We Could Have Had It All

by Tayhlia

It has been three years since Alistair became King of Ferelden, three years since the Archdemon was slain, three years since he last saw Yael Tabris, the only woman he had ever loved. Refusing to let any more time pass, Alistair sneaks into Vigil's Keep, desperate to right the mistake he made by letting her go.

2. We Could Have Had It All (Original)

A/N: For those of you who are returning readers who the 'Chapter 2' update in their inbox, the rewritten version is the first chapter. For some reason Fanfiction is not letting people know that I'm reposting/fixing the first chapter of these stories. Thanks for your attention, love, and reviews!

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"The scars of your love

Remind me of us

They keep me thinking

We could have had it all."

~Rolling Deep, Adele

This was it, Alistair thought, tracing the small notch mark on the tree's trunk. It had taken him nearly two hours of stumbling around in the dark to find the damned engraving. A simple gash along the bark, barely discernible from the normal grooves that she had stained with berries, if you weren't looking for it, there was no way you'd know it was there.

Counting his steps to the left, he swallowed a curse as he hit a stone hidden by bush, the throbbing in his large toe making him wonder when he had become such a pansy. Three years as King of Ferelden had made subtle changes in him that Alistair was still discovering.

A smile traced his lips as he found what he was looking for, a canopy of false floor carefully concealed by brush and debris. Lifting the interwoven branches up, dirt and leaves flaking from the square, Alistair entered the tunnel it hid. When he let the earthen door shut, he was plummeted into near darkness, the only light was streaming from above through very thin cracks between the branches.

Fumbling at his pouch, Alistair found the small runestone he was looking for and took it from the cloth he covered it in. Blue-white light shone like a torch from the small stone, lighting the tunnel around him. He tried to ignore the shadows that danced on the walls, the creepy factor of it all giving a burst of adrenaline to his step.

Part of him couldn't believe he was doing this; Eamon would be livid when he found out Alistair snuck away from his guard. Alistair suddenly grimaced, wondering if the horse would still be in the forest when he left. Technically, as King, he couldn't be charged with horse-theft, most people fell over backwards to try and give him what he wanted, but he still felt bad about it…kind of.

Alistair was ashamed to admit the first mile or so of the ride was horrid. Since he had become King he only had chance to ride a horse twice, all other times he was either herded into a carriage (which was entirely too ostentatious for his liking) or marched alongside everyone else. That wasn't to say he forgot how to ride, only that he definitely could use some practice; he was certain he would have a giant bruise from falling off the horse. Twice.

Coming to a fork in the tunnel, he stilled, squinting at the two passageways. The path he had just come was marked only by a stick acting like a post near the wall. Alistair made a face, swallowing a chuckle for the next marker. On his right was a feather, a simple hawk's feather lying along the wall while on his left was a rock—well three rocks.

She had always been cautious, always hid her secrets well. Her code was simple once you understood how she thought but most never could get that far.

The branch was obviously for the woods Alistair had just left. The rocks were symbolizing weapons, something he had learned from her one day while sparing. Since elves were forbidden weapons, she learned to turn anything into a weapon and nothing was quite as painful as a rock flung at your head. The feather would have baffled him if he had not remembered her collecting ones just like it and turning them into pens so she could keep writing in her journal.

Turning to the right, knowing that she would not be on the training grounds this late into the night, Alistair continued on; excitement starting to pulse in him. He was really doing this; he really had made it to Vigil's Keep without anyone noticing. He was really going to see her.

Absently, he tried to brush off the dust and dirt that had accumulated on his clothing. It wasn't his royal clothes or his armor. Now that he thought of it, he had to remember to thank the stable-hand who gave him the clothes; he never would have made it this far in his own.

It was hard to believe that he hadn't seen her in three years; three long years. Not since—Alistair frowned, he hadn't seen her since his coronation and it wasn't for lack of trying. He had visited the Keep on multiple occasions, mostly on official business but she always seemed to be gone. Once Alistair had managed to delay news of his arrival until he actually arrived in the courtyard only to be told that she was 'just here a moment ago'.

