Christie Golden - War Crimes

“More like the only person who would talk to him ,” said Varian.

Anduin placed a hand on his father’s arm. “I haven’t said I would yet, Father.” He looked at Taran Zhu. “Is something like this even allowed in the trial?”

“Under Pandaren law, I determine what is permissible in this trial, young one. Chu’shao Bloodhoof approached me some time ago, and I meditated on this. I instructed him to wait until after you had given your testimony. Both Accuser and Defender have waived their rights to ask you to testify any further, so both have something to gain and to lose.”

“Being blunt,” said Baine, “you are known as a kind and compassionate human, Your Highness. It would benefit my case if you were to befriend Garrosh and exercise your right to speak of it, and harm my case if you were to turn against him and speak of that . Chu’shao Whisperwind faces the same conundrum, only reversed.”

“So why not just forbid it?”

“Because Garrosh is considering breaking his silence in court if you do so,” said Tyrande. “That means I would get a chance to question him directly, and that could strongly help my case.”

“And depending on what happens in your conversations, it could strengthen mine,” Baine said. “As I said, it’s a gamble.”

“I cannot force Garrosh to speak in court, but I feel it would be an important thing if he did,” Taran Zhu said, “no matter what happens. No one could say he did not have a chance to speak, then.”

“So it’s all on my shoulders,” Anduin said. “You’re really not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Varian said. “You know I’d rather you didn’t. I think you’ve been through enough.”

“Then why didn’t you just say no, Father?”

“Because you’re of an age to decide for yourself—and it’s got to be your choice,” Varian said. “As much as I wish it weren’t. I had to bring you the option. You can see Garrosh, or never have to see him again, if you’d like.”

That surprised Anduin, and he gave his father a small, grateful smile. He thought for a moment, trying to calm the flood of conflicting emotions.

He thought again of the bell’s pieces crashing down on his vulnerable body, of the hate on Hellscream’s face, and his bones ached in response. To never again see Garrosh, to sidestep a deliberate invitation to pain—oh, that was alluring. Garrosh had done nothing at any point to indicate anything but contempt and loathing toward Anduin, and there had been ample opportunities. The prince owed him nothing. He’d already spoken more kindly of the former warchief than anyone had any right to expect. He’d done enough to help save the life of someone who had been all too eager to take his.

And yet . . .

Anduin recalled Garrosh’s reaction when he thought the prince dead. Not gleeful or gloating, as one might suspect, but contemplative. And the weariness in Garrosh’s posture right here in the courtroom.

What had Garrosh been contemplating at those moments? What emotions was he experiencing, to reach out to a priest? Might he be feeling remorse?

The ache in his bones receded slightly, and Anduin arrived at a decision. He looked at the faces of those assembled, each one a different race and in a different relationship to him—his human father, a night elven heroine, a pandaren guardian, and Baine . . . tauren friend. Unexpected by anyone’s reckoning, never spoken of—but true.

“Someone in trouble has asked me to speak with him. How, Father, could I say no, and still stand in the Light?”

Varian at first had insisted on accompanying his son, but Anduin, keeping his hope to himself, had refused. He also demanded that any guards present come no closer than the entryway, so that his conversation with Garrosh would remain private. Varian had argued against that for almost a solid hour, but to no avail. “I am being called upon as a priest in this,” Anduin had said. “He must be able to speak freely to me, and know that what he says, I will keep in confidence.”

With little graciousness, Varian finally conceded. He looked at Taran Zhu, Tyrande, and Baine in turn. “If any harm comes to Anduin, I will hold you all responsible. And I will then kill Garrosh myself, regardless of the repercussions, and damn these proceedings.”

“Rest assured, King Varian, it is physically impossible for Garrosh to attack Anduin. Your son is completely safe, and I would not say it if it were not so,” Taran Zhu replied.

Now Anduin stood outside the sectioned-off area below the temple. Two of Garrosh’s guards, the Shado-pan monks Li Chu and Lo Chu, awaited him, flanking the door.

They bowed. “Welcome, honored prince,” Li Chu said. “You show courage in facing your enemy.”

Anduin’s stomach was in knots, and he was relieved when his voice didn’t betray his apprehension. “He is not my enemy,” he said. “Not here, not now.”

Lo Chu smiled slowly. “To understand that is to demonstrate that you are wise as well as brave. Know that we will be at the entry at all times, and will come the instant you call for us.”

“Thank you,” Anduin replied. Velen had taught him how to calm the spirit when agitated, and now he followed that advice, inhaling slowly for a count of five, holding the breath for a heartbeat, then exhaling to the same count. “All things will be well,” Velen advised. “All nights end, and all storms clear. The only storms that last are those within your own soul.”

It worked . . . at least until he stood before Garrosh’s cell.

The cell itself was cramped. There was room only for sleeping furs, a chamber pot, and a basin. Garrosh was unable to walk more than a pace or two in any direction, and even his limited amount of movement was defined by chains linking his ankles. The bars were thicker than Anduin’s whole body, and the octagonal openings were sealed with a soft purple radiance. Taran Zhu had spoken truly. Garrosh Hellscream was imprisoned both physically and magically.

Anduin noticed all this only peripherally. His eyes went at once to those of the orc, who sat upright on the furs. The prince did not know what to expect—anger, pleading, mockery. But none of those were present. On Garrosh’s face was the same pensive expression Anduin had seen immediately after Garrosh had “killed” him.

“Please do not touch the bars,” Lo Chu instructed. “You may stay for up to an hour, if you wish. Of course, if you desire to leave sooner, simply let us know.” He indicated a chair and a small table, upon which sat a pitcher of water and an empty glass.

Anduin cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Garrosh did not even appear to notice the guards, so intent was he on Anduin. The brothers, as they had promised, retreated to the far back of the room. Anduin’s mouth went dry. He sat and poured himself some water to ease the desert in his throat, and took a deliberate, unhurried sip.

“Are you afraid?”

“ What ?” The water splashed. Anduin’s bones suddenly ached.

“Are you afraid?” Garrosh repeated. The question was casually posed, as if the orc were simply making conversation. Anduin knew it for a verbal grenade. To either answer truthfully or lie would blow open a door to things Anduin had no desire to discuss.

“There’s no reason to be. You are restrained by chains and enchanted prison bars. You’re quite unable to attack me.”

“Concern for one’s physical safety is only one reason to fear. There are others. I ask again: are you afraid?”

“Look,” said Anduin, ardently placing the glass on the table, “I came here because you asked me to. Because Baine said that I was the only person you agreed to talk to about . . . well, about whatever it is you want to talk about.”