Anders never felt smaller than he did the first day he came to Kirkwall. It’s a city of statues, of blind, unseeing eyes that nevertheless follow him as he walks. Inside, Justice or Vengeance, this new thing he cannot name, stirs at the hunger and poverty that surround them- and not just at that. This place was built by slavers to dominate their chattel. Every line, every angle, is wrong.
“This place is too big.” Anders mutters, and the refugee next in line, misunderstanding him, nods.
“You think such a mighty city would have room for us lowly Fereldans.”
“Not mighty.” Anders cranes his neck to the sky, and the wheeling, hungry birds. “Bloated.”