He got monthly reports from the Keep, using his influence as the King as well as the fact he was still technically a Grey Warden to stay apprised. Alistair had originally done it in hopes of communicating with her, perhaps some hopeless romantic in him had flared and he thought about exchanging coded letters within the documents.

Unfortunately only one missive from the last thirty-six had been by her, sharply informing him of the darkspawn who named itself the Architect; all the others were written by the Seneschal or some other lackey. She hadn't even told him when she found Morrigan a few weeks back.

The queen was probably pleased with the lack of contact, Alistair thought sighing. Elizabeth Sighard, daughter of the Bann of Dragon's Peak, was politically and physically perfect for the role of Queen of Ferelden. She was pretty enough, long black hair, gray eyes that could make many a courtier wobble at the knee. She could command respect and admiration by simply walking into a room and giving one of her shy smiles. The Nobles loved her, the people adored her.

But she wasn't the woman Alistair wished he had as queen.

Around him as he was lost in thought, the earth walls had given way to stone and soon so did the path beneath his feet.

The biggest mistake of his life had been the night after they won the Landsmeet. Eamon had taken him aside and told him point blank that he was going to be expected to sire an heir. Alistair would never forget the look on the old man's face when he pointed out that, while his fellow Warden was an amazing commander and had moved mountains to secure a better future for Ferelden, the elf was unsuitable for the position of Queen and that, unless Alistair wished to take her on as a consort, their relationship would need to end as soon as possible.

He began to climb the stone stairs, his mind turning back to the day he had replayed over and over again in his head. The last kiss the two of them shared was burned in his memory. She had been in her room, packing for the trip to Redcliffe where the final battle had been supposed to have taken place. When he came to her, her face had lit up, shining like it only did for him. Her kiss was filled with passion and hope, ecstatic that they had won the Landsmeet, that they finally had army enough to fight the darkspawn.

And he had broken her heart.

Alistair barely remembered the journey from Denerim to Redcliffe. Bad news had piled upon worse when the two of them learned why Grey Wardens were needed during a Blight. When she came to his room that night, he hadn't know what to expect but her convincing him with an emotionless mask to bed Morrigan had not been it.

Coming to a stop in front of the back of a tapestry, Alistair suddenly found himself freezing, unable to move forward or back. She had left him behind at the gates, barely even looking at him before heading off into the city, Sten, Morrigan, and Zevran at her back. The last words she spoke to him, he found out later were part of a script given to her so the elven hero would not 'embarrass the crown.'

So much had gone wrong while the world was righting itself. Alistair had allowed himself to be swept along in the snobbery of nobility. He had all but abandoned the woman who he had given his heart to long ago. Part of him had hoped that he would be able to put her behind him, that whomever was deemed 'appropriate' would be someone he could love.

If things had been different, Alistair was certain he could have fallen for Elizabeth. She was intelligent, refined, a devote believer. But he didn't. His heart had belonged to the Warden who had survived Ostagar with him and they both knew it.

Elizabeth played the dutiful wife and queen and he was certain she actually did care for him. Despite the neutral relationship between them, Alistair was not as blind as he once had been. She loathed any mention of the Hero of Ferelden. Save the day of celebration of when the Archdemon fell, where she made her appearances and speeches, cheering on the victory, if anyone brought up the woman who had saved them from the Blight, Elizabeth's face would darken and her eyes would harden. She never said a word but everyone in the palace knew how King Alistair felt about Yael Tabris, the elven Grey Warden.

Sliding the runestone back into his side pouch, Alistair wiped his sweating hands on his linen pants. He could hear a fire crackling in the hearth just beyond the tapestry. An occasional turn of the page alongside a scratching noise could just be heard as well.

Licking his lips nervously, he gathered his courage and moved the tapestry aside, stepping into the room and letting the wall-hanging fall over the opening behind him. Alistair's eyes adjusted quickly to the lighting in the room and he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her sitting at the large wooden desk covered in papers and books.

