Whispers and rumours were readily wafting through the city on a daily basis, none more so than those about the war. Some opined Arthas had been tricked into following a demon to the vast, icy plains of Northrend; the demon named Mal'Ganis, who'd orchestrated the tainted grain reaching my home of Stratholme. It was the same demon who'd lured not only the naïve prince of Lordaeron but also an esteemed member of Dalaran's Magocracy, Archmage Kel'thuzad. All played their parts for the Burning Legion, an enemy so persistent, so hell-bent on devouring our beloved planet, that they'd laid in wait for thousands of years for a fool such as Arthas to spark their crusade.

The stories were dark. Some were, no doubt, exaggerated to create intriguing campfire stories or to inspire the dulcet tones of many a wandering minstrel.

One particular tale, shrouded in secrecy within the magical community, was strictly forbidden to be discussed among us, the students of the Kirin Tor. It was a story about one of 'our own' who had become entangled with the disgraced prince of Lordaeron. The mere mention of it was enough to send shivers down our spines.

It was rumoured that the young magus, Jaina Proudmore, a favourite student of the late Archmage Antonides (may he rest in peace), had been romantically involved with Arthas. I could see the attraction. He was, after all, a noble, gallant, and honour-bound young Knight of the Silver Hand; a paladin. And he was undeniably handsome, from what I could remember. But his resolute decision to purge my hometown had apparently soured Jaina's feelings for him. I respected her for that. Yet, some believed she could have prevented the unnecessary slaughter of Stratholme's people had she stayed by his side. Would it have saved those who hadn't consumed the tainted grain? Unlikely. And how could anyone discern the accursed before they turned anyway? It made me wonder how many uninfected had suffered under the prince's blade. I chose not to dwell on that, but it was a part of our history, a topic that would inevitably resurface in time.

I confess to lending an ear to gossip now and again. Never more so than when I heard that another prince had eyes for the pretty magus prior to her involvement with Arthas. And that was none other than the High Elf prince from Quel'thalas. Kael'thas Sunstrider.

As I've said, I can't quite warm to the elves. In fact, they freak me out in many ways. So, a human and an elf as potential lovers? It makes me shudder. I mean, consider the obvious physical differences - their stature, build and height apart from their pointy ears and strange willowy eyebrows. As for any other anatomical differences - I didn't dare even ponder. But there are also huge metaphysical, emotional, and logical differences, as well as intellectual ones. And quite frankly, the elves are a bit... unsettling. I'm afraid I did look at Ms Proudmore a little differently once I heard that bit of tittle-tattle.

As for the elven prince, he was no longer with the Kirin Tor. In fact, his loyalties ended up with one called The Betrayer – another elf, of course – one Illidan Stormrage. It seemed that everyone who had affiliations with Jaina ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. Many of us, therefore, preferred to give her a wide berth whenever she was in the vicinity.

In the days leading to the end of the war, such subject matter was also chronicled as newsworthy stories issued by scribes for a meagre sum of copper.

I fell afoul of the gossipmongers because I tended to bury my nose in such snippets of juiciness - when I should have been concentrating on my lessons. As such, my mentor would bring me back to the moment with a pertinent reprimand. "If you awarded as much dedication to your studies as you do idle gossiping, you would be miles ahead of your contemporaries," she'd say, her disapproval flashing in her eyes.

I let her words sink in, and for a while, I wondered why I chose this career path with all the magical chaos compiled of human and elven complications, gossip and bigotry, as well as treachery, power struggles, superiority complexes, and vitriolic competitiveness. The simple truth was, that magic had intrigued me from an early age. It was commonplace for children to provide entertainment in their homes when family or friends visited. Some excelled at singing, dancing, playing an instrument, acting out parts from our history, or performing magic tricks. My speciality was the latter, and I readily demonstrated tricks with no need for sleight of hand, no falseness or chicanery; I knew it was a talent I truly harnessed. Many applauded my efforts, commenting that I would grow to be a great sorceress or magus. My late mother had agreed, hence her encouragement. My father, as I've said, was not a fan.

I traipsed behind Archmage Modera for several months more, and my attention noticeably improved as it was now correctly set. I learned much from her, and in that time, my apprehension about the Archmage greatly eased. I grew to truly admire her, realising that her method of application to the magical arts was what I wished to adopt in my journey as a mage.

Even after my training was officially over and I was a bona fide magus in my own right, I still wished to learn from her. I had earned her trust and - dare I hope - her respect. I took the fact that she didn't object to my being within proximity as a testament to her acceptance of me. But, if she did object, she never said as much.

I will forever be proud of the day I graduated. I was presented with a scroll, a reverent document declaring my ascendence to the role of an Adept of the Magical Arts, along with the acclaimed purple robes assigned to the Kirin Tor and its practitioners.

I think I shed a tear when I spied my father at my inaugural ceremony. He hadn't told me he was coming, and I'd assumed that meant I would be celebrating on my own. But there he was, standing in the crowd of proud parents, siblings and friends of the newly qualified mages of the Kirin Tor.

Once my proclamation finished, I practically ran to him and threw my arms around his broad chest, clamping his arms to his sides. I could hear him grunting, uncertain how to react to my flamboyant display of appreciation and affection. As I took a step back, I saw a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, accompanied by a tear which threatened to trace down his stubbled cheek. He sniffed and wiped away the rogue droplet. "Well done, Klara. Your mother would be well proud of you."

