense that the man despised him, for the hobbits had led the wraith a merry chase all over the Shire and across the wilds of Eriador. The fact that he had been outmaneuvered by a group of Shire rats was a sore blow to his pride, and if it were not for the fact that Frodo was wearing the One Ring, Khamûl would have killed him on the spot.

The man beside Khamûl pressed his hand against his heart. "I am Zagbolg, Fourth of the Nazgûl, and I submit myself before the Lord of the Rings." He was of light brown complexion, and his long hair and beard, black in color during his youth but now heavily salted with silver, had been styled in tightly coiled ringlets. A tall, bejeweled headdress rested atop his head, and he wore long robes adorned with rich embroidery, fine gemstones, and long fringes. Amulets glittered brightly upon his chest, a belt of interlinked medallions encircled his waist, and from his earlobes hung two gleaming rings.

"I am Krithkrovûrz, the Ninth Nazgûl – last but in no way the least – and I have come to swear my allegiance to the One Who Wears the Ring." With a dramatic flourish, the auburn-haired man with fair skin and hazel eyes, the youngest of the three companions, knelt before his tiny master. Frodo noted that Krith's dress was in the same fashion as that worn by Skri, but far more ostentatious: a richly embroidered and bejeweled fur-trimmed cap was upon his head, and he wore a magnificent robe which was adorned with embroidered trim and a heavily brocaded mantle. Besides having a love for fine raiment and kingly robes, Krith also took more pride in his physical appearance than did Skri, sporting a well-manicured mustache and a short, neatly trimmed beard. Frodo sensed that the three men were close friends, and they all shared an intense dislike of hobbits.

Two more Nazgûl stepped into the Sammath Naur, which was becoming quite crowded at that point. As Sam helplessly watched the proceedings with slack-jawed astonishment, he was reminded of the stories he had heard Bilbo tell of that fateful day when the dwarves of Thorin's Company invaded his home. Just when the thoroughly flustered Bilbo had adjusted to the arrival of the first unexpected guest, another one would show up on his doorstop, until he found himself entertaining thirteen dwarves and one wizard. But this was not the cozy parlor of Bag End, but rather the very heart of the Black Land, and the invaders at this unexpected party were undead monstrosities, not a company of boisterous dwarves with poor table manners and an appalling lack of respect for their host's glasses and plates.

A tall, muscular man strode forward in a flourish of flowing robes and knelt before Frodo. "I am Gothmog, Third of the Nazgûl and Lieutenant of Minas Morgul, and I have come to pay homage to the Lord of the Rings." The man had swarthy skin, long black hair which he wore in many braids, and a thick, curly beard. He was clad in a caftan which was heavily embroidered with raised needlework depicting sprays of stylized flowers surrounded by vining leaves; a wide sash was looped around his waist, the fringed ends dangling down the front of his kingly vestments. Upon his head was a large turban festooned with an enormous jewel and a spray of egret feathers.

The second man was shorter than the first, but he possessed a chest as wide as a barrel and bulging biceps as thick as the trunks of small trees. "Krakfhatal, Fifth of the Nazgûl, at Thy service," he announced proudly, revealing his broad teeth in a roguish grin. He had a thick mane of brassy blond hair, a long beard which hung in two tapering braids, bright blue eyes, and ruddy skin. A metal circlet was bound about his brow, and around his neck was a wide torc of twisted metal capped off on either end by stylized wolf heads. Wolf pelts were wrapped around his broad shoulders and fastened at the shoulder with a penannular brooch, and his short-sleeved tunic was girded by a thick studded belt. He wore loose breeches made of a checkered material, which were cross-gartered from knee to ankle.

Frodo sensed that both men had come straight from the battlefield, and try to hide it though they might, they still burned with the savage lust of war, and reeked with the blood of their enemies. Krak had just hewn a man in twain with his axe, and Gothmog's simitar still dripped with the blood of countless brave Gondorian soldiers. Well, now that he would be ruling Middle-earth, Frodo would put a quick stop to Sauron's wars, so these two would have to find more peaceful pursuits with which to occupy their time.

