Author's Note: Written as a one-off for Love Is In The Air contest 2017. The criteria involved selecting a song and incorporating some of the lyrics within the story. The story had to revolve around a love letter.

The girl lashed out at the wall, furious with her own stupidity. That's what happens when you try to show off to your classmates and trainers, she reprimanded herself. 

 She had not quite perfected the art of stealth but was proficient enough to be able to sneak around from time to time. All she wanted to do was give some of her classmates a fright as she prodded or tickled them in the passing. Such was the mindset of a practical joker. But, as usual, her clumsiness interfered and she had knocked over the stand that had her trainer's satchel on it.

Panic! She froze, waiting for one of the trainers of the rogue's Guildhall to come and investigate what the noise was. But no-one came, thankfully. She stared at the spilt contents of Darlia's satchel. The floor was littered with recipes for poisons, notes on herbs and their properties, areas for farming them and other various related information on her trainer's specialist profession. Her head snapped round.

Oh no! Everyone was almost ready for classes to start. Her eyes shot to the far end of the hall where Darlia was busy helping another two trainers, Cel and Nerisen, open up the hall for the day's training to commence. She had to clean up this mess. And quick!

Her heart raced as she started gathering all the documents. Praying they were not meant to be in any particular order, she shuffled the papers into as neat piles as possible before placing them back into the leather satchel. Keeping a close eye on the trainers' whereabouts, she scrambled to get the last few bits of papers together and... She stopped. What was this?

She picked up a piece of parchment, several pieces actually all clipped together, which was vastly different from the others. This was expensive paper, not the kind used for the notes and recipes. After another quick glance in the hall to ensure no-one approached, she looked a little closer at the paper. It had little petals and hearts in the top corners of each page. She smiled. It was pretty and not at all what she thought Darlia would have in her possession. Darlia was a serious, no-nonsense, straight to the heart of the matter kind of person. Straight to the heart though, it seemed, in another way too... The trainee's eyes bulged as she read the name at the top of the first page.

Another quick check over her shoulder. Her curiosity got the better of her and she read a few lines. Oh, my! she gasped. Her trainer had a massive crush on... The Regent Lord, Lor'themar Theron! But, judging by the content, she had never expressed her feelings to the great man himself.

The trainee bit her bottom lip. Quandary! She herself was such a hopeless romantic, and the thought that Darlia spent her nights alone just confessing her feelings to nothing more than a fancy piece of paper, made her feel a little sad for her trainer. She read a little more before the sound of approaching footfalls had her stuffing the parchment inside her tunic. She quickly replaced the satchel in its rightful place on the stand then snuck out from behind the partition and round the pillars that stood at the Guildhall entrance.She waited, still in stealth, beside one of the stone sentinels and watched as her trainer reached for the satchel.

Darlia took it to the large desk where she had all her vials, burners, utensils and various other things for the making of poisons. She searched in the satchel. The trainee held her breath. Darlia pulled out some of the notes and started putting them out on the desk. Then she stilled, looking quizzically at the papers. Her face started to pale. Reaching for the satchel again she frantically searched inside the leather bag. Her eyes were huge as she scanned the desk, lifting the papers she had already placed out, rifling through them and back to searching the satchel. She clasped her hand to her mouth, dread and also despair written all over her face. She was looking for the one thing that was not there.

The trainee felt a wash of guilt. The poor woman looked distraught. Her most intimate secret was gone. The trainee considered trying to replace the letter. After serious contemplation she decided against that idea - she not proficient enough to do that - she would undoubtedly be caught in the act. Furthermore, how more crushing would it be for Darlia when she realised a student had found out her secret. A sudden epiphany hit the young rogue. She had one other option, or rather a wish. She just prayed it would be the right decision. As Darlia continued her frantic search around the area, the trainee, still stealthed, ran off towards Sunfury Spire and to the Regent Lord himself.

*****

Lor'themar Theron stood at the top of the steps to the Spire, speaking with his two advisors, Grand Magister Rommath and the Ranger General Halduron Brightwing. Lor'themar was a good man. The people of Quel'thalas looked to him for leadership now, as their Prince, Kael'thas Sunstrider, was no more.