Across the back of the chair sat two scabbards holding an unfamiliar set of daggers. Yael was hunched over the desk, the rich red hair he had loved to see shine in the sun was pulled away from her face and cascading down her back, much longer than he remembered. Alistair could see the bicep on her right arm was wrapped in a bloodstained cloth, as though she hadn't bothered to find a mage to heal the injury.

He drank in the sight of her, his heart pounding like a giddy school boy. She was really here and he was really there. In the soft breeze coming from the open balcony doors, he could smell the faint aroma of lavender and mint. A small smile tugged at his lips realizing she still used the same soap.

"You have exactly ten seconds to explain how you found that passage and why you broke into my study." Her tone was almost conversational but Alistair could hear the steely edge to it.

Despite the threat, Alistair grinned. "You always mapped out an escape route." He announced cheerfully. Yael stiffened. "The trick is knowing how you mark the outlet. Once you know that, ta-da."

Abruptly she stood, shuffling through the papers spread across the desk. "I seem to have missed the announcement that you were visiting, King Theirin."

Grimacing at the title, Alistair clapped his boot together, mocking the royal herald. "Announcing King Alistair Theirin, ruler of Fereldan. There, all announced." To his disappointment his glib remark didn't make her laugh, if anything the tension increased. Alistair moved toward her. "Every time the Keep was forewarned I would come, the Commander of the Grey mysteriously was absent."

His breath caught when she looked at him. Her freckles stood out on her pale skin, dozens of them scattered across her nose and cheeks, accenting her face. Two brown eyes gazed at him with an intensity that made his heart quicken. She hadn't aged a day, he realized. Save for a small scar cutting through her left eyebrow, she looked exactly the same.

Sharply turning, Yael swept a small pile of books that had been perched on the edge of her desk off, walking away from him and toward the bookcase. He frowned, watching her jerky movements.

"Missing me once, I'd understand." Alistair started as she slid one of the tomes into place. "Twice even" She pushed the second book in with a little more force, causing it to make an audible thunk when it hit the back of the bookcase. "But somehow," he moved forward as Yael stood on her tiptoe, trying to put the final book away on the top shelf. "You've managed to be elsewhere every time for the last three years."

Alistair started to take the book from her to put away when she looked at him with a stone cold gaze, her rich brown eyes were guarded. "I've been busy." She batted away his hand, shoving the book back into its spot.

"You've been avoiding me."

Once again she looked at him, her expression impossible to read. "I am the Commander of the Grey." Yael stated. "Grey Wardens respect the laws of the land but are not governed by them, King Theirin." A challenged sparked in her eyes. "You are no longer a Grey Warden and therefore none of my concern."

Alistair frowned at the statement. "A Grey Warden isn't something you can stop being."

Turning away from him, she walked back to the desk. "Why have you broken into my study, King Theirin? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes." He said exasperated. "You can stop avoiding me."

"I'm not avoid—"

"Damn it to the Void," Alistair stalked forward and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her to face him. "You are!"

In one movement she was free from his grasp and he found himself unarmed, the only weapon he brought with him was now pointed at his chest. For a moment Yael held the blade, a crack in the emotionless mask she held appearing. With a shake of her head, the elf twisted the dagger around and handed it back to him hilt first.

"I have a great many responsibilities, none of which include you." She repeated, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that.

He arched his brow as Yael once more turned her back to him. "Or your family," he retorted without meaning to.

She stilled. "Shianni's murderer has been taken care of. There was little need for me to return for her funeral."

Alistair shook his head. "Yes, wonder of wonders, the murdering bigot in our jail suddenly turning up dead the same day there are reports of Zevran Arainai being in Denerim." He looked for a reaction but there was none. "And where is the assassin, hm?"

"He went to Antiva." She responded tersely.

