Evening had fully taken hold of the city when Marahiel returned to the streets. The fires from Lowtown's forges burned dimly in the velvety dusk; the white stones beneath her feet held rainbows of dull color within. She walked slowly, considering her own futility. Diplomacy had become her work, but it wasn't so long ago when she wasn't afraid to use a little force. The peace in Kirkwall was tenuous, certainly, and perhaps it wasn't meant to last. Was it better that she break it than someone with less noble intentions?
She'd been here three days. Despite her own longing and Anders' persistence, perhaps what she really needed to do was wait.