Yet another pair of Nazgûl entered the chamber to pay their respects to their new master. Fair of skin and dark of hair, they resembled the men of Faramir's company, and their eyes were silvery gray, as were those of many Gondorians. No beards did they wear upon their faces, giving them a slight elven appearance. A silvery aura radiated from deep within them, a light which was somehow different from the ghostly luminescence which surrounded the other wraiths. The taller one was called Udukhatûrz, the Seventh Nazgûl, while the shorter, stockier man was named Rutfîmûrz, the Sixth Nazgûl. The two men were so similar in appearance that Frodo surmised that they must be related. Udu wore a long robe with geometric needlework upon the sleeves and hem, and a brocaded mantle was secured about his shoulders by two star-shaped brooches linked together by a glittering chain. Rut was clad in similar fashion, although his garments were much more elaborately adorned, giving him the look of a dandy. About their brows were silver fillets which were studded with small gems.

"My Lord, we are sorry for our tardiness," exclaimed Rut, a note of embarrassment in his voice. He hastily smoothed down the black surcoat he wore over his mail in the physical realm and readjusted his sword belt.

"We were busy with the war," added Udu. His voice was slurred, and he stifled a hiccup. He reeked of stale wine; to Frodo's nose, his sense of smell heightened by the Ring, the stench was unbearable.

Frodo sensed that the two men were lying. When they had received the Dark Lord's urgent summons, Udu had been drunkenly singing a sailing song whilst lying under a cart, besotted out of his wits upon purloined Gondorian wine. Rut had been busy sporting with three whores in one of the finest pleasure houses in the occupied city of Minas Tirith. The soiled lilies of the night, who cared not if the coin they received came from friend or foe, had all begged Rut to stay a while longer, but reluctantly he left their clinging embraces to answer the call of duty. Frodo's cheeks flamed at the salacious images which came unbidden to his mind of the Sixth Nazgûl's amorous conquests, and he quickly blocked out the unwanted thoughts. He had no desire to learn about the sordid love lives of the Undead!

Pushing all thoughts of the two misbehaving Nazgûl from his mind, Frodo looked out over the undead assembly before him. With a magnanimous gesture, he bade them rise and stand before him… at a distance, for these Big Folk were so very tall, and it hurt his neck to have to look up at them. These men hailed from different regions spread over the vast expanses of Middle-earth, and in ancient days, they had been kings, princes, and lords in their own kingdoms. A thought came to Frodo that ere all was over, kings would travel from near and far to see him, desiring to form alliances with the Great Lord of Middle-earth.

Suddenly, as though hearing some barely imperceivable sound, all eight Nazgûl turned their heads towards the entrance of the Sammath Naur. The wraiths silently parted in two rows of four each and stood as still as statues, their heads bowed in respect, their fists pressed against their chests in salute. Into the chamber strode the Lord of the Nazgûl. He favored his right leg and walked with a slight limp, but he carried himself proudly, his back straight and his head held high.

A shiver of fear raced down Frodo's spine as he beheld once again the Pale King who had stabbed him with the sorcerous blade, and he felt his shoulder throb in pain. He could see him clearly now, gleaming with that same strange aura which surrounded Udu and Rut, only the light which emanated from the King shone much brighter, like the twinkling rays of a distant star. The King's hair was raven black, and his eyes were as gray as the sea. Upon his head gleamed a crown of silver, its band bedecked with pearls and studded with glittering diamonds. Running from his temple up the side of his head to disappear beneath the crown was a gruesome scar that had not been there before, and vaguely Frodo wondered who had dealt this wound to his fearsome foe. The King wore a long robe which was trimmed at its hem and sleeves with rows of pearls, and atop the robe was a shorter dalmatica adorned with wide bands of swirling embroidery around the hem, sleeves, and neck, a design which called to mind the waves of the sea. Around his shoulders, clasped by a bejeweled brooch which resembled a star, was an exquisitely wrought mantel woven with intricate medallions, a subtle floral design reminiscent of elven heraldry.

With some difficulty, the Lord of the Nazgûl slowly lowered himself before Frodo, swearing his undying fealty to the Lord of the Rings. Frodo's mind took him back to the stairs of Cirith Ungol, when he had beheld from afar the Dead City and the army which came forth from its gates. He had been powerless to face the Morgul King then, but now his dread enemy was groveling at his feet.

"You are the one who attacked me on Weathertop," Frodo stated coldly.

