“I was not much older than you the day the orcs invaded Khaz Modan. War eventually took your Grampus and Nana Flinthammer, at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Like me, your Grampus and Nana knew what might happen, and went anyway. (Your Uncle Widge can tell you more about that.)
“I do not know what your Ma told you about me, growing up. I hope it was mostly good. But if she told you I was not scared, that was a lie. Your Ma is as brave as any — braver than me, for sure — and, together, we faced orcs and trolls and qiraji and dragons and even an Old God.
“But nothing ever scared me like the Scourge. When our troops fall, we burn their corpses or at least dismember them, otherwise they will rise up and attack us when we sleep. I know that I could end up hacked to pieces by my own friends, and that it would be a blessing if I were.
“But I am more scared of what will happen if I do not go. I have seen the Plaguelands and what the Scourge did to Quel’Thalas. The Wetlands and Loch Modan and Dun Morogh could fall the same way. I have seen what happens to wee ones when the Scourge come, and that scares me more than anything Arthas Menethil can do to me.
“I go to my death today to protect you, my son.
“What makes me sad is all the things I will miss. You are still in diapers as I write this, and your potty training is an adventure, to be sure. You are starting to speak, and you leave snot in my beard when you kiss me good-bye each morning. When your Ma and I fight, you yell ‘all right’ at us until we stop and make us hug.
“I will not see you ride your first ram or learn how to shoot a gun. I will not be there on your first hunt nor teach you how to fish. I will not get to teach you how to throw a punch or when it’s OK to do so. I will not help you with your letters or history lessons. I will not be there to congratulate you the day you earn your commission. I will not be there the day you get married or the day your child is born.
“But you will be safe.
“Perhaps the Argent Crusaders are right, and I will be there, in spirit, watching over you always. I hope so.
“But I would rather brave the horrors to come, and fall on the ice, than to ever let you fall into the hands of these monsters. I am selfish: You will survive my death, but I could not survive yours.
“If you read this letter one day, I hope you are not mad at me for not being there for all those important moments. I do all of this for you, and because I love you, more than I love beer or hunting or even your Ma.
“I miss you already.
“Love, your father,
(Inspired by this post from Too Many Annas.)