"They were here? In Denerim? How did we miss arresting them!" Loghain demanded to know.

"Unfortunately, sire, the dwarf seems to have only been in town for a single day, and confined himself largely to the market district, where he was just another face in the crowd. We're still not sure if the other Warden was with him or not, large blond warriors being as common as grass with all the mercenary companies currently in town."

"A purple-haired dwarf was just another face in the crowd?" Loghain exclaimed sharply, scowling angrily. "It's not exactly a common hair colour."

"No, it's not, my liege. Unfortunately the only reason we even learned of the dwarf's presence was that very hair colour, and too long after the fact to be of any use; one of Ser Landry's friends was retailing the story of the man's fatal dual with a dwarf and happened to mention that particular detail near one of my men who did know the significance of it. Unfortunately by the time word had got back to me and we could start properly looking for the creature, he'd vanished again. Though not, it seems, before making a considerable profit, and leaving a nasty mess for us," he added, gesturing at the pile of reports stacked haphazardly on Loghain's desk.

Loghain grunted, and made a sour expression at the scrawled sheets, having already skimmed their contents. The dwarf, it seemed, was an accomplished thief; he and his hypothetical companions had made a whirlwind pass through the marketplace and seemingly walked off with somewhere between fifty and a hundred sovereigns worth of valuables, from a valuable sword belonging to Ser Nancine – a theft only disturbing because she was a staunch supporter of the Teryn's – to the much more outrageous theft of the bars of silver he'd been planning to use to pay the mercenary companies with. That stung; he'd been hard-pressed to put together the money once, and now he'd have to do so a second time.

He hated that he was having to hire mercenary companies. But the army was still too small to deal with the masses of darkspawn down south, and with the growing threat of civil war shaking the bannorn, few nobles were willing to send any further musters of their own troops to join the army, not when they now feared that they'd need them closer to home.

Damn those Guerrins... Bann Teagan in particular, who seemed to be masterminding the resistance while his brother was incapacitated by whatever had laid him low. A pity the man was the younger son – he was wasted as a mere Bann. It was to Loghain's benefit that the younger man didn't have anything like the influence he'd of had as an Arl, but it was still a damnable waste of a talented man, and Ferelden never had enough of those.

Loghain rubbed his aching brows, then poured himself another glass of wine, offering the bottle to Howe, who politely refused more.

"Any other delightful news you have to share with me today?" he growled.

"Not much. There is growing unrest within the city itself. We've pulled most of the guards into the army, and as a result incidents of crime are rising sharply, especially in the back alleys and side streets that we no longer have enough men to patrol regularly. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do to improve that, short of hiring more guards, and any man in the guards is one less in the army."

Loghain grunted, drinking deeply.

"Speaking of the army, there is also the problem with what to do with young nobles who are proving... problematic soldiers."

"What do you mean?" Loghain asked sharply.

"We have a number of nobles – third and fourth sons, mainly – who joined the army during the initial fervour and have since lost their taste for the military life. We can't discharge or discipline them as we would regular soldiers without potentially losing the support of their families, and keeping them on is having a poor effect on morale."

Loghain groaned and rubbed at his temples again, then had a glimmer of an idea. "Detach them to guard service," he said. "They can hardly make things in the city any worse. Who knows, maybe they'll even catch some bandits."

Howe snorted. "More like they'll catch a pox. But a good idea. Duly noted, site."

"Is that all?"

"I'm afraid not. There's also reports of plague brewing in the alienage since the closing of the gates. I'm afraid we'll need to order the gates kept locked until it burns out naturally."

"Maker's balls!" Loghain exclaimed, sitting upright. He'd been counting on recruiting among the elves in the alienage to increase the army numbers further, once the gates were opened again. For a moment he thought wistfully back to the years of the rebellion, when he'd organized and led the Night Elves, and wondered how many of his old comrades yet lived in the alienage here. He misliked leaving any man to die of sickness, but as close-packed as the city currently was right now...

"Do it," he said, bitterly. "We cannot afford sickness loose in the city right now. Perhaps we can find some healers willing to be locked in with them as well, to attempt to treat the sick, or at least ease their passing."

"I'll see it done, my liege," Howe agreed, then bowed himself out.

Loghain topped up his glass again and sat staring at the papers scattered across his desk. Every time he thought he'd begun to get things under control, something else happened. At this rate by the spring Ferelden would be a mass of civil war, and in the end the darkspawn and the Orlesians would be fighting over control of the remains.

He didn't want to believe that this is how the restoration of Ferelden would end – in rebellion and ruin.

"Maric you ass," he muttered. "Why did you leave it all on my shoulders..."

Wearily he sat up, forced himself to put aside the glass, and begin working through the papers.

They heard little about the wardens for some time after that; a sighting near the north end of Lake Calenhad, a report they'd been seen at the market outside of Orzammar, then... nothing, for a big chunk of the winter.

And then word spread from Redcliffe that the Wardens had reappeared, curing the man with the aid of a pinch of what was being claimed to be Andraste's Ashes. Loghain cursed roundly when the news reached him. That was all they needed, religious mania thrown into the already volatile mix. And Arl Eamon's sizable thumb stuck back into the pie.

It was the other rumour that accompanied the news that really disturbed Loghain, however; the Arl and wardens were claiming that the Arl had been poisoned, by a man in Loghain's employ; that damnable mage they'd sent there as a spy. They claimed to have a confession from the man. If there was any truth at all to the story...

Howe. He wouldn't put it past the man to have given additional orders to the mage without telling him. Which made him start wondering what other additional orders the man might have been giving without his knowledge.

It was only as he started thinking about what he'd need to do, in order to find out, that he really realized how much of his power as regent he'd already allowed to slip into the other man's control. It had been easier to stay in his office and drink and do paperwork and let Howe do all the footwork. Unfortunately that meant he'd only seen the people and heard the news or rumours that Howe allowed him to. His contacts beyond the palace, never widespread at the best of times, were pretty much nonexistent now.

Time to stop drinking. And start forming his own network of contacts again. Cautiously... he didn't want Howe to realize what he was up to until it was too late for the man to cover up whatever he'd been up to over the past few months. Assuming he hadn't done so already; he doubted Howe was the sort to leave tracks at the best of times.