Having betrayed his people by affiliating himself with the Burning Legion, the Prince had been finally defeated on Magister's Terrace after a failed attempt at the Tempest Keep. His consequential defection to the force which had been behind the near annihilation of the elven kingdom had been the biggest blow the nation had ever suffered. Thankfully, he had had the good sense to appoint Lor'themar as Regent Lord well before he was influenced by the Legion.

The people were still recovering from the destruction of the Sunwell, following the attack on Quel'thalas by Arthas Menethil and his scourge. As the source of nourishment and magic for the elves, they had become lethargic without their font of power. It could take years to right, really.

Yet, the Regent Lord and his advisors had valiantly seen that the depleted numbers of Sin'dorei survived, and by rallying the elves and boosting their morale, they had rebuilt the city of Silvermoon, surprisingly with some helpful advice from their late monarch no less.

Yes, he was a great man was the Regent Lord.

And single.

The trainee thought it would be so nice if he and Darlia could have a little romance, especially as it was the season of celebrating Love Is In The Air throughout Azeroth. Both were on their own and possibly compensated their solitary lives by throwing themselves into their work. But night times surely must be lonely for them, she thought. Even she had a lover's arms to hold her, and those arms made all the difference to her life.

She approached the silver-haired Regent Lord and his companions. It wasn't until she was only three feet from him that she realised she was still stealthed. Swallowing, she shifted position and materialised in front of the three men.

"Halt!" Instantly, the Ranger General drew his sword and stood protectively in front of Lor'themar. Grand Magister Rommath also defensive, was preparing to cast a bolt of arcane at the encroacher.

The trainee shrank back, her eyes as big as saucers and hands trembling as she clutched the precious letter. "Please, I mean no harm to the Regent Lord," she whimpered.

The men relaxed a little, seeing how terrified the young woman was. They looked up at Lor'themar. He nodded, and they stepped aside giving him passage to the young woman. He descended four steps and stood in front of her, his hands clasped behind him. "And what may I do for you?" he asked the nervous woman.

"Regent Lord," she replied, bowing respectfully. "I – I have something to give you."

Lor'themar eyed the parchment in her trembling hands. He pointed to it. "This?"

She nodded.

"Is it a request for an attendance, or help of some kind?"

"No, Regent Lord. It is not."

"Then what is it you require of me?" He smiled, trying to reassure the young woman there was nothing to be nervous about.

The trainee looked up at him. She had never been this close to him before. But being so now, she could understand why Darlia had a crush on him. He was very handsome, for all he wore an eye-patch having lost sight in his left eye during the Third War. His skin was unblemished, and he had a kindly face. His hair silken and long was pulled back from his face in a half, high-knot, allowing the silvery tresses to drape over his shoulders. He sported a little goatee these days and it certainly made him look refined. He was rather splendid in his deep red, burnished, leather armour.

She cleared her throat. "This is not from me, Regent Lord, and it is not a request for anything material."

Lor'themar shifted from one foot to the other. "Then what is it?" his mouth curved in a small smile although his eye betrayed a little wariness.

"Please just read it. Today. It has to be today. You will understand once you see the words." She handed it to him, and the moment he accepted it, she turned, stealthed and ran back towards Murder Row and the Guildhall.

Lor'themar looked at the folded parchment, puzzled, then glanced up at his companions smiling. "Well, that was different," he said. They laughed lightly. He turned and moved back up the steps. "I will be in my study if you need me," he said over his shoulder as he continued past the two advisors, towards the Spire. They shrugged at each other and went about their business.

Lor'themar sat behind his overflowing desk. He stared at all the documents requiring his attention. He sighed, knowing that he should really look at them first and leave this mysterious parchment until later, maybe even tomorrow. But the young woman had been quite persistent that he read it today. He did find politics so very tiring. Perhaps this would offer a nice reprieve for a moment or two.

He sat back and opened the parchment. He was very surprised to see little petals and hearts at the top of the page. He smiled. Rather sweet, he thought. Then, Lor'themar Theron read its content...

My Regent Lord

I have written this letter year after year, and yet it remains in my possession - for my eyes only. How I wish I had the courage to send it to you, for it is only meant for you, Lor'themar Theron.

