Annúngil wondered if there was a single place in Mirkwood where the eyes of the enemy did not reach. Maybe the dark caves of Scuttledells where evils more ancient than the orcs reminisced. Be as it may be, few were the times in which he did not feel watched since he had arrived in Ost Galadh.
It was not without reason, therefore, that many now called Eryn Galen, Taur-nu-Fuin, the dark forest. Others named it Taur-e-Ndaedelos instead: the Forest of Great Fear.
Aside from the concentration of deadly creatures and foes, there was a sultry stillness within the forest. The earth beneath them was grey, and lifeless. Many of the trees that once littered the land were gone. They suffered both with the corruption that spread from Dol Guldur, sapping their strength and darkening their hearts, and with the axes of the orcs whom harbored hate and did cruelty to all living things. Indeed, there was an oppressive hatred about the forest. Even Raolor seemed ill at ease within the menacing sight of those trees which still clung to life, but where he saw a bad omen Annúngil saw hope.
Eryn Galen resisted, and so should the elves. Their long history was one of resistance: of great wrongs and tragedies, no doubt, but also one of valiance and perseverance. The elves resisted against a shadow that sought to engulf everything, even… or better yet, especially when the odds were stacked against them.
Annúngil peered over his shoulder, toward the scout whose side Eliriael had yet to leave since they arrived at the elven camp in the Scuttledells. He was named Glorhir, as he had revealed them. Along with another scout, Gladiel, they were tracking a party of orcs that had come from the North, carrying prisoners among them. Taking great personal risk, they attempted to free the prisoners from the dreadful fate that awaited them in Dol Guldur, only for them to be captured and subjected to suffer the same fate.
It happened, however, that the orcs too had taken a great risk when venturing within the Scuttledells, and were themselves ambushed by the Spawn of Ungoliant who made there their abode. Glorhir’s account was a fractured one, but he urged them to look out for his friend. He managed to escape during the chaos that followed the coming of the spiders, and wandered aimlessly in search of Gladiel until his wounds proved too much for him. Unfortunately, Glorhir’s efforts were fruitless, for he found no sight of Gladiel before losing consciousness. The scout managed to give them some general directions before being overcome by weariness again.
Turumor explained that the area they were headed to, were they to search for Gladiel, posed even more danger than the one in which they found themselves now. Not only spiders lurked there, he told them, but also the dead whose slumber the enemy had defiled. Turumor was the only one in their group who knew the land, and his council was inestimable to their progress. He had guided them safely thus far, and remained ever watchful. A good thing too considering the nature of the foes they were up against. Annúngil trusted him to lead them further, and his skill with the bow would not be unwelcome either as they wandered deeper into the Scuttledells.
Thus, it was that Gladiel was their only lead on tracking the prisoners whom the orcs were transporting to Dol Guldur, but more importantly, it was their duty to aid their kinsmen. That was why they had crossed the mountains and the Anduin, after all. They could not leave Gladiel to her fate, especially not after she and Glorhir had risked so much to rescue the prisoners. Nonetheless, the Malledhrim proved themselves with their valiant deeds. Their valor was admirable, and Annúngil hoped their audacity did not prove too costly, or worse, vain.
