A/N: I'm so excited about this. It started out as a concept for a roleplay character, but I've noticed a serious lack of FenrisxDagna fanficiton. So. I'm starting one. This is a very brief prologue to let everyone know where she's coming from. Future chapters will be longer, likely. I don't know how long this will be, but more than this for sure!

Dislcaimer: I own nothing. Maybe some Dagna character development, but really not much at all.

Several months ago, Dagna had lived a good life. A good, boring life swallowed up by the stone and tradition and metals. With the assistance of the Wardens that had come to Orzammar, she had been able to fulfill her life-long dream of leaving to study at the Circle.

They had offered her the opportunity to do what she wanted, not what was expected of her. And she had taken it and run.

Well, not literally.

It had taken her some time to get to the Circle from Orzammar, via feet and wagons and more feet. But it was worth it. Even if the Circle was in various stages of disrepair from the onslaught earlier in the year, it was still brilliant.

Sure, no one really talked to her. Sure, everyone was either laughing at her or suspicious of what she meant to do. But it didn't matter. What did matter was that she was able to do it. What little time she didn't spend in the library, she spent doing menial tasks 'to earn her keep'. While the First Enchanter was more amused than anything by her presence, the Knight-Commander thought she should serve a purpose other than taking up space in a converted broom closet.

It was a cozy little room, with a cozy little cot, and walls lined with books that she borrowed, bartered for, or 'found'. It was not a hard life, nor an unfortunate one. For the most part, she was left alone to do her research.

After the first month or two, some of the mages would actually answer her questions. After a few more months, their interests in her waned and she had to revert back to the books, of which there were plenty. The templars had little-to-nothing to do with her, save for a curt nod or a sideways look when she bowed out of the line headed for the Chantry hall after dinner. Eventually they stopped doing that, too. There were so many things to read, so many things to study. One thing in particular caught her attention: Why? Why were mages born? Why were some more powerful than others? How does it work? Not being able to possess magic herself, it was quite the feat to discover an answer when few mages would give her the time of day.

She didn't think it was necessarily that they didn't like her; few, if any, were rude outright. They were, she decided, probably just scared. Which on one hand, she completely understood; templars, by their nature, were pretty imposing. She took it in stride, though; what was the worst they could do to her? Lock her in a cell? Give her a book, and she'd be fine.

After extensive research into the subject, Dagna decided that she would begin with lyrium. It seemed to have the most possibility of unlocking answers. The best place to start would be the beginning. Was lyrium the root of a mage's power? Was it in their blood? If so, wasn't it in hers, having been breathing it since before she was born? Why could they practice it, and she was practically immune? How much lyrium was too much? It took weeks of long nights to formulate a proper hypothesis on the matter, and even longer to gather all of the research she needed to back up her claims. Finally, perhaps a month or two after the news of the Archdemon's demise, Dagna could breathe.

"There," a smie curved her lips as she held up the paper, blowing on the ink and willing it to dry faster. "A Comprehensive Theory of Lyrium Vapors. Well, my dear Dagna, I think you might be on to something."

Once the title had dried, Dagna began to transcribe her work. Her original paper was covered in blotches and blacked out words, mistakes, and revisions. This new one would be perfect; a reference.

One day, she would find a way to publish her theories.

One day she would discover something.

One day.

But for that day, in the wee hours of the morning, her work was finished. Her hand had cramped long ago, but she would not falter. She switched hands; the writing with her left hand was not as fluid as it was with her right and it took her a little longer to make sure that the letters were formed to her liking, but it gave her dominant one time to rest.

As the morning light crept up along the side of the Tower, Dagna settled her quill down and organized all of her papers so that each one would dry before she could stack them later in the day. In those moments, she wished she had someone to talk to. The lull between excitement and sleep, when al she had was the whispers of the Tower and the scuffle of feet outside her mostly-closed door.

With a small sigh, Dagna pulled a smile across her face as she leaned over her papers and gently blew out her lamplight. It didn't matter, though. Not really. Not one bit. Her work was done, and now she could rest.