He couldn't help but feel a bubble of jealous twist in him knowing the elf, who had never made any attempt to hide his affection for Yael, was still her companion. "Bed a little lonely without him?" Alistair immediately regretted his words at the look of pain that flickered across her face before being hidden behind that emotionless mask of hers.

"And how is your queen?" she deflected coldly. "From the news she should be about ready to give birth."

"She had the babe two weeks ago." Alistair admitted. Her face twitched. "A son," he offered even though she hadn't asked.

The pressure Eamon and other nobles had laid on him once he had married, barely four months after the Archdemon fell, only one month after he had learned of that disturbing darkspawn the Architect, had been heavy. Scholars had gathered as much information as they could on Grey Wardens and the taint, seeking if anyone had ever been documented as having children after becoming a Warden.

It had never been done. No one, in all of the history of the Grey Wardens, had managed to get pregnant, whether it was a female Warden or male hadn't mattered. Somehow the taint was a very effected birth control. That thought had made Eamon frantic, uncomfortably mentioning the need for an heir every time the two of them spoke.

When Elizabeth had finally gotten pregnant, a Circle healer and two normal physicians had been assigned to around the clock care, ensuring the baby was brought to term. Twice there had been a scare that had left everyone anxiously praying; once when Elizabeth was violently ill, a full week of high fever left all their nerves a little frayed and another when she felt cramps six months in that was followed with bleeding; both of which lead to nothing serious. Other than an unusual craving for meat slathered in pickle juice, her pregnancy was fairly normal.

"How wonderful for you," Yael said numbly. Once again, she turned her back to him. "If you wish information on passing the taint, I'm afraid that the queen's is the only documented case of a child surviving to birth."

Alistair blinked. "Surviving to birth?" he repeated. Her shoulders tensed. "Someone else had managed to get pregnant?" Rounding the desk to look her in the eye, Alistair didn't miss the alarm and pain that flashed across her face before it was tucked behind that damned mask. "I thought Elizabeth was the first case of any pregnancy."

"I must have misspoke," she said, abandoning whatever she had been trying to busy herself with on the desk and heading toward the door.

"No, no you didn't." Alistair followed her out into the hall. The Yael he knew never misspoke; blurting things out in anger, bluntly revealed truths but she never confused facts. Grabbing her by the arm, he stopped her. "Tell me."

"It does not matter; your precious heir has survived." She wrenched her arm away from him, breathing heavily. "There is nothing more for you here."

His heart ached at her words. "Yael," he whispered. Alistair started reach toward her when she flinched, taking a step back. "Yael, please tell me what you know. This is the life of my son," he implored. "Please."

Her hands clenched into fists at her side. "The Queen's child survived to birth, King Theirin." Now it was his turn to flinch, the way she kept saying his title causing his gut to wrench. "There are no other documented cases of this occurring therefore no new information that can be given."

"But you found information on another pregnancy?" he prodded. It took what seemed like forever for her to respond and when she did, he almost missed it. Her curt nod caused his heart to hammer in his chest. "Who? What happened?"

Yael hesitated and that reluctance was killing him. "The child did not survive to birth." Was all she said.

Alistair frowned. "And the parent was a Warden?" he asked needlessly. "Can I speak with them? The parents I mean. Have they tried again?"

Slowly she shook her head. "They separated."

Disappointment filled him. "I suppose you're right." Alistair acquiesced. "If the babe did not make it to birth than it has little bearing on my son."

Yael twitched slightly, her lips pressing into thin lines. She took a step away from him. "The Seneschal shall see to you if you require lodging for the night, King Theirin. If you excuse me, I have business elsewhere."

His mind caught up with him a moment later when he looked up in time to see her disappear around the corner. "Hey!" Alistair hurried after her. "Yael!" She stalled for a split second before going into a room. "Yael Tabris, come back here!" Alistair stopped the door from shutting. "I'm not going to go away that easily."

For the first time since he had come that night, he saw her temper flare, eyes sparking with anger. "Get out of my room," her hand was stealing to her hip where a rather wicked looking dagger sat.