"Yes, my Lord," the wraith nodded, his face expressionless. "If Thou hadst claimed the Ring then, I would have knelt before Thee and called Thee Lord. But Thou didst not know the great Power that Thou held, nor how easily Thou couldst have had the mastery."

"And now you are at my mercy."

"Ever am I at the mercy of the Lord of the Rings." A sardonic chuckle escaped the lips of the Morgul Lord, and Frodo felt himself shiver at the mirthless sound. "Thou couldst command me to jump into the fire, and I would have no choice but jump; but I perceive that Thou wishest to be a just ruler, and wouldst not commit murder upon the first day of Thy rule. Indeed, the fact that my brethren and I still stand is proof of Thy abundant mercy. A king of less compassion would surely execute us, for all the grief and hurts that we caused Thee when Thou wert our enemy."

"I wish to be a good ruler," Frodo admitted proudly, puffed up with a newfound sense of self-righteous nobility. "I would grant mercy to my enemies, and ensure that all are treated justly."

"Thy rightful place is upon the throne of Barad-dûr, my Lord," the King told him. "Wilt Thou not go now and claim the seat of power for Thyself? Only Thou canst save Middle-earth from the Tyrant. For thousands of long and weary years, my brethren and I have suffered under His yoke, toiling in eternal slavery with no hope of release. But now one has arisen who would challenge His power. I sense that Thou wilt prove to be a much kinder master, Frodo of the Shire."

Frodo looked up into the Nazgûl King's steely gray eyes, and perceived that there was no guile there, only the sorrow and bitterness of long, unending ages. Although the wraith was the Dark Lord's most powerful servant, he deeply resented his thralldom, hating his Master for all of the broken promises and unjust punishments he had endured over the years, and ever desiring freedom and release from his bondage. For a moment, the Pale King reminded Frodo of Aragorn, both in nobility and appearance. The hobbit's heart swelled with pity, and pride - for he, Emperor Frodo, would liberate these nine tormented men from their evil Overlord.

As the Lord of the Nazgûl led him out of the Sammath Naur, Frodo cast a look back over his shoulder at the pulsing glow emanating from the seething fire wells that churned and bubbled within the Cracks of Doom. For a moment, he felt a deep, crushing sense of guilt and failure, and an urgent desire to turn back and fling the One Ring into the fire, but these feelings were there for only an instant, and then were gone. He had a world to rule, after all.

His heart heavy with fear, Sam dutifully trudged along behind his master back down the road they had worked so hard to climb. Behind them followed the unholy procession of wraiths, with the one called Khamûl making up the rear of the column. The man seemed to be in no hurry to catch up with the others, and Sam thought he had a sneaking look about him, for his hooded head darted to and fro, as though he were contemplating some mischief. He did not trust that scoundrel one bit, but there was naught he could do about it. His worried gaze turned back to the Dread King, for he assumed that Frodo must be walking somewhere near him.

Sam wondered if somehow he could wrest the Ring away from Frodo, and carry It back to the Cracks of Doom. Of course, he would have to run uphill past all those Nazgûl, and then most likely he would fall victim to the same madness that had claimed Frodo. He knew full well that the Ring was treacherous and filled the mind of its wearer with false promises; he had experienced that firsthand when he had a vision of himself as Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, waging war against Barad-dûr with a flaming sword and great armies at his command. But if it were impossible to throw the Ring into the fire, maybe it was up to the Ringbearer to solve that problem by jumping into the abyss with the Ring upon his finger. Sam did not like that solution one bit, but if that were the only way, then he would do it. For Frodo. And for Middle-earth.

At that moment, the ground beneath them was seized by a violent tremor. Frodo was knocked forward and fell hard upon the pavement, his hands and knees skidding on the stone. Dirt and rocks from further up the mountain cascaded down the slope, sending up clouds of choking dust. "It is not safe to stay here, my Lord," the Nazgûl King told him, helping him to his feet. "The Mountain's moods are unpredictable."

