I was brought to the high place by a furtive, royal hand, a voice bidding me sleep until Yavanna sing me to movement. And so I lay in the dark, quiet and still, as stars wheeled overhead and I thought myself forgotten. One day, the urge came to stir, to push out roots for nourishment and burst through the stubborn ground into air and light and rains. Slowly did I quicken, obedient to what compelled me, to she who gentled my questions.
Then the Maia came, and he brought another who had also waited with patience and hidden strength. Behold the King! When his hand touched me, gladly did I loosen my hold on the soils of the mountain to be taken by him to the White City where I first knew life. The Maia stepped back and allowed the King and two small ones to replant me in earth prepared for my needs. I heard myself called a symbol of Hope, and so I will proudly bear flower and fruit, a bridge between one Age and the next.
I am welcomed with joy and music, the voices of Eagles and the cheering of Men. Misted by sweet waters and breathing clean air, I eagerly bring forth new buds and leaves, unfurling silvered shimmers of ancient beauty. Grow and be glad, she whispers in parting; the world has changed.