Christie Golden - War Crimes

Tyrande Whisperwind rose from her table and walked to the center of the arena. She was clad in a flowing robe that could be described by the pedestrian adjective “white,” but was so much more than that—subtle hues of lavender and blue and pearl and silver united in a garment that managed to be both simple and elegant at the same time, as was she. Anduin had met her before, and of all the Alliance leaders—and even some of the Horde—she intimidated him more than any other. It was not that she was overbearing or haughty. On the contrary, she had been kind and gracious.

Anduin saw in Tyrande the very essence of what was beautiful in the radiant moon goddess she worshipped, and in the cool night woodlands her people so loved. And when she had spoken to him the first time, at the service for Magni Bronzebeard, he had trembled at the kind touch of her hand on his cheek in a gesture of comfort as sincere as it had been profound.

Now, Tyrande looked up at the faces in the gallery for a long moment, not speaking, as if gathering her thoughts, then lifted her glowing gaze up to the four August Celestials.

“It is my right as Accuser to speak first to the jury, and to those assembled,” she began. Her voice carried, but was melodic rather than strident. “This right is so granted because the Accuser must prove her case. But I am almost tempted to let the Defender speak first, because Chu’shao Baine Bloodhoof has chosen to accept a much more difficult task than I.”

She began to walk with graceful steps, her long blue hair flowing down her back, her lavender face turned up toward the onlookers. “For Garrosh Hellscream has done me a great service this day. Not only does he admit to the lengthy list of heinous crimes with which he is charged, but he boasts of them, and offers insult to this court. No one in this temple—indeed, I would venture to say no one in Azeroth—has been untouched by the deeds of this single orc.”

Now she looked at Garrosh, and though her face changed only subtly, Anduin could see the loathing in it. “My task, an honor and a somber joy both, is to offer proof that Garrosh did everything of which he is accused, and more. I intend to show you that he did these deeds with full knowledge of the anguish, suffering, and destruction they would cause.”

She paused, and turned to the table where Chromie and Kairoz sat. Her hands to her heart, she gave them a deep bow. “I offer gratitude to the bronze dragonflight, for now my tool is no longer the dull repetition of words to which we would eventually become inured—but the actual sight of how these events played out. You will watch Garrosh Hellscream plot. You will listen to him lie. And by the end, you will witness him betray.”

Garrosh offered no interruption. Tyrande was setting the tone for the Accuser’s strategy, and it would be a brutal one. She would be relentless, and Anduin would have thought that Garrosh would be unable to keep his mouth shut. But he did.

If Tyrande was disappointed, she did not show it. Her delicate nostrils flared, and she again looked up into the crowd. Her voice was gentler, filled with the same compassion Anduin recalled from their first meeting.

“I know that some of these sights will be horrific, and that many of you personally suffer from what Hellscream has done. To you, I offer my sincere regrets for the pain I must cause. But I believe that you would suffer more if I failed to do everything in my power to bring this . . . orc . . . to true justice.”

Now she bowed to the four great beings, who were still as stone but whose presence could be felt throughout the arena. “August Celestials, you are kind as well as wise. I give both qualities my respect. And I urge you to give us this true justice of which I speak. To find Garrosh Hellscream, former warchief of the Horde, guilty, on every single abominable count, of crimes against Azeroth—its individuals, its races, and the world itself—and to press for the fullest possible punishment: death. Shaha lor’ma . . . Thank you.”

Anduin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Applause was not permitted; if it were, he was certain that the vast majority of onlookers would be clapping and cheering their approval. Garrosh, however, remained visibly unaffected by her poignant and powerful words.

Once Tyrande had taken her seat, her color high and her pose straight as an elven arrow, Taran Zhu nodded.

“Thank you, Chu’shao. The Defender may now speak.”

Baine did not radiate the calm yet barely contained energy of Tyrande. He rose slowly, with dignity, bowed deeply to the August Celestials, then turned to face the spectators.

“The Accused, Garrosh Hellscream, spoke of this trial being a ‘show.’ As I do not wish it to be perceived as such, or as a comedy, as he referred to it, I will not insult anyone’s intelligence by claiming that Garrosh Hellscream is innocent. Nor will I run the risk of scorn by attempting to convince you that he is simply misguided, or misunderstood. I shall not ask for pity, or for anyone to overlook the crimes of which he stands accused. And I will get one important matter out of the way now.”

Baine stood tall, his massive chest expanded with a full breath, reminding all present that he was a warrior, a high chieftain, and a son of a high chieftain. “Garrosh Hellscream killed my father. Most of you know this. Yet here I stand, not out of any fondness for Garrosh as an individual, choosing to defend him. Why? Because, Fa’shua Taran Zhu, August Ones, and fellow Azerothians, like the rest of you, I too want the ‘true justice’ of which my esteemed night elf colleague spoke so eloquently. And also because it is the right thing to do .”

He began to walk, looking up at the audience as if daring them to contradict him. “We will not be as Garrosh was to us. We will not put our wants or needs first. We will not think with heated fury of slaying, of vengeance, of restoring to our races glory perceived to be lost. We are better than that. We are better than him .” He pointed a finger at Garrosh Hellscream, who now sat with an amused smile curving around his tusks.

“And because we are better, we will listen, and use both our minds and our hearts to reach a verdict that generations to come will agree was indeed true justice.” Baine looked toward the Alliance stands, and he caught and held Anduin’s gaze for a moment before turning to Varian, then Jaina Proudmoore.

Jaina was frowning, displaying the little crease that marred her brow when she so furrowed it. Anduin usually saw that crease when she was concentrating, but now he realized she was not pleased with what Baine was saying.

“Our challenge—mine, and that of the August Celestials, and indeed, of all present—is to keep both those minds and hearts open. It is the wise heart, not the broken one, which must be called upon. If you truly do not wish for Garrosh to ‘get away with it,’ as I have heard some voices mutter, if you honestly crave justice, then you must spare his life. While one exists, one can change, and one can begin to do something to mend what he has shattered. Thank you.”

He bowed and returned to his seat.

Baine’s opening speech was met with stony silence. Anduin was unsurprised. The tauren’s battle was not only uphill; it was practically a vertical climb.

“We will take an hour’s respite, then resume later this afternoon with the first witness,” Taran Zhu stated. He struck the gong and rose. Everyone in the amphitheater stood as well, and then the talking began, the buzz of excited conversation, some angry, some gleeful, all of it— all of it—anti-Garrosh.

Anduin tried to catch Baine’s eye, but the tauren walked over to speak with Kairoz, his movements measured and his face grim. Anduin watched him for a moment, wishing it were possible for him to go to the tauren he considered a friend to offer his support. One day, perhaps. His gaze traveled to Garrosh, and he stiffened.