Thanking his undead servant for his help, Frodo looked back up the mountain the way they had come. To his horror, he discovered that the door to the Sammath Naur was buried beneath a heap of rubble. Now he could not destroy the Ring, even if he were able to master his will and overcome the wicked spell of the Wheel of Fire! Desperation and terror surged through his body in painful shocks, and his stomach knotted up as though he were about to retch. His breath coming in heavy gasps, he clutched his head in his hands and sank to his knees in despair. He never should have listened to these treacherous Nazgûl, who, with their fair words and slavish groveling, had appealed to his pride and desire to be the savior of Middle-earth. He was not really their Master, and never had been. Now he was far from the Cracks of Doom, with no easy way of getting back there again. Oh, what had he done? What had he done?

"Indeed, Great One, the Mountain can be treacherous. It is no place for halflings." Khamûl's voice, though solicitous, sent a chill down Frodo's spine, and Frodo perceived that he had been the one responsible for the landslide. "The safety of our Master is our only concern. We shall take Thee to Barad-dûr, where Thou wilt defeat the Lord of the Tower and take Thy rightful place among the splendored halls of Thy bejeweled palace."

Defeat the Lord of the Tower? There was no way that he, a mere hobbit, could ever hope to prevail against the Dark Lord! "But was that not your intention when you claimed the Ring?" asked a mocking voice inside his mind. "You wanted to be Emperor Frodo, Lord of Hobbits and Men and Master of All. How could you do that without defeating the Dark Lord?"

Guilt lashed Frodo like an orc slavedriver laying on the whip. He cursed himself for ever giving in to such vain delusions, but the torment had become unbearable, and the Ring had tried to twist and sway his mind so that he would deliver It to the Dark Lord in exchange for great rewards and treaties of peace. He had clarity of thought enough to realize that would be a grievous folly, but the vision of giving Sauron the Ring had filled him with a blind rage which burnt away all logical thought and destroyed the last remnants of his tremulous hold upon sanity. In that awful fit of madness, he had claimed the power of the One Ring for himself and sought to supplant the Dark Lord as would-be ruler of Middle-earth. No, he had not forgotten that the Ring could not be used against Its Master, nor that the only hope in defeating Sauron lay in the destruction of the Ring. But in that one perilous moment, he had cared naught, and upon an impulse made a terrible choice which he now deeply regretted.

"Art Thou coming, my Lord?" Khamûl's simpering voice seemed to slither through Frodo's ears. "To Barad-dûr we shall take Thee."

"To Barad-dûr," Zagbolg and Krith echoed, their eyes gleaming with a pale light. "To Barad-dûr!"

These words sent chills of terror down Frodo's spine. He tore his gaze away from the leering wraiths and looked back up the mountainside. Did his eyes play tricks upon him, or was there a crack at the top of the heap of rubble which blocked the door to the Sammath Naur? Yes, there most definitely was. Hope leapt up in his breast. The opening looked large enough for him to squeeze through… perhaps all was not lost after all. Even though he had failed to destroy the Ring the first time, he would try again… he would keep trying until his mind shattered and his strength utterly failed!

At that moment, a breeze began to stir, swirling the dust and ash into tiny cyclones which danced along the barren ground. Silently, moving as one, the nine wraiths turned their heads towards the east, the direction from which the breeze came. A black horror gripped Frodo's heart, and the sharp intake of breath he had inhaled did not want to push itself from his lungs. They all knew what was about to occur, even Sam, who looked around fearfully, his eyes desperately searching for those of his master. The Dark Lord was coming to claim what was rightfully His. A silence which hummed and pulsed with frightful intensity settled over the plateau, ringing in Frodo's head until he was sure that his skull would explode from the pressure.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, Frodo made a mad dash back up the road, his feet scrambling over rocks and debris. When he had claimed the Ring, a good portion of his strength had been restored, for the dreadful weight of his burden had been removed. With each step he took now, though, he felt the Ring grow heavier, and his body, weakened by starvation and dehydration, compelled him to halt. He heard the pounding footsteps of the Nazgûl behind him, heard their desperate pleas reverberating in his ears, begging him to come back.

"Wait, my Lord! Where art Thou going?"

"The Mountain is dangerous, and we would have no harm come to Thee."

"Come with us to the Tower!"

"Thy place is upon the Throne of Black Adamant."

Sensing that his master was attempting to return to the Cracks of Doom and that the Nazgûl were attempting to stop him, Sam raced up the road, shuddering with a deathly chill as he darted past the wraiths. The one called Khamûl hissed and grabbed at him as he passed, but the hobbit was too quick for him. The wraith's vile invectives burnt in his ears as he ran.

