World of Warcraft: War Crimes

by Christie Golden

  They drew their weapons, just in case. They did not have to wait long. There was a massive thump on the door, and Moira gasped. A second, and a third time someone on the other side tried to break in. The door bowed and then gave way completely on the fourth try.

  Moira shrieked in terror. The baby, startled awake, added his piercing, frightened wail to the din. The three intruders burst into the room and began attacking the guards. The Dark Iron dwarves fought fiercely, but they were outnumbered. The intruders’ masked leader expertly wielded two swords, quickly dispatching one dwarf with a thrust so powerful that the killer could not immediately pull his weapon free, and he left it in the body.

  He whirled to face Moira and, panting, tugged off his mask. The spectators, and the image of Moira as well, gasped when they realized it was Varian. Anduin had known, but found himself still grieving at the violence. If only he had arrived sooner. His eyes went to where the real Moira was seated, and he saw her looking composed, if uncomfortable. Anduin regretted that she was being forced to watch this—and angry at Baine for showing it.

  Varian seized the terrified dwarf, hauling her off the bed and dragging her out of the room as she struggled to escape. The Vision followed them as Varian took his captive to the open area near the Great Forge. Dwarves and gnomes were beginning to cluster, watching in frightened incomprehension. Varian pulled Moira to him by the collar of her nightgown and pressed his sword against her throat.

  “Behold the usurper!” Varian shouted. “This is the child Magni Bronzebeard wept countless tears over. His beloved little girl. How sickened he would be to see what she’s done to his city, his people!”

  He turned his head to look into Moira’s wide eyes. “This throne is not yours. You bought it with deceit, and lies, and trickery. You have threatened your own subjects when they have done nothing wrong, and bullied your way to a title you have not yet earned. I will not see you sit upon this stolen throne one moment longer!”

  “Stop here,” said Baine. Anduin could feel the spectators collectively returning to the present, all eyes trained on Varian. “We recognize you and Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan, who obviously has survived the ordeal. Can you please tell us what is happening?”

  “This took place right before the Cataclysm,” Varian said. “It was after King Magni had attempted to perform an ancient ritual, hoping to connect with the earth and discover what was going on. Something went wrong, and Magni literally became part of the earth. Queen-Regent Moira appeared out of nowhere, claiming the throne. She put Ironforge on lockdown and held my son hostage. Fortunately, he escaped.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I infiltrated Ironforge.”

  “To what end?”

  “To neutralize Moira and to liberate Ironforge.”

  “How did you intend to neutralize her?”

  “I don’t think I knew, really. Kill her, I suppose, if she resisted.”

  “There were casualties.”

  “Yes.”

  Anduin glanced at Tyrande. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded, face carefully blank. Anduin knew she wanted to protest, but she had already been denied on this point. Baine looked at Kairoz, and nodded to continue.

  “Father!”

  Anduin watched himself push through the crowds, desperate to reach Varian. I look so young, he thought distractedly.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Anduin. Get out. This is no place for you.”

  “But it is my place!” the image of Anduin replied. “You sent me here! You wanted me to get to know the dwarven people, and I have. I knew Magni well, and I was here when Moira came. I saw what turmoil her arrival brought. And I saw that things got far too close to civil war when people reached for weapons to solve their problems with her. Whatever you may think of her, she is the rightful heir!”

  “Maybe her blood’s right,” snarled Varian, “but her mind’s not. She’s under a spell, Son; Magni always thought so. She tried to keep you prisoner. She’s holding a bunch of people for no reason. She’s not fit to be leader! She’s going to destroy all that Magni tried to do! All that he . . . he died for!”

  Closer to his father now, the Anduin of the past reached out a hand. I was scared to death, Anduin thought. Scared I’d say the wrong thing, and he’d slice open her throat, and it would be my fault. How far we have come, all of us. Most of us, anyway.

  “There’s no spell, Father. Magni wanted to believe there was rather than the truth—that he drove Moira away because she wasn’t a male heir.”

