The old man brought his grandson to see the White Tree in springtime. After 100 years, it soared skyward, its branches embracing the sun. The blossoms rustled with a secret life.
“When my father fought in the War,” he said, “the Tree was dead. But after Sauron was destroyed, the King found a sapling. Now our city is filled with laughter and gardens and schools of medicine, music, and astronomy. Instead of wielding a sword, you will make books on Master Falborn’s new printing press. I am glad, my boy, that you live in the days of King Elessar’s Peace.”