I have watched and thought of you with growing admiration over the years. And that admiration has turned into something more. So much more. And all to my own despair.

The first time I saw you was when you walked past where I work, the Students of Shadow Guildhall. You were on your way to the southern borders to battle against the Amani trolls. You were a Ranger then, a promising, dedicated and loyal lieutenant of the Farstriders. You strode proudly by, stopping briefly to ensure your squad were keeping up.

Then you looked over. And my heart skipped a beat. You smiled. Such a charismatic smile too, although I dare say I was perhaps, in your eyes, just another citizen silently observing the brave Rangers on their way to war, and nothing more.

How wrong that assumption would have been.

I am of no particular import in the bigger scheme of things, I know, but that day, your fleeting smile made me feel like a queen. I was smitten. Hopelessly lost in your eyes. When you turned and continued out of our fair city, my heart went with you...

Lor'themar lay the parchment on the desk. He was utterly stunned by what he was reading. He felt a slight tightness in his chest. Not pain as such, but ... an awareness, perhaps? His heart was certainly beating faster than normal. Never, had anyone said they harboured such feelings for him. Oh, there had been one lady he had hoped would show him affection, but she had remained merely a friend. And with the turn of events in Quel'thalas' history, such emotions were often on borrowed time anyway or simply put aside.

The words on the parchment had, however, made him face a certain fact. He had been lonely on many occasions. He had just accepted love was a luxury he simply would not be blessed with.

He stood and crossed to the sideboard. Sighing, he looked at the bottles of wine on display. It was early, but boy, did he feel the need for some liquid sustenance. His hand hovered over a couple of favoured vintages. He made his choice and cracked open the Brightsong wine. He poured a generous glass and returned to his desk.

He eyed the parchment. He really did have important matters to see to; he was a busy man after all. His green orb flitted to the seemingly never-ending pile of affidavits, requests, orders and messages of state then back to the decorative parchment. Should he? There was so much business to tend to. Yet... Taking his seat again, he took a long draught of the liquid courage. His fingers hovered over it. After a few more indecisive moments he picked up the parchment again.

I spent weeks worrying. I asked everyone "What word from the border?" No answers ever truly answered my question, but then again it was not the right question I had asked.

I wanted to say "What news of Lor'themar Theron? Is he safe? Is he coming home soon?" Yes, I know, those questions would have remained unanswered too, but that was what I wanted to know. Yearned to know. Needed to know.

Then one day, there you were. Standing outside the Guildhall, you were with the Firefury boy, Duthan, and you were both greeting his sister, Tiene, who was a student here at the time. I watched you smiling and chatting with her. Oh, I am so ashamed to say I felt envy, although I knew you felt nothing other than brotherly affection towards the girl. Still, it was with a heavy heart I watched you walk away without so much as a glance towards me.

I continued my work, diligently, teaching younglings the way of the rogue and producing some of the best poisons for their weapons. Some of your Rangers also purchased some of my lethal beauties for their arrows. I had so hoped perhaps you yourself might have come by to purchase some. But you never did.

It was then I wished I had the skill of some herbalists and the ability to produce something of true beauty. Non-deadly but just as potent. A love potion. Alas, I am not so talented and on reflection, perhaps it was for the best, for if I had, and issued it to you, I would never know if your feelings were real.

But, oh, how easy it would be to show me how you feel if I had issued you with a little vial of desire.

Do not fear though, my admiration and... continually growing love for you is so pure, untainted, that I would not treat you with such disrespect. As it is, I fear I will never know how you might feel.

I guess this "letter" has turned into more of a journal, a documented representation of my love for a man who does not know I even exist. Still, it is precious to me, as are you. I have carried this with me, in its various versions over the years. It is a way of having you close to me.

My dreams are filled with pictures of you. I cannot divulge their intimacy in full, for fear that this may fall into the wrong hands one day. But I do think of us together. Soft caresses, sweet kisses and so much more. Such visions take my breath away...

Again, the Regent Lord had to pause. His hand trembled. He took another drink of wine and was rather surprised to see the glass almost empty already.