  “You spit on the memory of an honorable man, Anduin.”

  “You can be an honorable man and still make mistakes.”

  “Stop,” said Baine. “King Varian, what do you think Prince Anduin meant by that?”

  “He was referring to some of my own actions in the past,” Varian said. “I had done and said many things I wasn’t proud of. I had made threats, lost my temper, displayed intolerance—well, that’s a polite way of saying it—toward other races. As I think is fairly evident, Anduin doesn’t think or behave that way.”

  The scene continued. Anduin watched himself make the argument that it was up to the dwarves to decide if they wanted to accept Moira or not. And for the rest of his life, he would remember what Varian had said.

  “She held you hostage, Anduin! You, my son! She can’t be allowed to get away with that! I won’t let her hold you and a whole city prisoner. I won’t, do you understand?”

  “Stop,” said Baine. “It sounds as if you wanted to kill Moira not for usurping Ironforge, but for endangering Anduin.”

  Varian nodded. “I . . . was angry. My son and I had a strained relationship at that time, and I . . .” He struggled with the words, clearly conscious of how many ears were listening. “I was surprised to discover how much I didn’t want to lose him. And when he was safe, I wanted to punish Moira for my being made to feel that way.”

  His eyes sought out Anduin, and warmth passed between father and son. The scene went dark. “How did the situation finally end?” Baine asked.

  “Anduin argued, quite rightly, that the dwarves had the right to decide their own fates.”

  Baine nodded again to Kairoz. Now, the Varian of the past seemed to reach a decision. “Much as I wish it weren’t true,” he said to Moira, whom he still held captive, “yours is the rightful claim to the throne. But just like me, Moira Bronzebeard, you need to be better than you are. You need more than just a bloodline to rule your people well. You’re going to have to earn it.”

  “Stop. And thus was founded the Council of Three Hammers, which is currently how the dwarven people are content to have it, correct?” continued Baine.

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “And when she agreed?”

  “I let her go, and my people and I stood down.”

  The scene resumed a few moments later. Varian went to Anduin and hugged him tightly. All around them, the dwarves, relieved and ready as always to celebrate with a fine brew, were shouting and whistling, calling out, “Wildhammer!” “Bronzebeard!” “Dark Iron!”

  “See, Father?” the Vision’s Anduin said. “You knew exactly the right thing to do. I knew you did.”

  Varian’s image smiled. “I needed someone to believe that for me, before I could,” he replied.

  Baine gestured to Kairoz, and the scene froze.

  “Do you think you have changed, Your Majesty?”

  Varian’s gaze flickered to Anduin. The young prince grinned. Varian looked back at Baine and nodded.

  “Yes. I have.”

  “Would others agree with you?”

  “Others seem to see it more than I do myself, so, yes.”

  “Why did you try to change?”

  “Because those parts of myself stood in the way of becoming the man I truly wished to be.”

  “You were, quite literally, a man divided at one point,” Baine continued. “The reintegration was not an easy one, and your entire remembered history for a time consisted of nothing but vi
olence. Those are steep odds to battle, for a man trying to change his nature. How did you manage to do so?”

  “It . . . was not easy,” Varian admitted. “And I was—I am—far from perfect. I . . . backslid from time to time. I first had to come to the realization that I truly wished to change, and then, it took will and discipline, and reasons that made the struggle worth it.”

  “Will. Discipline. Reasons to even engage in such a difficult struggle,” Baine repeated. “Where did you find the will, the discipline, and the reasons?”

  “I had people who wished to help me, and I listened to them,” Varian said. “They—well, they were able to get through my thick head how I really was behaving, and it wasn’t in line with what I envisioned. I wanted to be the best father I could to a son without a mother. The best ruler of a people who were enduring very hard times. I felt as if I owed it to them to make my time on the throne about what they needed—to make their lives better—and not spend it tending to my own petty impulses.”

  “So would it be accurate to say that it wasn’t because someone threatened or forced you into changing, but that you changed because you wanted to be better for those who depended on you?”

