A/N: Movie-verse, and basically canon, but very loosely inspired by the film It's a Wonderful Life (hence, the title). Words in italics come directly from the film The Fellowship of the Ring.

*

“I cannot do this alone.”

“You are a Ringbearer, Frodo. To bear a Ring of power is to be alone. This task was appointed to you. And if you do not find a way, no one will.”

Frodo looked at the Ring, its weight no less of a burden in his palm than it was when he wore it around his neck.  

Back in the mines when he first wished away the Ring, Frodo never imagined that Gandalf would fall, that soon he would be without all his companions, even his cousins and Sam. What would become of them all, of him?

“I wish the Ring had never come to me,” he said softly. And then, he whispered, “I wish I had never been born, if I am forced to carry such a burden.”

He did not really expect, or want, an answer. But Galadriel heard him, of course, and moved closer until she stood directly before him. Glancing up, Frodo waited for the inevitable reminder that it was his Duty, his Task. Or worse, he feared he would see in her eyes the pity he so often saw in others.

But there was no sorrow in Galadriel’s eyes, nor anger or impatience. She stared at Frodo as none ever had, searching for something, though her eyes betrayed no sense of urgency.

“You have already looked into the Mirror,” she said finally, “and have seen what could happen, what will happen, if you fail.”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered. “I know.”

“Do you?” she asked sharply. “Do you know what it would be like for this world if you had never been born?”

Frodo’s eyes widened. No, he had not though of that, not really. But if he had never been born, then someone else would have been the Ringbearer…

“But who would it have been?” Galadriel’s voice pierced his mind, shaking Frodo from his thoughts. “Is it so easy to choose?”

Bilbo had the Ring…

“How would your cousin have fared on this Quest?”

Unbidden, an image appeared in Frodo’s mind of Bilbo, stooped and haggard, with wild eyes, cowering behind a rock with the Ring clasped tightly in his hand.

Frodo shuddered, and nearly cried out, but the image was replaced swiftly by another.

“Sam,” he whispered, barely, so stunned was he by the change in his friend. Grey and lifeless, Sam lay on the side of a mountain, covered in ash. The Ring glinted from around his neck.

It was no less shocking to see his cousins, first Merry and then Pippin, both bowed under the weight of the Ring, their eyes cold and faces wiped clean of laughter. What had happened to those lads he had known, so full of life, to those babies he had rocked to sleep many a winter’s night?

And then Frodo saw Aragorn. Strider no longer, he wore both crown and Ring, and sent orcs into the Shire, forgetting his old alliances in favor of power.

An image of Legolas, cruel and calculating, his quiver full of poisoned arrows that he used without regard, pointing them at men and dwarves and hobbits alike, the Ring shining as he killed one of his own kin.

Gimli, covered in jewels, excepting the plain gold band on his finger, taller and more murderous than any dwarf before him.   

Frodo watched as Boromir returned to his city with the Ring hanging from his neck. Crowds rejoiced, and the darkness drew back for a little while, but then Boromir’s smile became one of malice. The darkness grew, blanketing the white tower that formerly gleamed in the sun, and stretched further, toward the north.

“Enough!” Frodo cried. He trembled, and swayed on his feet, but Galadriel caught him by the shoulders, steadying him.

“Who would you choose?” she asked softly. “What would the world be like if you had not been born, Frodo Baggins? Who could take your place?”

When his breathing returned to normal, Frodo met Galadriel’s eyes and found understanding there.

“Then I know what I must do. It’s just, I’m afraid to do it.”  

“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.”