The Middle Distance

Oooh, good one.

a. The Nazgul have always been among my favorite secondary characters in LOTR, because they are so mysterious. I love the fact that JRRT never gave their human selves explicit histories or names (except for one in Unfinished Tales). I love the fact that the full extent of their powers are never made clear--except for their sheer terror, which Tolkien conveys VERY well--and so they stay these shadowy forces that could be capable of almost anything. I'm going to have to say the stalking leading up to the attack on Weathertop is when I first got mesmerized.
b. Loyalty?
c. Overconfidence.
d. Well, the first time I ever wrote him was in a pornographic humor crossover fic, so since I wasn't writing from his POV it was pretty easy, since I just left him as this object of terror (and slightly disgusting lust). The second time I had to live with him in my head for months, it was difficult at first, and then it got so easy I scared myself. I just used my own fear of mortality and cranked it up to 11 to penetrate his motives.
e. Well, The Ring and the Crown is all about him, so that's the obvious choice.
Here's the point where I started to have sympathy for him:

"Here lies my father. If I feared the dead, I would not come, for if they had power at all, surely he would rise up against me. His fleshless jaws are silent, and the ash within his ribs does not rustle.

I cannot say how this grieves me. For surely I have called upon myself the wrath of a power greater than myself, if such a thing should be. Have I not insulted the heavens enough, with every waking hour and feverish dream? Have I not violated every taboo I was ever given? Where is the storm of rage that was promised me? Dearly would I like to see the claws of the wind come calling for my blood, so I might face it. It is that terrible awe I long for.

Even my blasphemy is in vain. The idiot silence of the tomb is the answer to all. "

He wants something, desperately. He wants to find something more powerful than himself to be part of, to be in awe of. And he's striven for it really hard: even the necromancy and patricide he so casually admits to hasn't gotten him there. Or so he thinks.

f. I have no concrete plans to write him again, but he's one of those muses that, once there, never goes away completely. He will appear again, I'm sure - though more likely in a humor fic again. :)