  “That is absolutely accurate, yes.”

  “Do you think Garrosh Hellscream cares for his people?”

  “I protest!” shouted Tyrande.

  “I agree with the Defender,” Taran Zhu said, and nodded to Varian.

  Varian, clearly conscious that he was under oath, took a moment to compose his thoughts before answering, fixing Garrosh with sharp blue eyes.

  “I believe he did, once. I believe he still cares for the orcs, but not the Horde as a whole.”

  “So, that is a yes.”

  “If by ‘his people’ you mean ‘orcs,’ then yes.”

  “Would you say Garrosh is intelligent?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “So here we have someone who even you, his enemy, say cares for his people. Who is, in your own words, very intelligent. Some might say that about you, Your Majesty. Do you think it is possible for such a person to change?”

  A sound that might have been a slight laugh escaped the king. “I highly doubt that Garrosh—”

  “Just answer the question, please. Yes or no? Is it possible for a person who cares for his people and who is very intelligent to change?”

  Varian scowled, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took a breath, then said, quietly, “Yes. It’s possible.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I have no further questions for you.”

  Tyrande had appeared to be struggling with staying seated, and now practically leaped up to question Varian, who looked almost as relieved as she.

  “Your Majesty,” she said. “I only have a few more questions. First—are you genocidal?”

  “What?” Varian stared at her, and Baine shouted, “With respect, I protest!”

  “Fa’shua,” Tyrande said smoothly, “I am not accusing the witness of anything, merely asking him to define himself.”

  “To what end, Chu’shao?” asked Taran Zhu.

  “The Defender has brought in King Varian as a character witness for Garrosh. He has had the opportunity to establish the witness’s expertise, and now I am doing the same thing.”

  “I agree with the Accuser. As long as I determine that you are not harassing the witness, you may proceed. Witness may respond.”

  Tyrande inclined her head and returned her gaze to Varian. “Are you genocidal, Your Majesty?”

  “No,” Varian stated, his brows drawing together. Anduin wondered where in the world Tyrande was going with this questioning.

  “Do you crave, and have you ever craved, power?”

  “No,” Varian said. “I would go so far as to say that the mantle of power and responsibility is a heavy one.” Anduin knew that at one point, his father would have preferred the simpler life as Lo’Gosh the gladiator to being King Varian.

  “The Defender just showed us a scene of you and members of SI:7 infiltrating Ironforge, attacking the Dark Iron portion of the population, and threatening an unarmed female. Would you say this is something you do on a regular basis?”

  “Of course not! This is ridiculous,” Varian began.

  “Please, Your Majesty. Just answer the question.” Tyrande was completely unruffled.

  “No!”

  “At your angriest, darkest hour, did you ever calculatedly plan and execute a plan to exterminate the entire population of a major city?”

  And then Anduin understood. “No,” replied his father.

  Tyrande turned calmly to Taran Zhu. “Fa’shua, the Defender has brought King Varian in as an expert witness on the issues that Garrosh Hellscream must deal with. I submit that while King Varian may indeed have dealt with similar challenges, he is not, has not been, and will never be the same as Garrosh Hellscream. Therefore, he cannot be considered an expert on what Garrosh will or will not do. And in turn, I ask you to strike from the record everything this witness has said.”

  “With respect, I—”

  Taran Zhu held up a paw. “I see your point, Accuser, but I will not strike the witness’s testimony. I believe that both your line of questioning and that of the Defender are valid and appropriate ones.”

  “But, Fa’shua—” Tyrande began.

  “You have made your point, Accuser. Do you have any more questions for the witness?”

  “No, Lord Zhu.”

  “Very well. Court is now over for today. Tomorrow we will present closing arguments. Chu’shao Whisperwind, Chu’shao Bloodhoof, it will be your last chance to appeal to the jury. I suggest you do not squander it.”

  31

  Day Nine

  It was the final day of the trial, and tension crackled in the air. As Sylvanas walked into the temple, she passed one of the goblin bookies who had thus far managed to elude the pandaren guards.