"Wait for me, Mr. Frodo!" Sam panted as he followed the sound of Frodo's heavy breathing up ahead of him. He cast a backward glance at the road, and his heart sank as he saw the nine hooded figures following them, their voices bleating out supplications and entreaties to Frodo even as their eyes gleamed red with anger and hatred. "They're still coming! Don't… these fiends... ever give up?"

Halting for a moment, his breath coming out in frantic gasps, Frodo held up the hand that bore the Ring and commanded the Nazgûl to halt.

"By the power of the Ring, I command you to stay back and follow me not!"

The Ring upon Frodo's finger blazed with light as though it were still hot from the forge, and he felt its fell power coursing through his body. In his desperation, he had called upon the Ring to compel the Nazgûl into obedience, and the Ring had answered. His enemies collapsed upon the ground as though felled by a mighty blow, for they no longer possessed the will to chase their quarry. Elation flooded through Frodo at his victory, and his weary feet felt as though they were dancing upon clouds. And once again he was Emperor Frodo, King of Kings and Master of All, the benevolent ruler of Middle-earth, who would ensure that all of his subjects were happy and well-fed.

And then Frodo felt the full fury of the Eye upon him, and heard the Dark Lord's laughter echoing in his mind, mocking him for his folly. Wreathed in flame, the fiery gaze of the Lidless Eye seared through flesh and bone, burning down the barriers of the mind and blazing a fiery path to the soul. With a shriek of agony, Frodo fell to his knees and clutched his head.

A massive shape came streaking out of the east, bringing with it clouds of shadow which spread across the heavens like billowing plumes of ink dropped in a vessel of water. As though a vast curtain had been drawn, the swiftly spreading darkness smothered out the dim light of the Mordorian day and plunged the plateau of Gorgoroth into a preternatural night. An enormous fell beast, almost as large as a lesser dragon, circled around the mountain, like a vulture swooping in to gorge itself upon the bloating flesh of the slain.

The Dark Lord had come at last.

NOTES, REFERENCES, AND MOTIVATIONS

NAZGÛL IN THE CIRCLES
The Nazgûl in The Circles universe are treated as invisible immortal men whose spirits are bound to their physical bodies through the inherent necromantic powers of the Nine Rings. They fully exist in the physical world, but their bodies have been rendered invisible due to the unnatural preservative side effects of their Rings. ("A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues, until at last every minute is a weariness. And if he often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark power that rules the Rings." – "Shadow of the Past," Fellowship of the Ring, 56.) Compare with the Elven Lingerers, living elves whose bodies have faded to invisibility (See "Laws and Customs of the Eldar," Morgoth's Ring, 224-5).

Because death, not fading, is the natural condition of Men, the Nazgûl go against the laws of nature and exist in a strange liminal state where their physical bodies still exist, albeit faded to invisibility, and they can perceive the Unseen Realm far more clearly than the Seen Realm. In a way, Angmar and I always conceived of the Nazgûl as being sort of anti-elves, Men who have achieved the same sort of immortality as Elves, but with terrible side effects. With the Nazgûl, Sauron actually created a more fitting dark counterpart to the Elves than Morgoth did with the race of Orcs. The Nazgûl are not walking corpses, as some people theorize, although most likely their bodies have been augmented by sorcery, and they would have greater strength, stamina, endurance, etc. I always imagined them as being protected by a magical force field, which could only be pierced by certain enchanted weapons. After all, in the books, they can survive being washed down a river, as well as falls from great heights when their fell beasts are shot out from under them.

WRAITH WORLD
This might be a controversial opinion, but I have always believed that the appearance of beings in the Unseen World (also known as the wraith world) is mutable and largely symbolic. This is the reason why the Nazgûl do not wear helms upon their heads as they did in the books; unlike at Weathertop or at the Ford, the wraiths come not as warriors whose mission is to capture or subdue Frodo, but as vassal kings swearing their allegiance to their overlord. Frodo sees the Nazgûl bedecked in kingly robes, which is a reflection of how they once looked in ancient days. The fact that Frodo has claimed the One Ring might also affect what he sees (and how he himself appears) in the Unseen World.