I smiled. As much as his words warmed my heart, I still needed to hear more, and incredibly, he didn't disappoint. "And I'm very proud of you, too," he added, probably sensing my childlike need to hear her parent's approval. I could tell he meant it as well.

"Thank you, Father," I replied, fighting the tears of joy that were choking me.

He glanced around, uncertain what to say or do next, but then followed the lead of other beaming parents making their way to the inn.

We sat down at a table for two near the window of the inn's upper balcony. It awarded us a magnificent view of the city, something my father had never really seen. Today, for some reason, Dalaran looked even more splendorous than usual. Her beautiful towering white spires, with their purple-hued roofs and golden onion domes, glistened in the sun as they reached for the skies. Below, striking cobbled streets all appeared exceptionally clean and afforded everyone ample trade from shops and businesses throughout the city. Even the entrances to the Underbelly - the sewers –were adorned with precision-made stonework arches. And although there was no evidence from the outside, the Underbelly was host to businesses and individuals who dealt in - shall we say - the slightly shadier things in life. A clandestine hive of industry housed within a serpentine structure, the Underbelly snaked beneath the entire length and breadth of the city's streets.

My father nodded approval before turning his attention wholly on me. "So, this is your beloved Dalaran, eh?"

"Yes, Father. She is beautiful, isn't she?"

He nodded again. "Yes. Yes, she is."

Spying one of the waitresses nearby, he beckoned her, and we ordered the day's specials: Soothing Turtle Bisque served with crusty bread, followed by Juicy Bear Burger and a generous portion of seasonal vegetables. He also ordered a carafe of Dalaran Red, which really surprised me as he liked his ale. He smiled after giving the order and explained that the wine was more in keeping with the momentous occasion.

I think that was the day I felt truly close to him. He had always been a good father, strict although fair, but he'd lacked showing any tactile or even verbal affection for me. I knew my mother was the centre of his being, and I often heard him quietly uttering words of endearment to her. I couldn't recall him saying he loved me, though. Strange how that denotes how much you think a person feels for you; that actions are sometimes not enough. Nevertheless, I couldn't deny the very fact he was present on such an important day did attest to his fatherly affection.

I asked him how he was faring at our little homestead in the clearing of nowhere in particular. He eyed me carefully as he supped his soup, and I felt his answer was measured. "I'm doing well, Klara," he said. "It's not the same with your mother gone and you here in Dalaran, but it's home."

A pang of guilt swept over me at his admission, and I tried to conceal it. But he'd seen the change in me; he was still as sharp as a blade for all he was in his fifties. "Don't you go feeling sympathy for me, lass," he said, his voice gentler than the words intimated. "I'm alone, not lonely, and I have treasured memories of your mother that truly bring the difficult times we endured into perspective."

I smiled at his words, their sentiment tugging at my heart.

"And I have you," he continued. "You've done me proud, Klara, and have gone some way in proving me wrong about the magic folks."

I dropped my gaze, struggling to keep yet more tears at bay. "Thank you, Father," I managed.

"Thank you?" He guffawed. "Never thank me for my being proud of you, girl. It is a father's privilege." Then he lowered his voice just a shade before he said, "And I love you dearly. That is something I know I have failed to tell you. For that, I apologise."

I felt my bottom lip quivering, and pain seared my chest. I wasn't used to hearing my father speak this way. I swallowed hard before meeting his eyes. "I love you too, Father."

It was his turn to be emotional. Beautiful though our sentiments were, they threatened to disrupt our celebration, so I decided to change the subject. "What of our relatives? Have they acknowledged their error in shunning us?"

My father pushed his empty soup bowl aside and signalled for the waitress. She removed our empty dishes before he leaned forward and answered me. "I haven't bothered following it up. Managed fine without them, though."

I shrugged. He had a valid point, but still, I thought it would be good to mend those broken bridges, especially as he was on his own. "I can come home for a while if you wish?"

He smiled, appreciative. "No, lass. You have important work to do now. You are needed here."

"But I could..."

"There will be time for that in due course, Klara. But for now, you must go where you are destined. Helping those who can't fend for themselves."

I conceded, knowing only too well that Adepts were indeed assigned tasks that required travel to far-off places. I would be receiving instructions soon, and I doubted there would be enough time for me to spend at home before my travels. "Fair enough, but when I get the chance, I'll come home for a while."

"I look forward to that," he said, offering me one of the biggest smiles I could ever recall seeing.

As the day drew to a close, I offered to provide transportation for his trip back home. His eyes widened as he witnessed me opening a portal. Within its watery centre, an image of our farmstead flickered. There was a winsome look in his eyes as he bade me farewell. A moment's hesitation ended in a fatherly hug and a kiss on my brow. I clung to him, wanting to savour the smell and the touch of him. I hadn't realised just how much I'd missed him until it was time for him to depart.

For the last time that day, I shed a few tears as I watched him disappear through the portal.

_________________________________________________________________________

Klara the Tattler - she does love her gossip. But is her opinion about Jaina unfair? What do you think?

And the time spent with her father on her Graduation Day - I think both have come to an understanding and hopefully strengthened their bond.