The corners of his mouth quivered and his lips curved into a smile. He noted his breathing had become somewhat pronounced. The individual who had penned this letter was having quite an effect on him. He found himself flicking through his memory banks of the times he had passed by the Students of Shadow Guildhall. He was searching for a face to put to the quill. He was disappointed to find that the vision was not forthcoming.

Surprisingly, a tinge of guilt washed over him. How could someone feel so strongly about him and yet he never noticed them? Had he been so driven in his career all these years that love had become imperceptible? Politics was not his chosen career, he reminded himself sharply. Still, had it blinded him to the simple beauty of life? The very thing that provides true sustenance to the heart and soul?

Empathy then swallowed him. He knew what it was like to feel strongly for someone and have them never look at you in the same light. It was agony. Torture. But he had brushed that pain aside. Refusing to embrace it had perhaps made him - what? Cold? Distant? Unloveable?

He shifted in his seat, leaning on the armrest, toying with his goatee. It seemed someone still noticed him. Had noticed him for quite some time, too. He looked at his glass. It needed a refill. He moved to the sideboard once more and proceeded to pour more wine.

A knock came to the door. "Enter," he said, his mind floating helplessly between the emotional revelations of the letter and grim reality.

Grand Magister Rommath approached the Regent Lord with yet another stack of official documents for him to look over. Lor'themar quickly reached the desk and removed the letter from Rommath's view. He resumed his position next to the sideboard, glass in one hand, the letter clutched possessively in the other.

His friend and advisor eyed him suspiciously. He inclined his head to the letter in Lor'themar's hand. "I trust it is not bad news?" he asked.

The Regent Lord straightened. "On the contrary, it is... pleasantly surprising." He sipped his wine.

The Grand Magister raised an eyebrow. Unusual for Lor'themar to be so cryptic. The Regent Lord turned so he was looking at Rommath squarely. Still, he did not divulge anything more about the parchment's content. Rommath made a sound like a dismissive grunt then pointed to the fresh batch of documents he had come in with. "These will need your attention before the end of the week."

Lor'themar merely nodded.

"And the others should be dealt with promptly," Rommath finished, pointing to the existing tower of papers.

"I know!" Lor'themar said. There was a slight irritation in his voice. He did not mean to be blunt with his friend, but he really wanted to continue reading the – love letter, he supposed it should be called. That was, after all, exactly what it was. "I shall see to them, worry not."

"I'm not worried, Lor'themar, but you have duties that need carried out, supplies issued and received, meetings arranged or accepted, deadlines to meet and ..."

"I am well aware of the responsibilities which have befallen me, Rommath!"

The Grand Magister inhaled sharply. He had not meant to be critical. Lor'themar was a good man and an exceptional Regent Lord, even if he did not like having been given the title and its responsibilities. Naming Lor'themar as Regent Lord was the one decent thing Prince Kael'thas had done before he had betrayed his people by shifting allegiance to the Burning Legion. Rommath bowed apologetically. "Forgive me, Lor'themar, I did not mean to imply that you did not know your duties."

Lor'themar sighed. He did not like even the barest animosity between them and he too apologised for being short with his friend and confidante. He was not, however, going to reveal any details about the letter in his hand. That, he felt, would have been a betrayal of the pure heart which had penned it. "I just need a little time, Rommath. There is a matter which... I was not aware of and that I feel needs my attention also, but it is not one which involves state business."

The Grand Magister knew when he was being dismissed. He bowed to his Regent Lord and back stepped before turning and leaving the room.

Hearing the click of the door closing, Lor'themar retook his seat at the desk and lifted the letter once more.

My heart swells at the very thought of you, and more often than not, I find myself drifting off in daydreams, thinking of what might have been.

It is possible, that had I been in Silvermoon at the time of the scourge attack during the Third War instead of visiting family down south, I may not have been here now, writing this testament of love under a flickering candle.

When I returned home then, however, and witnessed the devastation of our beautiful city, my only concern was that you had survived. It may sound selfish and uncaring, but all those lives lost, tragic and terribly sad though it was, at the time was not what mattered to me. My love for you was still my secret alone but had you known, I did wonder, what would you do if my heart was torn in two thinking that you had been lost to me through war.

