Chapter Text
A joke.
That’s what it had been.
All along, just a bad, endless joke.
He could pretend it started with the list of accusations a week ago, with the chains holding him like a beast to be displayed for at faire, prodded and paraded around... But it had not.
It had started years, decades, before.
He had always been too sickly, too weak, too brash, too dense, too angry, evil, cruel, unworthy to carry on his father’s name and legacy, unworthy even of men who had once called themselves ‘his brothers’ to speak truth in front of a court.
In the eyes of everyone else, Garrosh Hellscream had always been a joke.
So then, why bother?
Finally acknowledging Taran Zhu’s request, invitation, to speak his mind, Garrosh stood up slowly, chains clanking. Fewer of them today than before, something the human princeling had no doubt insisted upon.
He slowly stepped away from the chair and table, and could feel Baine’s gaze bore into his back - his and everyone else’s. His own gaze followed the paving stones, polished to a shiny sheen by who knows how many years and footsteps. And his began adding to it. Let them think whatever of this gesture, but he could not stand still as he collected his thoughts, discarding plenty, changing plenty more, like a merchant sorting through a box of wares looking for just the right one to display for everyone to see.
His steps hastened slightly, echoing his thoughts. Amber eyes looked up towards the crowd finally, darting over the figures, taking it all in, all of it, properly, for the first time. Every single face, familiar, or not. Every single expression - none of which kind. A mass of Azeroth’s most infamous, and many more whom he was certain have never once seen him before now.
He stopped.
And what a spectacle it was! What a wondrous display!
Once, long ago, he returned from Northrend a hero, leading the troops that had fought against the Scourge and the Lich King, and Orgrimmar had cheered at them. He had been appointed Warchief, and Orgrimmar had erupted into a mix of outrage and cheering. He had won battles and the war, he had brought the Dragonmaw into the Horde, and slowly the cheers turned to outrage and objections towards his mere existence over the years… Each time, it had been crowded, loud…
And now, he was put on display for his sentencing. And were it that they could fit all of Azeroth in the temple, he was certain they would have come to cheer at it with more fervor than over any of his accomplishments.
Violently exhaling, throwing his head back and to the side like a beast, he began pacing again. Quicker. Eyes kept darting over the crowd.
He could express regret, the little he did have.
Explain himself? For what. Those who understood him had stood by him to their last breaths.
Oh, no no no no no.
No.
They were not here to pray for sudden enlightenment.
He was quite certain not even Baine understood more now than he had ten days before, and he had put plenty research into it.
Proof of how Garrosh had been conspired against, proof of how he had been threatened, proof of how he had been in the right. And at the end of it all, Baine’s final words had been how he would perfectly understand how such a monster deserves death.
Assuming that correct, where was everyone else’s death sentence?
What of every other warmonger in this hall?
What of the Alliance? Of Varian Wrynn? Tyrande Whisperwind? Jaina Proudmoore?
What of the rest of the Horde? Vol’jin? Thrall? Sylvanas Windrunner?
This was not about justice to the world, to its people.
This was about vengeance.
Taran Zhu had denied them his execution, and now they had come to his land to drag it out of his hands by force.
Muscles strained painfully in his legs, as did his mind, for his body desired to pace faster, yet his mind wished to deny them the pleasure of seeing his discomfort. Of seeing him act like the caged beast he was. A fist clenched around his chains, his nostrils flaring with each breath, his upper lip involuntarily twisting into a snarl.
Taking every ounce of self control he could exhibit, he stilled that too.
He stopped, glancing over the crowd once more, impassive visage.
His mind caught up. Eitrigg was missing, his former adviser perhaps too old, too bored to sit through another execution. And High Overlord Saurfang was missing, too, but who could blame him after gentle lady Whisperwind had clenched her jaws around his leg, had stabbed searing daggers through his mind to get even a sliver of a negative confession out of him. Garrosh had once respected the old soldier, looked up to him, and while that feeling had long vanished, the injustice still gnawed at him... The honorable, noble Alliance, torturing and coercing frail old men... here to once more act entitled to Azeroth and the fate of everyone on it.
And with those two gone, who was left in the court that may even care to listen to his thoughts?
Anduin Wrynn.
Garrosh’s amber eyes darted towards him and locked with his for a moment.
The pup was smarter than all those in this court, put together.
He would one day mature, lead his people, through better or worse. He would one day too be forced with hard decisions where not everyone wishes to hold hands and frolic through fields of peacebloom. He would one day perhaps have an unsatisfied noble pull a dagger on him, and look back upon this trial, upon Garrosh’s words.
He would one day understand.
With a snort and a frown, he whipped around towards Taran Zhu.
“Yes,” he spoke, with as much control as he could. “I do have something to say.”
And the court stilled.
“Honorable Taran Zhu. August Celestials.” He refrained from spitting the next word out, “Spectators from all across Azeroth. I have heard everything you have heard. I have seen what you have seen.”
An exercise you all are incapable of.