  “Hey, Lady,” he said, his spectacles perched on his broad, bald head and the buttons on his waistcoat polished to gleaming perfection, “sure you don’t want to place a bet?”

  Sylvanas was in high spirits, and the thought amused her, so she paused and smiled down at the little green cheat. “What are the odds?” she asked, a grin quirking her lips.

  “Even money and dropping for swift execution, two to one for life imprisonment, and some truly fascinating odds for the crazier scenarios.”

  “Such as?”

  He consulted his notes. “Let’s see . . . twenty-five to one for a split jury, eighteen to one for an escape attempt, fifty to one for sudden unfortunate demise of the Accused, and two hundred to one for full and total repentance, including, but not limited to, volunteer work at the Orgrimmar Orphanage.” He peered up at her, the spectacles making his tiny eyes look disturbingly enormous.

  “Does anybody really bet on that one?” she asked, amused.

  “Hey, you’d be surprised. Long shots come in every day. I once saw a spit-and-polish gnomish drag car that was leading by fifteen lengths at the turn fail to finish on the old Mirage Raceway.”

  Oh, the temptation. But Sylvanas could not risk the goblin remembering the bet, so instead she patted his shiny green head and went inside.

  Tonight, after closing arguments, the August Celestials would withdraw to debate, and Garrosh would have his last meal. She knew it would be the green curry fish; it was Garrosh’s favorite, and Vereesa had confirmed it would be served. Whatever happened in the courtroom today, it was nothing more than inconsequential entertainment. Let others worry and wrinkle their brows in concern, debate and argue and fret. Sylvanas and Vereesa were the only ones who understood how marvelously pointless it all was.

  Taran Zhu had to strike his gong a few more times than usual to quiet the buzz of chatter. “As I am certain all of you know by now, today is the final day of the trial of Garrosh Hellscream.” He peered at Tyrande. “Chu’shao Whisperwind, are there any witnesses you care to summon again to speak?”

  Sylvanas noticed the night elf was wearing
a more formal robe than she had previously, no doubt in anticipation of a victory. Which under any other circumstances Sylvanas would be delighted to have her celebrate. “There are none, Fa’shua.”

  “Chu’shao Bloodhoof, are there any witnesses you care to summon again?”

  Baine shook his horned head. “No, Fa’shua.”

  “So noted. Before the closing arguments begin, in what is likely a vain effort to prevent the last few hours of this trial from turning into a carnival, I wish to inform all present what they may expect to see. Today will unfold thus: The Accuser will give her argument for the execution of the Accused. The Defender will then speak his argument for life imprisonment. We will take a respite for two hours, so that the Accused may eat what could potentially be a last meal before making any final statement, should he so choose.”

  Sylvanas went rigid. What? She had thought the curry would be served tonight, after the jury had gone to deliberate, not in the middle of the afternoon! All their plans . . . Her gaze went to her sister. She could not make out Vereesa’s expression from this distance, but her sister suddenly seemed to develop a great interest in her bag. Vereesa rummaged through it, then nodded and turned to look over in the direction of the Forsaken seating area.

  Elation replaced momentary panic. My dear sister, she thought, fighting back a smile, what a team we shall be! Vereesa was keeping the poison on her person at all times, it would seem. They would not fail, no matter when the cursed orc was supposed to shovel food into his boastful mouth.

  Disaster averted, Sylvanas returned her attention to the judge. He looked over the crowd, his face stern. “I trust there will be no disruption at that point. His fate is about to be decided before us all. He has a right to say whatever is in his mind and heart and be heard, and to speak for as long as he desires. If this is not understood, I will be more than happy to make it clear by giving anyone who lacks clarity a month in the heart of the Shado-pan Monastery.”

  Sylvanas did not doubt for a moment that the pandaren would do so, and apparently no one else did either. Taran Zhu seemed satisfied with the gravity that met his statement and resumed.