I have never felt pain as I did that day. I could not find you anywhere. Everywhere I saw a Ranger, I ran to them, hoping to see your handsome face. I was beside myself with worry.

But then I saw you. My heart broke for you as I watched you say a touching farewell to the family you had loved so dearly, for all they were not blood kin. I so wanted to come to you and offer comfort, but I could not. It was not my place, and you knew me not. Besides, hoping to gain your love through a time of deep sorrow would have been unkind and intolerably selfish of me.

And so, I stayed my hand - and my heart. I backed away.

Knowing that you were safe, gave me the strength and courage to play my part in helping those lost souls who had survived. From the sidelines, I watched as you organised the Rangers and those who were able-bodied to the task of cleaning up our city and preparing for an unknown future.

By then you were sporting your eye-patch, which, though I am sad that you were injured so, I have to admit adds to your charm. That, and the way you wear your hair now - you are so refined. You look the part of Regent Lord, though it is sad to have to put the Ranger to rest so-to-speak. No doubt, in your heart however, you are and always will be a Farstrider.

And speaking of your heart, I have heard it beats for a particular lady. I cannot put into words how this makes me feel. But this much I can say; she would be making the biggest mistake of her life if she was not to reciprocate your affection. On one hand, I hope she does, and that you find blissful happiness with her. But on the other ... well, it is a fist, and it beats down hard on this desk on which I write. I had so hoped it would be me that you would one day want to be with. Yet, how could that be possible, when you know not of who I am or how I feel?

Why is it, we are drawn to those who do not notice us? I sometimes wish I had not seen you that first day. I wish that I had been in Silvermoon during the war and lay lifeless on the stone like so many others.

I wish I could be spared this pain. Love is meant to be joyous, shared by two like-minded individuals. Yet it is often unrequited and the pain of such is like no other I know. It is relentless, unforgiving and as eternal as the stars.

Yet, every time I see you, albeit in the distance, my heart still skips a beat and my mind touches you where I will never be able to in life.

In my dreams, you see only me. You feel only my embrace, my kiss, my body. And it seems, that is where you will stay, within the borders of my mind, surrounded by my love, forever.

If by some strange turn of fate this should end up in your hands, please be kind to me, and do not dismiss this heart as insignificant. I would love to think that now that I've tried to talk to you and make you understand, all you have to do is close your eyes and just reach out your hands and touch me. Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me 'cause I'd already know.

But, I know I still dream. And dreamers seldom wake.

Until next year, my beloved Regent Lord...

I am, nonetheless

Eternally yours

Darlia

Music: More Than Words by Extreme

https://youtu.be/UrIiLvg58SY

Lor'themar put the letter down on the desk. Sipping the last of the wine from his glass, his fingers lightly traced the author's name. She had, undeniably, reached him. His breath trembled, his hand shook. Never had he felt so... loved.

He was not a man prone to flights of fancy, nor carried away by flattery, but the letter he had just read was so sincere, so tender and from the heart of a woman whom he had not had the privilege of meeting.

He stroked his goatee in contemplation. Perhaps...

Suddenly, a screeching sound filled the air in the study as the Regent Lord pushed back his chair. He strode purposefully towards the door.

As he exited the main reception chamber of Sunfury Spire, his two advisors, Rommath and Halduron started after him. He stopped just short of the top step and turned to meet their questioning faces. "You can stay here, both of you," he said, an air of authority in his voice.

"But, Lor'themar, you do not go anywhere without an escort. It is for your safety," Halduron said defensively.

"Today I do," the Regent Lord replied.

"That would be unwise," Rommath added.

Lor'themar sighed and stared at the ground, collecting thoughts on how to answer them. A few moments later he lifted his head again. "There are some instances in life, gentlemen, where a man does not require and most definitely does not want, others accompanying him."

The two advisors looked at each other, brows furrowed. Lor'themar shook his head, suppressing a grin. He was, he realised, feeling rather buoyant and very much in the frame of mind reflecting the time of year in Azeroth.

He looked around him and saw the heart-shaped banners draped over some of the buildings and suspended under the arches. He pointed to the colourful buntings. The Grand Magister and Ranger General followed where the Regent Lord indicated.

