Author's Note: It has been a while since I've written fanfiction, but this story has been in my head. Rated M for violence and sexual situations to come. Right now I am planning on six chapters, plus prologue and epilogue. The makers of DragonAge have compared Andraste to Joan of Arc, so for the most part, this will mirror that, but also fair warning: any ideas dealing with religion and the Maker are influenced by my own religious beliefs. Inspired by Second Chances by Thoughts Left Unspoken. You should go read it. Seriously. It's awesome.

Standard Disclaimer: Not mine. I bow to the writers and Bioware.

Andraste's Grace

Prologue

Hindsight

It has been said that if a hero lives long enough, that he will become a villain even to those who love him most. That was never my fate. My followers and friends proved more loyal than I could ever have believed. I died before my fortieth birthday amid fire and jeers and surrounded by lifelong enemies. And still, I have little that I regret.

Each life touches so many others. If I recanted the things that I might wish to, the situations that ought to make me blush with shame, I never would have had my children or my one epic love. I cannot wish those people away. Selfish as I am, they were my solace for everything that I had suffered, that I had sacrificed. My life was rich and full. A barbarian slave turned revolutionary. A barefoot child who became a wife and mother and lover. I was someone who cursed her existence and found myself living for a Cause much bigger than myself. I was a contradiction and refused to compromise when I found my path. Perhaps if I had been less focused on myself. . . But looking back, how can I regret what has come from me?

My life changed the course of the Alamarri tribes, but my death changed the course of Thedas. And yet, when the smoke choked me, the fire licked my toes, and one man cried tears of repentance, all I saw were the faces of my beloved sons and one pair of emerald eyes. My last moments in Thedas were not centered on the good I was doing, on my martyrdom, but on the men I loved. I was ready to go then, to be with the ones who had gone before me. I was ready to escape the responsibility and the mantle I had taken up, and all too eager to flee the pain of my body. That alone might be a shock to some. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Why tell my story now, you might wonder. It has been so many years, years of teachings and traditions and Chantry interpretations. This is not the first time injustice had been committed in my name. Why speak now? Would they even listen? It is because I fear they would not that I must.

If anything, my childhood taught me that the truth must be spoken the most when it will be denied. There are always some who will listen, in spite of appearances. I must speak it now, now that mages and Templars are clashing. So many deaths in my name, in the Maker's name.

I understand war. I know that sometimes good people are killed in changing a way of life. I have lived it. But the Chantry has forgotten me. Though they say they follow my ways, listen to the words that I have spoken, they do not hear me. Many Templars, many Chantry Mothers, but not all, are treading a path I would not take, killing innocent people who have done nothing. If the Maker were to grant me more time in Thedas, would they recognize the escaped slave? Would they know me as the powerful mage I am or would they kill me for fear of what I may become?

This is why I must tell my tale to you now. There must be someone to speak against the acts of terror, the death of children, the dealing with demons to save a life now tarnished. It is my hope that you will go out to the people of Thedas and share the whole truth of my birth, life and death. The acts of heroism and the despair. My shame and my pride. The world should know what I stood for, but the world must also know my mistakes, and there were plenty. Listen, child, and know me.

Born a slave, lived as a Prophet, died a woman.