Some people believe that the wraiths are forever stuck wearing the clothes they were wearing when they faded, like ghosts trapped in time. I have even seen theories that the Nazgûl use sorcery to create special invisible clothes to wear on their invisible bodies, and then put on a second set of visible clothing over the invisible one. I do not subscribe to either the "trapped in time static ghost clothing" or "special invisible clothing" theories, because, again, I believe that their appearances in the Unseen World could be symbolic. Now I can see the physical appearance of the Nazgûl in the Unseen World seldom, if ever, changing; quite possibly their bodies are indeed stuck in the period of time at which they became wraiths, sort of like vampires in popular culture. However, I believe their clothing can change, because it is symbolic of their moods and personalities, not actual garments. If a Nazgûl is devested of his "real" clothing (i.e., physical garments in the seen world), he would be physically naked, but to the eyes of those who dwell in the Unseen Realm, he still wears his kingly robes. Unless he wants to be seen as being naked in the spirit realm as well… As for powerful beings such as Maiar, they probably can perceive both the Nazgûl's physical and spiritual appearance simultaneously through supernatural sight.

OATHBREAKERS?
The Nazgûl do not lie or break any oaths when they swear their loyalty to the "Lord of the Rings" and "The One Who Wears the Ring." While they are compelled to obey Frodo while he wears the Ring, there is only one true Lord of the Rings, and it is most definitely not Frodo.

LIFE AFTER RINGS
Skri explores the possibilities of what would happen to the wraiths after the One Ring was destroyed. Tolkien hinted that the wraiths might be able to survive, for a time, the destruction of the Ring, provided that something did not happen to their physical bodies. After all, their own Rings were not destroyed, but rather buried beneath the rubble of Barad-dûr. It is possible that the powers of the Nine Rings would have faded like the Three, at which point the Nazgûl would probably start aging rapidly, like Bilbo did. In Tolkien's rejected drafts and outlines in Sauron Defeated and Treason of Isengard, Frodo and Sam interact with one of the Nazgûl AFTER the One Ring has been destroyed. Needless to say, the wraith is rather upset about the whole situation.

WHY DID FRODO CLAIM THE RING?
In the various scenarios given in Sauron Defeated, it seems that Frodo impulsively claims the One Ring as a direct result of other compulsions which terrify him. He is tempted to take the Ring to the Tower in an exchange for a "share in the Great Power." This compulsion terrifies Frodo so much that he decides to claim the Ring for himself, challenge Sauron, and become Emperor Frodo. Tolkien portrays Frodo's desire to become Emperor as a "new thought," so apparently (at least at the time that Tolkien wrote that particular draft) Frodo had not previously considered becoming Emperor. It does seem logical that he would have been tempted throughout the journey to use the Ring for riches, fame and power, however. Perhaps the idea of becoming the ultimate Ruler of Middle-earth came as a result of a steadily escalating series of delusions which promised Frodo great reward if he claimed the Ring for himself. The Ring had been working on Frodo's mind for some time, and it would use every desire, fantasy, strength, and weakness to its advantage.

FRODO'S WILL
In Letter #246, Tolkien writes that Frodo, as Ring-claimant, would most likely be so deluded by visions of kingship and rule that he would allow the Nazgûl to take him to Barad-dûr. However, Tolkien suggested there would also be a possibility that Frodo would come back to his senses and refuse to go to the Tower. I have Frodo vacillating back and forth, giving in to the will of the Ring, and then struggling to regain his own will and purpose. I also theorize that Frodo, after claiming the One Ring, would be granted newfound energy and strength. The logic behind this idea is that, since Frodo had given into temptation and was no longer trying to destroy the Ring, the weight of his burden would decrease dramatically. Whenever he considered making another attempt to destroy the Ring, the Ring would become heavy again, and once more Frodo would feel weary and sick, oppressed by terrible compulsions and delusions.

FRODO'S MERCY
In Tolkien's discarded drafts from Sauron Defeated and The Treason of Isengard, Frodo can be quite murderous. In one instance, he commands the Nazgûl to leap into the fire after the One Ring; in another, he simply commands them not to exist. I made Frodo show kindness and mercy to the wraiths, because I felt it was more in keeping with his personality in the published books.