Simultaneously, their mouths dropped open as they gaped at each other and then looked back at Lor'themar. His lip curled up at one side. "Yes," he nodded. "I can have a life, outside of state business."

The two advisors, mouths now closed, merely nodded and then appeared at a loss for words. Lor'themar gestured a shooing motion with his hands. "Now, off you go. See to your own...romances. I am sure Quel'thalas will not collapse for the sake of a few hours affection."

The Regent Lord then promptly turned and descended the stairs. On route to Murder Row, where the Students of Shadow guildhall was sited, he stopped at a stall which sold flowers. He spied a beautiful red rose, that stood regally above all the others. The stall holder snipped away one or two of the thorns from the base of the rose stalk and handed it to Lor'themar. The Regent Lord paid the florist and went on his way.

Approaching the Guildhall, he put his hands behind his back, concealing the rose and looked for the young woman who delivered the letter. He had suspected she would be here as she had headed back in this direction after she had given him the letter.

He spied her, training with four others. The trainer, a powerfully built rogue with short spiky hair, spied Lor'themar at the pillars. He immediately bowed to his Regent Lord. Lor'themar shook his head, preferring no formality under the circumstances and pointed to the young woman he wished to speak to. The trainer indicated to the particular trainee with a nod, and advised her that her attention was required.

She turned round. On seeing who was waiting at the entrance, she gaped. Lor'themar beckoned her with his forefinger.

The young woman smiled broadly, obviously astounded that he was there. He leaned down to her ear. "Thank you, for bringing me that letter," he whispered.

"You are most welcome, Regent Lord," she replied, still beaming. " I hope I have not done anything wrong." A sudden rush of embarrassment flooded her and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

"On the contrary," Lor'themar replied. She looked back up at his face. "I must thank you for ..." His brow furrowed as he struggled to find the words he wanted to say. After a moment's consideration, he continued. "You have lifted a veil and shown me the most important thing in life."

The young student blushed furiously again. That he felt that way and thanked her for her intervention was truly astounding.

"Now, might you point out the young woman in question please?" Lor'themar asked.

The trainee turned round and pointed down the hall. There at a table, full of bottles and jars with many different coloured contents was a woman busying herself preparing more vials.

"Thank you," Lor'themar said. He straightened and made his way to the bottom of the hall.

Everyone in the Guildhall stopped doing whatever they were doing as they saw Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel'thalas walking towards the poisons master, Darlia.

With her back to the approaching figure, she was the only one who was oblivious to the visitor. She continued busying herself with her vials and beakers. She had not fully recovered from misplacing her letter and had focused on her work to stem the panic she felt inside. Occasionally she gulped, forcing back the tears that threatened because the precious item had gone astray. In truth, concentrating on work was proving difficult.

Lor'themar smiled as he noted the rich vibrant red of her hair and the more than pleasing figure as she continued with her trade. Her face turned to the side, just a smidge. He caught her full lips and smooth porcelain skin before she turned back to her table of ingredients.

He stopped directly behind her. "Darlia?" he said softly.

"Hmm?" she said and spun round to meet who had spoken. She was so stunned to see the man of her dreams standing in front of her and she nearly dropped the beaker in her hand. She gripped it just in time and shakily put it on the table. Slowly, she turned back to face him. She curtsied. "Forgive me, Regent Lord," she said, lowering her eyes. "I did not hear you approach. Is - is there something I can help you with?" A flush of colour darkened her cheeks, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Lor'themar smiled and gently took her hand. He heard her inhale sharply, noticing her cheeks darken even more.

He presented the rose. "I'm afraid this flower pales in comparison to you, Darlia, but I hope you will accept it as ..."

Her bright green eyes rose up to look at him, expectant, hopeful. Surprised.

She was lovely. He smiled again. He knew, without doubt, this lady would be special. "... a token of my affection," he finished. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her smile warmed him as she accepted the rose and inhaled its scent.

It was indeed a gesture from the heart...

A/N The NPCs from World of Warcraft are Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel'thalas and Darlia, Rogue and Poisons supplier with the Students of Shadow Guild