Whether it was because he was used to getting his way now as King or the burning emotion throbbing in his heart, Alistair shook his head. "No." he said firmly. "We haven't seen each other in three years. I want to know why."

Yael drew her weapon. "Get out of my room or I swear, king or not I'll make you."

Alistair jerked backwards as she thrust the knife forward, inadvertently knocking the door behind him shut. "Hey!" he avoided another sweep. "Enough!" he grabbed her by the wrist in a move that she had taught him during the Blight and reversed their positions, forcing the dagger from her hand and throwing it aside. "Yael, I just want to talk!" He couldn't help but feel his heart rate quicken when he realized she was now pinned against the door, their bodies pressing together.

"Unhand me." Her voice quivered.

"Yael," Alistair tried.

Burning brown eyes looked up at him, pain and longing written in their depths. "There is nothing more between us, Alistair." He felt goosebumps run down his arms when she finally said his name. "Unhand me and go back to your queen."

He shook his head. "Nothing between us? Yael, I've thought of you every day for the past three years. I tried to see you every chance I got." Alistair cupped her face, gently brushing her red hair out of her face. "I thought I could get by without you. I thought that a clean split would end what I felt for you." She trembled. "But it didn't and it hasn't. Maker, I love you, Yael. I never stopped."

His lips crashed against hers. For a moment his world stopped. Memories of them soared through his mind. The nights they sat huddled by the campfire trying to keep warm; the moment he realized he was falling for the elven rogue at his side; his horribly awkward gift of a rose; their first kiss; the first time they made love; all of it washed over him. Their love, the passion that had fueled their fight all came back to him as though they had never been apart.

Pulling away for air, he looked down at her, the soft smile teasing his lips disappearing when he saw the look on her face. Pain suddenly exploded around his waist as she kneed him between the legs.

Gasping, he fell to his knees. "What was that for?" Alistair squeaked, trying to get the pain under control.

He looked up, frustration bleeding away when he realized she hadn't moved from where he had pinned her. She seemed frozen, breathing heavily as she stared at him. A tear was trickling down her cheek.

"Yael," he tried to stand. She scooted out of his reach. "Yael, I made a mistake."

"A mistake?" her voice cracked.

Alistair used the door to support himself, wincing at the residual pain. "Yes, a mistake." He repeated. "Eamon came to me after the Landsmeet and told me about my responsibilities." Alistair looked for any clue that she understood. "I had just been named the leader of an entire country, delivered justice to the man who killed thousands, and finally had enough support to present a proper defense against the Blight. I was completely overwhelmed by it all."

"Were you?" she said tersely.

"Yes." He insisted. "So when Eamon came to me talking of heirs and marriage, I panicked." Alistair took a step toward her, willing her to understand. "He told me that you would not be accepted as queen."

"Because I'm an elf?"

Alistair grimaced. "That and the fact you're a Warden and we couldn't look as though we had done all this to rule a country." He hated how that sounded but politics were politics as he quickly learned. "I needed an heir to the throne and Wardens have enough trouble on their own to get pregnant, nevermind two of them." Something flickered across her face. "I was given a choice of having you as my mistress or breaking off with you entirely."

"And I accepted it!" Yael exclaimed, tears shining in her brown eyes. "I accepted that you ended it even though it killed me inside."

"Damn it, Yael. I tried to make it right!" Alistair said frantically. "I tried to see you after the coronation but you had already left. I wanted to make you understand, to see," he huffed, not even sure what he had wanted back then.

Yael swallowed hard. "See what? There was nothing more to say."

"If you had just seen me," Alistair tried. "I wrote you letters, came as often as I could in those first few months after the Blight. You were always gone."

"I had a job to do." Yael shouted taking a step forward. "Whether you bloody nobles believed it or not, darkspawn don't just fucking disappear after a Blight. Pockets of them still were attacking Ferelden." She waved her arm at the door. "Vigil's Keep was attacked upon my arrival by a talking darkspawn."

