Cailan turned nine yesterday. I cannot believe how fast my little boy is growing up. He becomes more and more like his father every day, which fills me with both pride and dread. I want him to be a strong leader like Maric, but I don't want Cailan to make the same mistakes as his father. Maric is a fool to think I do not know of his infidelities. He has never been faithful to me in our eleven years of marriage, yet he is still under the pretence that this is a secret. I hear all the whispers in court. I can ignore them and rise above, because I do not love Maric. There was a time when I thought I could love him but now I find it hard to even tolerate the man. King or no, he should at least respect his wife. He makes a mockery of me and always has done. Eamon and Teagan, they are kind to me and dismiss the constant rumours about my husband. It is becoming increasingly difficult to exist at court and so I spend much of my time in my rooms in the palace. I am the queen of Ferelden and I am reduced to hiding away to avoid the shadow of shame. If it were not for my son, I would have left Maric long ago. Instead I must endure my miserable life here in Denerim.
Maric's latest fling was with an elf. An elf, of all things! He thinks I am ignorant of this but I am no such fool. It would not surprise me in the least if Maric has illegitimate children from his affairs. This hurts me but it does not scare me. I am not threatened by the prospect of possible children other than Cailan. My Cailan is prince, heir to the throne. He will be king when Maric passes and no one can challenge that. And so I make the occasional appearance at court and smile through gritted teeth and hold Maric's hand and pretend to the entire country that we are happy.
Loghain provides some comfort to me. He has always been on my side, despite his friendship with Maric. He loathes that the king is unfaithful. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had shirked my responsibilities and my betrothal to Maric. Before he reclaimed the throne, I was close to running away with Loghain, especially when that Katriel was on the scene. Poor Loghain, his wife died when their daughter was only a baby. I cannot bear the thought of my Cailan being without me, it is terrible not having a mother. Little Anora is eight and I am already spending time with her and training her. One day she will marry my son and together they will rule Ferelden.
Truly, my life is not awful. I never want for anything, save respect from my own husband, of course. Yet lately I have not been feeling well. My days grow shorter and shorter as I become tired easily and retire to bed earlier each day. Then my nights are filled with nightmares. I have fitful dreams and wake hourly, shaking violently. I do not know what is wrong with me, but I dare not tell anyone I think I am ill. I have been coughing a lot these past few weeks. I always feel weak and tired for no reason at all. Every inch of my body constantly aches. Still, I say nothing. I do not want my son or my brothers to worry about me. I put on a brave face whenever I am in public. I can't let anyone think I am unwell. Maric is so susceptible to corruption that even the slightest whisper I am ill may cause him to divorce me and take another queen.
I cannot allow this. It is not myself I am looking out for. Cailan's very right to the throne could be compromised should Maric divorce me. Maric is a fool. A good king and a good father, but a fool. He listens to his advisers and I know they want him to have more heirs. I have not had a child in nine years, but I have also not had the intimate company of my husband in just that long. It is no fault of mine that Cailan is an only child. I must not worry. My position is secure so long as I remain quiet and do my duties. I shall not fail my son. He will be king.
Fifteen years later
Maric closed the diary after finishing this final entry. Queen Rowan had died only a few months later. He had found his late wife's journal and had been reading it for days. It sickened him when he thought of how she had been suffering in silence. When word got out that she was ill, it was far too late to save her. Maric sighed when he thought of Rowan. She had been true to him for years when he hadn't. She was a good woman. There was a knock at the door. Maric put the diary inside his jacket and spoke. "Come in."
His twenty four year old son entered his bedroom, holding the hand of his wife of three years, Anora. Maric smiled at the sight of them.
"We just wanted to say goodbye before you left father." Cailan said cheerily. Anora came over to hug the king.
Maric said his farewells to his son and daughter in law, then left the palace, making his way to his carriage that was to take him to the docks. Maric rested his head back in the carriage and closed his eyes, letting himself envision his late wife. He remembered how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. He felt a jolt of guilt as he thought how he had treated her, and pain at the knowledge that Rowan stood by him through knowing everything , yet never knew how he felt about her. Of course he loved her. He just had always hated himself for being so weak and not being able to deny other women. Maric cursed himself at Rowan's correct assumption that he had another child. The elf she wrote of, Fiona, had given him a son whom she gave up when he was born. Maric frowned and wondered how his son was. His brothers in law had taken care of the boy before sending him to the chantry. Maric had kept his illegitimate son secret in respect for Rowan. He hadn't seen the boy since he was handed to him as a baby, and he would be fifteen now. He had been told that his mother was a servant and had died, as Fiona had requested him to believe.
The carriage pulled to a halt and Maric set aside his troubling thoughts of his secret son. He looked out to the ship that would take him to the city of Wycome. He steeled himself for business and shook away the doubts that he was as good a king as he used to be. When he returned he would seek out his fifteen year old son and his old friend Duncan. Perhaps the boy could be a grey warden, if not a prince.