Christie Golden - War Crimes

He was accustomed to royal events, and had even given speeches to throngs much larger than this one. But that was different. In those situations, he was a guest, or an invited speaker, or the respected host. He knew what to do, how to behave. This was completely new, and not a little unsettling. He caught Wrathion’s eye as he took his seat. He could almost hear the Black Prince saying, How very interesting! The amusing thought calmed him.

Tyrande gave him a kind smile as she approached. “Prince Anduin,” she said, “thank you for being here today.” He thought it best not to remind her that it wasn’t as if he’d had a choice in the matter, and merely nodded. “Your Highness, you are known throughout Azeroth as a proponent of peace. Is that accurate?”

“Yes,” Anduin replied. He ached to elaborate, but remembered what his father had told him. Stick to the questions. Don’t volunteer anything. Tyrande knows what she’s doing .

“So it would be fair to say that you do not hate the Horde, or its races?”

“It would be fair, yes.”

“You have worked with them on occasion, and urged mercy even in wartime, correct?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Everyone here knows Garrosh Hellscream by name and reputation, of course. But you have had personal encounters with him, have you not?”

Here we go , he thought, and deliberately did not look at Garrosh. “I have.”

“On how many occasions?”

“Two.”

“Can you please tell the court about them?”

Anduin wondered why she didn’t just show both encounters, given the unique tool she had in the Vision of Time. Perhaps she was saving her allotted minutes for something more lively than people sitting around talking. “One was in Theramore, at a peace conference. My father, Lady Jaina Proudmoore, and I were there, and Thrall brought Garrosh and Rehgar Earthfury, and some of the Kor’kron.” He hadn’t thought about that ill-fated meeting in some time; so many other things had happened. Anduin found himself looking at the chained orc, whose steady gaze made Anduin feel like an insect pinned to a board. Odd . . . Garrosh was the prisoner, not he, yet it was Anduin who came close to squirming in his seat.

“How did the conference unfold?”

“It was a bit of a rocky start,” Anduin admitted. “But as things progressed, we started to find some common ground. Even Garrosh—”

“Can you elaborate as to what you mean by a ‘rocky start’?”

“Well, first of all it was storming, so no one was in a particularly good mood. Everyone brought weapons—for the formal laying down.”

“Who put down the first weapon?”

“Um . . . I did. My bow. That was the first time I spoke with Thr—I mean, Go’el.”

“Did King Varian and the warchief follow your example?”

“They did. They learned they had more in common than they thought when they sat down to talk.”

“What did Garrosh contribute to these peace talks?”

“Well . . . he didn’t seem to understand that being a leader means sometimes thinking about things that aren’t all that exciting. He interrupted when Go’el and Father were discussing trade. He kept talking about the Horde . . . just taking what it wanted.”

Tyrande gave Garrosh a pointed glance. “I see. Please continue.”

“Go’el and Father were starting to get along when word came of another attack by the Lich King. They agreed it needed to be addressed but were planning on resuming the conference, but then we were attacked by agents of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. It all fell to pieces after that. Of course, that’s just what the cult intended. They broke the attack down by races—the Horde members of the cult targeted the Alliance races of the summit, and vice versa. Garrosh was shouting about ‘human treachery,’ Father mistakenly believed that Go’el had hired an assassin, and . . .”

“History documents the rest, thank you, Prince Anduin.” She paced deliberately, her back to him, her face turned to the crowd peering eagerly down. Anduin, too, glanced up at the spectators, and thought again of his father’s comment about the gladiator pits. They were hungry for blood, he realized, and the idea both chilled and saddened him. His gaze went back to Garrosh, and there was weariness in the orc’s posture that made Anduin wonder if Garrosh was thinking the same thing.

And if, finally, he might not want to fight it anymore.

“I would like to move on to your second . . . encounter . . . with Garrosh Hellscream.”

He knew this was coming, of course, but was unprepared for the way he responded. It was as if no time had passed—as if only a moment ago, the great bell had fallen . . . He cleared his throat, and was displeased that his voice shook slightly when he spoke.

“It was a few months ago, before—”

Tyrande turned, smiling gently, but holding up a hand that forestalled further comment. “May it please the court,” she said. “I do not need you to tell it, Prince Anduin. I would like to show it.”

So that’s what she wants to save the Vision for . . . “Do you think that’s wise?” Anduin blurted. Too fresh in his mind was the awful screaming of the Divine Bell, and the effect that sound had on those with any kind of darkness in their hearts. The thought of replicating that moment horrified him. “What if it—”

Tyrande held up a hand. “Do not fear, Your Highness. I understand your concerns. I spoke with Chromie at length about this event, and she and I have already witnessed it. While these displays granted to us through the Vision of Time are remarkable, seeing and hearing the bell rung in this manner does not have the same effect as actually being in its presence.”

“Thank the Light,” Anduin murmured as he relaxed, exhaling in relief. His bones ached, abruptly and deeply. Neither he nor his body, apparently, would relish watching the events surrounding the Divine Bell play out. His palms were moist and he took a breath to steady himself, whispering a soft prayer. A gentle wave of healing energy washed through him, and the pain subsided somewhat.

“Now that you have been reassured, Prince Anduin, can you please set up the details of what we are about to see?”

He licked his lips and glanced up at the celestials. They did not show any reaction, but simply seeing them was calming to Anduin. Keeping his gaze focused on them and avoiding Hellscream, he spoke. “The mogu created an artifact that Lei Shen, the tyrant known as the Thunder King, called the Divine Bell. Its origins were violent and cruel, in keeping with the discord and horrors it would unleash when it was rung. Its tones fueled the anger and hatred of Lei Shen’s warriors, lending them unnatural strength and power, while striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. Once the Alliance learned about it, the night elves hid it away in Darnassus. The idea was to keep it out of any hands that might misuse it—Horde or Alliance. Lady Jaina herself placed protective wards to keep it safe.”

“It sounds like a powerful weapon.” And of course, Tyrande knew it was.

“It was a double-edged sword,” Anduin continued. “It took as much as it gave—perhaps more.”

“What happened to the bell?”

“A Sunreaver agent, acting on orders from Garrosh, was able to bypass Lady Jaina’s wards on the bell. He and several other Horde members stole it.”

“From what you are telling us, it sounds as though this bell would have made Garrosh Hellscream unstoppable.”

Without even realizing it, Anduin glanced over at Garrosh. His skin crawled at the expression on the orc’s face, but the reaction was not from fear. The stillness Garrosh assumed was unnatural for him, whom Anduin always recalled posturing and bellowing. Anduin reached for a glass of water on the small table beside his chair before continuing.