The italics roll as the son of Gondor rides up to the city gates, clothing stained from travel and battle, his body weary and still recovering from injuries, but grey eyes lighting up with joy as he gazes up once again to the white tower of Ecthelion
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How is my Father? How are you? I have a pashmina for you as well!
Oh Jade, Jade.... I have heard rumors in the air of many things. Just tell me, whatever it is.
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*blink*
WOW!
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*kiss*
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