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.”
“Maybe your fear is what I want to talk about.”
“If that’s so, then we are both wasting our time.” He rose and went for the door.
“Stop.”
Anduin paused, his back to Garrosh. He was angry with himself. His palms were damp and it took every effort he could summon to refrain from shaking outright. He would not let Garrosh see fear in him.
“Why should I?”
“Because . . . you are the only person I wish to talk to.”
The prince closed his eyes. He could leave, right this minute. Garrosh was almost certainly going to play games with him. Perhaps trick him into saying something he shouldn’t. But what, possibly, could that be? What could Garrosh want to know? And Anduin realized that, afraid on some level though he might be, he didn’t really want to go. Not yet.
He took a deep breath and turned around. “Then start talking.”
Garrosh pointed at the chair. Anduin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then took the seat with deliberate, casual movements. He lifted his eyebrows, indicating he was waiting.
“You said you believed I could change,” Garrosh said. “What in this world or any other could make you think that, after what I have done?”
Again, no real emotion, only curiosity. Anduin started to answer, but hesitated. What would Jaina . . . no. Jaina was no longer the sort of diplomat he wished to emulate. He felt a flicker of amusement when he realized that for all his threats of murdering Garrosh, Varian had now become more of a role model for Anduin than Jaina was. The realization was both sad, for he loved Jaina, and sweet, for he loved his father.
“Tell you what. We’ll take turns.”
An odd smile curved Garrosh’s mouth. “We have a bargain. You’re a better negotiator than I expected.”
Anduin let out a short bark of laughter. “Thanks, I think.”
The orc’s smile widened. “You go first.”
The first point goes to Garrosh, Anduin mused. “Very well. I believe you can change because nothing ever stays the same. You were overthrown as warchief of the Horde because the people you led changed from following your orders to questioning them, and finally rejecting them. You’ve changed from warchief to prisoner. You can change again.”
Garrosh laughed without humor. “From living to dead, you mean.”
“That’s one way of doing it. But it’s not the only one. You can look at what you’ve done. Watch and listen and really try to understand the pain and damage you’ve caused, and decide that you won’t continue down that path if given another chance.”
Garrosh stiffened. “I cannot change into a human,” he growled.
“No one expects or wants that,” Anduin answered. “But orcs can change. You better than anyone should know that.”
Garrosh was silent. He looked away for a moment, pensive. Anduin resisted the impulse to cross his arms, instead forcing his body posture to seem relaxed, and waited. A bright-eyed, coarse-furred rat poked its head out from under the sleeping furs. Its nose twitched, and then it ducked back out of sight. The warchief of the Horde once . . . and now his cellmate is a rat.
“Do you believe in destiny, Anduin Wrynn?”
For the second time Anduin was blindsided. What was going on inside Garrosh’s head?
“I—I’m not sure,” he stammered, his carefully maintained image of coolness dissolving immediately. “I mean—I know there are prophecies. But I think we all have choices too.”
“Did you choose the Light? Or did it choose you?”
“I—I don’t know.” Anduin realized he had never asked himself that question. He recalled the first time he considered becoming a priest, and had felt a tug in his soul. He craved the peace the Light offered, but he didn’t know if it had called him, or if he had set out in pursuit of it.