He turned towards his Accuser. “Tyrande Whisperwind has presented a strong and damning case against me. A case that has roused some
( all )
of you to anger and thoughts of revenge. Thoughts
( and attempts )
of my death. I do not blame you for hungering that.”
He feared his tongue would slip in the wrong direction, his muscles painfully strained to keep himself still, keep himself from dropping his metaphorical merchant box and spilling the contents all over the courtroom. And nobody would care what Garrosh truly carried with him. Only about the one item he chose to display.
Turning towards the tauren bull, he continued. “Baine Bloodhoof, who has little enough cause to do so, has with great earnestness presented a case not protesting my innocence, but asking for your understanding. For your compassion.
( what a joke )
For you, the jury and spectators, to look within your own hearts, and see that no one is completely free from blame.”
They never would. He was not one of them. He was a monster, an outcast, a brown-skinned Outlander in a world of white and green and teal and scale and fur. There were very few who had never shown their distaste of him.
He turned towards the princeling, and as their eyes locked, he could see the boy tense up.
“And Prince Anduin Wrynn, who by all rights should be foremost among those clamoring for my death,
( stupid pup )
has chosen to spend hours in my company. I attempted
( have I )
to slay him,
( can’t turn back now )
in a brutal, cruel, and painful manner. And what does he do?”
More than anyone, Garrosh shook his head. Even if he too only saw me as a tyrant.
“He speaks to me of the Light! He tells me he believes I can change. He has shown me kindness when I offered hatred and violence.
( play along, with what they understand, with what they want, with the image they have carved of you, just play along you have already started just pl )
It is because of him that I stand before you, facing what I expect to be a pronouncement of my death, as a warrior, not as a broken slave.”
He lifted his shackled hands, and gave the princeling a slight bow. And with that duty covered, he turned once more to face another part of the crowd. His throat struggled with controlling his voice, keeping it neutral, words clawing at it to erupt. His hand grabbed at the chains again, tightening, as if looking for aid into keeping the venom and hatred out of his voice.
“Oh, yes. I know full well how much blood is on my hands. I know
( what of you )
exactly the magnitude and the consequences of what I have done.”
( and what of all of you, what of the court, what of those that did the same to me and my people, am i truly to stand down here and apologize, as if i have somehow done more wrong than those who have razed villages and pushed mY PEOPLE TO )
He let the flow of thoughts swirl upon themselves, a whirlpool of fresh outrage and anger. He took in a deep breath, his entire body tensing.
“And now, here at this moment, when I am free to speak my mind and heart,
( free like a caged worg )
I tell you true: I regret…
( my failures, the deaths of my men, the loss of the war, my own downfall, being dragged here, this joke of an existence that i )
Nothing!”
Chaos.
It had all descended in chaos.
Let it.
A slight smirk formed around his tusks, only to immediately start fading.
He may be chained like a rabid worg, but he could still infuriate them with his howls until they would finally be bothered to put him down.
And howl he would.
“Yes! Yes!”
His howl, that of a Hellscream, loudly echoed through the large hall.
“I would destroy a thousand Theramores, if it would bring the Alliance to its knees! I would hunt down every night elf whelp that bleats on the face of this world and silence their mewling forever! I would banish every troll, every tauren, every simpering blood elf and greedy goblin and shambling walking corpse!”
Between the force of his bellows and striking them where he knew it would hurt them, those in the audience indeed rose into uproar.
Good.
Once more, a grin curled around his tusks.
Good.
He glanced around the temple arena, enjoying witnessing those who had been so upset by his empty words they had started standing, leaving, scurrying about like prey. His glance had darted past the Celestials, yet they remained unfazed. He could hear Taran Zhu’s hammer strike so hard, he expected splinters to fly throughout the hall.
He let out a loud, forced laugh.
He would mock them. Mock them to his final breath.
“The only ‘atrocities’ I regret are the ones I did not perform! The only thing that preys on me is that I was stopped before I could see the true Horde live again!”
He started pacing around, chains rattling, heavy boots falling on the stone floor, although any sound either may have produced was drowned out by the murmurs in the crowd. He paid no heed to their insults, their threats.
What is yet another cacophonous choir demanding he die?
With a deep breath, he screamed again, taunting, taking a minute amount of pleasure in their anger.
“And what a world would that be! A world with glory, with no room for sniveling rats and backstabbing leeches! A flawless world, without any of you wretches!”
And those wretches began yelping once more as Garrosh could not help but laugh.
“Order!”
Hammer and gong forgotten, Taran Zhu’s own yell drowned out the uproar. Composed all throughout the trial, throughout the war, he had finally lost it. His glare looked past Garrosh, encompassing the entire audience, staring them down as a whole.
“You come to my land, burn it, destroy it, and then you cannot even control yourselves inside a sacred court! Who knew the Accused knows you so well he can play you on your fingers and indeed foresee this turning into a mere amusement faire! He has shown more respect to this land than any of you, for he bows his head to our gods and laws. So, if you do not settle down, I will have the Shado-pan help you along.”
