Christie Golden - War Crimes

No one dared speak to him. Even his own people stood silently by, doubtless wondering what would happen next. Garrosh roused himself. “At least the human prince is dead,” Garrosh said. The words bit deep. “King Wrynn now knows the price of his continued defiance.” He waved a hand dismissively, turning inward again, his massive brow furrowed. “Leave me. I have much to think about.”

The scene faded. Anduin was glad to see the last of it, but Garrosh’s words—and his expression—confused him. He glanced over at the orc, who wore the same expression as he had in the display—a furrowed brow of deep thought, but no hint as to the nature of those thoughts. Anduin gazed into those yellow eyes, and was pulled away from them only by Tyrande’s voice.

“Chu’shao, your witness,” Tyrande said, stepping back. She bowed to the prince of Stormwind, and her wonderful eyes were kind. Anduin gave her a ghost of a smile, then steeled himself. It was now Baine’s turn to question him.

Baine inclined his head. Anduin thought he caught a faint echo of regret from the tauren, but if it was there, it was gone an instant later.

“We have all seen what you endured, Prince Anduin,” Baine said. “For a while, rumors circulated that you were dead. I am very pleased to see that you survived.”

“So am I,” Anduin said, and a small titter rippled through the courtroom. Baine’s ears twitched.

“You said earlier that you were frightened when you confronted Garrosh. How did you feel when you realized the bell was about to fall upon you?”

Anduin blinked and drew back slightly at the question, then recovered. “I . . . it . . . it happened so fast.”

“Try to remember, please.”

The prince licked his lips. “It’s impossible to describe how terrified I was. And how . . . betrayed I felt. That sounds foolish, I know, to feel ‘betrayed’ by an enemy.”

“Why did you come to confront Garrosh at all?”

“To prevent him from invoking the sha.”

“Understood. But why?”

“Because . . .” Anduin paused. The obvious answer, of course, was that he wanted to stop Garrosh from using the sha as a weapon. He’d talked his own father out of the same idea, persuasively arguing that the abominations would do more harm than good. Varian had seen the wisdom of it.

“I wanted Garrosh to understand just what he’d be doing,” he blurted. “I thought if I could make him grasp the price he’d be paying for victory, he’d—well, he’d—”

“He would what?”

“He would see that it wasn’t honorable. That it was—dark in a way I didn’t believe he was dark. That sacrificing his people to those . . . things . . . wasn’t the path toward any kind of victory worth having.” The words tumbled from him, uncensored, unimagined until they passed his lips. But Anduin knew by the easing of pain in his wounded bones that it was the truth—and it was of the Light.

Baine’s body quivered, ever so slightly, and he strode over to Anduin, peering at him intently. “When the weight of the brass pieces of the bell crushed you, I would imagine you were filled with fury. That when you awoke and faced an agonizing and long recovery, you wanted revenge against Garrosh for breaking every bone in your body, after you had come to him with help and wisdom.”

Anduin said, very quietly, “No.”

Baine pressed on. “You weren’t in torment? Frightened that you might never walk again? Angry?”

“Yes, of course, all those things.”

“But yet you say now, here, under oath, that you did not want revenge.”

“That’s true.”

“That is a remarkable attitude. Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t do any good. It won’t unbreak my bones, or bring back the dead. It won’t do anything but cause more damage.” It came easier now, the flow of words, as easy as breathing, and as necessary to life.

“But certainly you do not wish Garrosh to do any of the things he has been charged with ever again, do you?”

“No.” No more torment, no more pain. We’re here to help one another. To grow and prosper together .

“Well, the Accuser insists that the only way to be certain that these terrible things won’t happen again is to put Garrosh Hellscream to death. Is that what you want?”

“With respect, I protest! What the witness wants is not relevant to the verdict to be rendered in this courtroom!” Tyrande’s voice was strained, and her movements were slightly less graceful than usual as she sprang to her feet. She shot Anduin a confused look.

“Fa’shua,” Baine said, “most of Garrosh’s victims are dead and cannot speak for themselves. Prince Anduin is one who has survived to tell us his thoughts. If we purport to be trying to obtain justice, I maintain that those who have been the most wronged should be allowed to express their opinions.”

The pandaren eyed first Baine, then Tyrande. “You do understand, Chu’shao Bloodhoof, that this is a sword that can cut both ways? If I agree to allow this witness to speak such an opinion, then the Accuser’s other witnesses may do the same.”

“I understand,” Baine replied, and now Tyrande’s look of confusion transferred to Baine. Anduin wondered at the tauren’s tactics—surely, he had handed Tyrande a powerful weapon in permitting a witness’s opinion on the fate of Garrosh Hellscream. Baine was too intelligent not to realize that.

“Very well, this shall be admissible. Prince Anduin, you may answer the question.”

“Please tell the court, Prince Anduin,” said Baine. “Do you want Garrosh Hellscream to die for what he has done?”

“No,” Anduin Wrynn said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because I believe people can change.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I saw it happen with my father.” Anduin’s eyes flickered to Varian, who looked surprised.

“Do you think Garrosh Hellscream can change?”

A pause. Anduin turned his golden head to regard Garrosh intently. Inside his heart was no fear, only peace. He took a deep breath, expanding himself so that the true answer could come.

“Yes.”

Baine settled back and nodded. “I have no further questions.” Tyrande looked at Anduin, then at Baine, then at Anduin again, and shook her head.

Anduin permitted himself a quiet sigh of relief as he rose and resumed his regular seat in the audience.

Sylvanas sat still as stone, the rage inside her belying her cool exterior. She could not believe the night elf’s incompetence. If Sylvanas had been the Accuser, she would have had many questions for the young human prince, questions as silky and as dangerous as spider webbing with which to entrap him. Yet despite the fact that Garrosh Hellscream had broken every single bone in Anduin Wrynn’s body , the child had piped up with testimony so hand-wringingly heartfelt that Sylvanas felt the mood in the entire chamber shift, and Tyrande had shaken her head.

“Court will take an hour’s respite,” said Taran Zhu, and struck the gong. As Baine left the floor, Sylvanas hastened to meet him, but Vol’jin had beaten her to it. The two were heading for the door, and the troll was actually congratulating Baine on his “fairness.”

“No one gonna feel that Garrosh was treated badly by the Horde now, whatever else Tyrande springs on you. Mon, you could be calling the prince of Stormwind as a witness for the Defender!”

“Young Wrynn knows what is right,” Baine rumbled. “He is forgiving. His word counts for much.”

“More, apparently, than the word of the high chieftain of the tauren,” snapped Sylvanas, falling into step beside them as they emerged outside. It was noon, and Sylvanas disliked the sun, but she was not about to back off.