Alistair almost growled in frustration. "I know! I just wanted this to be different!" he found himself bellowing. "I wanted you."

Breathing heavily, the two of them stared at each other, his declaration weighing in the air.

"You had me, Alistair." She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her. "I was yours and you ended it because I wasn't good enough."

Alistair flinched at her words. "Yael."

She met his gaze, tears still glimmering in her eyes. "Time can't be rewritten."

"But we can." He captured her hand, stunned at how cold it felt. "Yael please, I love you more than I can possibly say."

Her hand trembled in his, the want and desire flashing across her face before melting into resignation. "Go back to your queen, your son." She whispered pulling away.

Alistair bit back curse words. "I needed an heir. Even if I had stayed with you, that wouldn't have changed."

Yael recoiled as though he had struck her. The anguish was quickly being replaced by an emotion he couldn't name. Abruptly she flung open the door, barely missing Alistair. He followed her down the hall, words escaping him as he wondered where she suddenly felt the need to go.

He finally caught up with her when they left out the back door, ignoring the guard's greetings. "Where are you going?"

The elf didn't respond, following a path to a point away from the Keep. She slowed to a stop near a tree with two headstones and just stood there. Alistair looked at her, confused and then glanced at the gravestones.

They were simple enough, made of gray stone with words carved into them. A single red rose, similar to the one he had given Yael when he first started falling for her, sat in front of each grave. The roses had to have been placed there earlier in the day. Remnants of other roses lay on the ground as though fresh ones had been placed there frequently.

"What are we doing here?" he demanded. She looked at him, pain written on her face but she didn't say anything. Sighing, Alistair turned to the markers.

The first was marked with a symbol of a dog and read:

Noden

The Bravest Grey Warden of Them All

Alistair smiled sadly at the words, realizing that the dog Yael had saved in Ostagar passed nearly three months ago according to the date beneath the words. The two of them had always joked that the mabari was an honorary Grey Warden. To honor the dog in death was fitting in his mind.

His blood ran cold when he turned to the second grave. Upon the gray stone was written:

Duncan Alistair Tabris

You Were Made From Love

He crouched down, staring uncomprehendingly at the marker, reading the words again and again. Yael had a child? When had she—how had he not heard of this? He traced the name, lingering on the first two, pain wrenching in his gut. After he had broken her heart, she had still named her child after him?

"The healers told me it was a boy." Yael said softly.

Alistair sighed. "I am sorry for your loss." He whispered. Jealousy soon replaced his empathy for her followed by confusion. "You did not give him the elf's name?" Alistair questioned.

She looked at him. "There is only one man I have ever lain with and I put the only name I could on the headstone of our son."

Rearing back, Alistair looked sharply at the headstone again. "But that would mean," he felt as though the world was spinning around him. "When?" his voice was hoarse. "How?"

Had being a Grey Warden killed their child?

Did the battle with the Archdemon claim the small life?

Yael traced the top of the stone sorrowfully. Alistair looked at her, praying she would answer him while at the same time hoping she wouldn't.

"Was it the taint?" He finally asked.

A bitter look crossed her face as though she knew the questions he hadn't voiced. "Oh, if only it were that, King Theirin." Yael shook her head. "If only it had been my duty that took our child from me."

He frowned. "What then?"

"I miscarried."

Alistair turned back to the gravestone. His eyes were drawn to something half hidden under the grass. Kneeling down, he brushed it aside, realizing it was a date; an oddly familiar one at that. What was it about that date? Then something clicked in his mind.

"Oh Maker,"

Alistair fell to his knees. He looked sharply at her and then back, trying to get some proof that it was wrong, that the date glaring out at him was false. She only looked at him, the hard sad gaze of someone who had cried too much over something. Tears began to fall down his cheeks as he realized what his stupidity had done; how his foolishness had not only cost him Yael but their son.

The date carved into the headstone that marked when the child of the woman he loved had passed was the very same as his wedding day.