Slowly, the hall began to quiet down. A pen of frightened chicken and rabbits, finally realizing the worg could never break free to eat them.
And Garrosh hoped they would let that shame and fear consume them, gnaw at them, swallow them as his own doubts and fears had for decades.
Taran Zhu turned towards Garrosh, his tone harsh, yet barely louder than his normal.
“Garrosh Hellscream, your taunts and threats are as empty as a child’s tantrum in front of elements he is impotent against. I have heard what you have done, I have seen the man so hated by both the Horde and the Alliance - so passionately, they have taken to working together against old hatreds in order to bring you down. And yet your defiance, while it quite appears to send panic through everyone else, does little to faze me. I have dealt with worse outbursts from the fresh initiates I see in the Monastery every year. Now if you are done trying your best to aggravate these easily ruffled people, Sit. Down.”
“It will be your choice.”
Late night, early morning, whatever time it had been, Garrosh had found himself visited by a strange being. Human in appearance, but his skin dark, his features different than those of Stormwind or Theramore humans, and his clothing like nothing Garrosh had ever seen. Long, flowing, intricate robes, and a turban perched atop his head; a strange, otherworldly expression on his face, his arms crossed inside large, elegant sleeves.
Garrosh had snorted. “Like what? Like it was my choice to wage war? Like it was my choice to be dragged to this pathetic trial?”
“No, Hellscream. A real choice.”
The man had untangled his arms, his hands revealing a soft bun, and a sunfruit. Garrosh’s body responded aggressively, still angry over the wasted meal from earlier, for little did it understand or care about the supposed poison. He had growled, “I am in no mood for your games, dragon.”
Wrathion had smiled, a hint of sharp canines glittering as they caught the dim light. “We have it laid out either way. It truly will be your choice.”
Choice… a good concept… a good change of pace…
Slender, black-brown hands with black clawlike nails had reached through the bars, holding the two foodstuffs. Garrosh’s eyes darted between them, and he had settled on grabbing the sunfruit with little hesitation. He had turned around, ending the talk, when the bun had hit him in the back of his head.
“This was unrelated to my talk.”
Garrosh had shook his head in annoyance, picking the bun up from the floor.
Wrathion had scratched at his goatee, “Or perhaps it should be, maybe-”
“Why not play your little games with your princeling?”
“He is too young for that, just yet.”
Garrosh had grunted in annoyance. “I wish to eat, and sleep.”
“I should be offended you dismiss me so easily!”
“Perhaps you still have time to accuse me of some crime before the sentencing, like your aunt or whatever she is to you.”
“Ah, dear Alexstrasza,” Wrathion had hummed on a melodic tone. “She had her choice too, of course.”
“The choice of accusing me of crimes long before my time,” Garrosh had spat.
“That she did.” The other's tone had been melancholic, and his long robes had shuffled slightly. “I will leave you, then. But remember, son of Hellscream. This time,
( my choice )
Garrosh eyed the judge blankly. He frowned, nostrils flaring.
Were it up to him, everybody in this court should be dead. If he was considered worthy of death, then so were they. Nobody was above it.
Nobody.
If only he had his axe, his Kor’kron, once more, ah the chaos he would have sowed upon them. How he regretted ever showing mercy. Ever doubting himself.
They had not been worthy of his kindness. And now he saw it clearly.
The visions… The visions of the future he could have had…
When a tree is gnarled and rotten, cutting it down is a mercy. Cutting it down for a new tree to grow, healthy and proud.
He should have cut them all down, destroyed the disease from its roots, listened to those visions of a new, better world...
His world.
His gaze darted swiftly towards Kairoz, the elegant elven body standing stiff, patient, next to the Vision of Time, one infuriatingly delicate hand resting gently atop an ornate dragon head.
The court still murmured, yelled, he could make threats out. And each time one would come louder, Taran Zhu smacked his hammer, quieting it down.
The pandaren had called for this spectacle in the first place.
And yet, he seemed no less angered by how it was unfolding than Garrosh himself.
Ever so slowly, quietly, obediently, Garrosh Hellscream sat back at the table.
Kairoz eyed him curiously, his elegant eyebrows quirked. Slender, delicate fingers slid off the Vision of Time, a strange smirk thrown in Garrosh’s direction, his eyes trailing off and his smirk turning obnoxiously cocky once he locked gazes with Chromie.
Garrosh grabbed at his chains with one hand, his sulking not helping disprove the pandaren’s insult. Baine Bloodhoof sighed hard enough that the orc could not only hear it but indeed feel it shift the air around him.
“Ancestors know I tried my best, but you are impossible to work with,” the tauren muttered under his breath. “I will not blame myself if they lop your head off.”
“Our verdict has been reached.”
Xuen’s booming voice quieted the hall somewhat, as they all awaited held breath and all to hear
“Garrosh Hellscream is to live.”