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When Maric Theirin accepted he was to take up the mantle of king after his mother’s murder, he honestly thought Rowan would be ideal at his side. And she was; Rowan made a great queen, commanding yet compassionate, and the people were loyal. Yet Maric never forgot Katriel, the bard and spy meant to be his downfall. In a way she was. It was because of her he fell out of love with Rowan. Maybe that’s why she turned to Loghain for comfort. Maric doubted anything really happened between the two, and he wouldn’t have blamed them otherwise if that wasn’t the case.
After Maric killed Katriel and found her letter, did he realize he had to choose country over self or else her death would have been in vain. But Maric was never really the same after that. He kept mulling over Flemeth’s warning, “Keep him close, and he will betray you. Each time worse than the last.” Loghain had stoked Maric’s rage that in turn led to Katriel’s death, so Maric started to push Loghain away.
When Rowan died, Maric withdrew even further into himself. It wasn’t fair to the very young Cailan, who essentially lost his mother and father in a few short weeks. Yet Maric didn’t know how to pull himself from the hole that felt deeper and more oppressive with every waking moment.
Then he met Fiona. She was scared and hesitant, but resilient. Her fire woke something back up in Maric. The want and ability to do things for the people. He was right to take back Ferelden, he didn’t argue that anymore, but he had been a lump of a king for too long and traveling with the Wardens in the Deep Roads gave him purpose again and a reason to live.
Fiona’s hard shell finally broke, and one night in the Deep Roads produced a sweet beautiful babe. Maric wasn’t sure if he could ever love after Katriel, and wasn’t even sure if the time spent with Fiona could be properly called love, but it didn’t affect the way he felt about the baby. She didn’t want their son to be the bastard child of the king, but Maric didn’t know if he could hide away any more of himself.
The plan was that Duncan would watch over the child in the care of a trusted family, possibly Eamon Guerrin in Redcliff, and the child could grow up without the pressures of royalty; something Maric had prayed for as a young man. But Maric just couldn’t accept that. He accepted Fiona’s icy glare but stood firm that he wouldn’t lose someone else he loved. Fiona left, upset at the turn of the events; swearing she would never return and to not let anyone know the child’s elf-blooded and magical background.
Loghain was furious, first for Maric running off, then for the appearance of the child. He left Denerim in a silent storm and returned to Gwaren. Even though Loghain never said a word, rumors and whispers began to form, creating pockets of doubt. Those at court knew Maric had left with the Grey Wardens, returning weeks later, months before the arrival of the baby.
But those who knew Maric well, knew he was an honorable man and eventually the good people of Ferelden accepted the babe as their prince. Cailan deserved a baby brother and Maric deserved to be happy after Rowan’s death.
Alistair Therein, Prince of Ferelden, was adored by the people while his mother stayed a mystery. After a cooling off period, Teryn Loghain Mac Tir came back to court bringing the young Anora with him.
Anora and the Theirin princes grew up together, the intention of marriage even at such a young age was known and celebrated. The King’s and the Hero of River Dane’s children would create a strong and powerful relationship, and a reminder that the Orlesians were defeated.
While the court insisted on Anora being promised to Cailan, the fathers decided that should she choose Alistair, the choice would be honored. Maric and Loghain knew all too well the pain of separating love and duty and did not want that for their children.
In the end Anora chose Cailan. In hindsight it was obvious, he was smitten with her and she cherished him dearly even if she tried to hide it. Her ambition on the other hand for something greater was never hidden. If Cailan was bothered by the fact that Anora wanted to be queen as much, if not more, than just simply being with him, he never showed it.
Alistair was fine, if not relieved by the decision, when his brother announced him and Anora would wed soon. She had always felt more a sister than potential wife, and Alistair knew she would make a fine queen.
But Alistair was now fifteen, and choices would be made for him if he did not move quickly to make them himself.
Perhaps a daughter of a neighboring kingdom would be his bride; perhaps nobility from a smaller family. Whomever would be chosen for Alistair would need to be from a powerful family, and would need to help foster and increase relations. Regardless, rumors and suggestions were forming, and with them, Fiona's fears for her son's freedom were being made real.
Fiona didn’t reach out to Maric with these fears, often hearing the rumors weeks later, but she would cry herself to sleep at night, wishing she had fought harder for her son’s freedom to choose.
Maric held similar regret; he had chosen the life of a king, and it was he who chose this life for his youngest son. Alistair could never choose his own path; forced into a fate that needn’t have been his, had Maric not been so selfish.
Unlike Cailan, Alistair could have had the chance to live free from the restrictions and pressure, and this thought plagued the King, that somehow he had robbed his son of freedom in favor of knowing him.
So Maric vowed he would protect Alistair’s freedom as much as he could; if nothing else, Alistair would be allowed to find his own love.