Much that happened during Ithildin's journey through the forest of Fangorn is not important. She did not encounter any Ents, for her feet were soundless upon the dead leaves, and she treated the trees with such love and care that they were scarcely aware of her presence. However, Ithildin did feel a darkness in the forest and she did not like it. It was similar to a shadow; not of a physical kind, but a shadow that threatened her mind and clouded her heart. She could not have known where the shadow came from, but each time it overcame her, the stone of mithril upon her neck grew heavy at once.
This shadow was none other than the first tentacles of evil in Middle-Earth. The beautiful country of Isengard, which lay but a few weeks' journey from Fangorn, was slowly falling into the grasp of the white wizard Saruman and the Lord of Mordor was stirring and gathering allies. Even as Ithildin's feet fell upon the paths of the Ent-Country, Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir in the Elven-tongue, was in the White City, reading the scrolls of the Númenorean king Isildur, and Strider the Ranger had captured the creature Smeagol, who was now called Gollum.
Sweet Ithildin knew nothing of these perils, for her only desire was a place to call her home and well it was for her that she desired something so small and simple. Yet, she did not escape from Fangorn unscathed. The dark shadow nourished the power within her and planted into it evil seeds. Ithildin became ever more strengthened by these seeds, but the strength was tainted with dark thoughts and her innocence had lost some of the purity from which the power had grown.
The beauty of Fangorn was not lost on Ithildin. Its trees were different than those in Lothlórien. They were not golden, but of many different races, each possessing special qualities. There were young saplings, virgin birches, towering maples, trees that reached her waist and some that towered over twice her height. And these trees were alive! They were living breathing creatures with thoughts and dreams of their own. Ithildin need only place her hand upon the trunk of one to feel its history and all that it had seen.
When she emerged from the forest, she continued down south and slowly made her way to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. Almost two months had passed since she left the land in the hills. Her feet had developed an almost hobbit-like skin, for like the hobbits, she wore no shoes. Her skin was luminous and fair, her hair longer and more beautiful than ever; it flowed down her back and its silver strands shone brilliantly in day and night. But the greatest change was in her eyes. Their deep blue reflected more wisdom and knowledge than even the great kings of old and no living being save Galadriel the Lady, Elrond the Half-Elf and Mithrandir possessed more knowledge than her.
It was the power within her that deepened her midnight eyes. For Ithildin's power was not in strength, but in mind. She could see things that few others could. She need only look at a living being, whether it be animal, plant or people, and she could see its heart, its mind and its deepest secrets. This is what Galadriel had foreseen, but not even the Lady could have known that evil would touch Ithildin so soon after she had left Lothlórien.
For danger and evil were coming full force to meet Ithildin, the wandering Silver Lady and her journey had only begun. The Eye of the Dark Lord had already sensed her power and Ithildin did not know this, nor did she know that if she gave in to the dark, she would become the Lord of Mordor's greatest ally. But Sauron, the Dark Lord did know, and his eye was ever watchful, waiting for the chance to ensnare this power for his own devices.