You can also find this fic on A03 at Vyranai!

On most days, Aevella adored children. They came into the bookstore with their eyes wide in innocent wonder at the walls and neat shelves, smiling as they picked out their favourite characters upon posters, or spied a book they liked perched upon a stand. When Friday rolled around and she took the time to read to them, the small sea of faces watched her with rapt attention, drinking up every word she said. Aevella would not trade the sight of an enraptured child for anything; they were the magic that kept the little store alive and breathing.

This was not one of those days.

"The temptation to use blood magic right now is overwhelming," Dorian muttered from behind the counter, a healthy distance from the screaming boy. "I'll make it swift and painless, I promise."

Aevella threw a wary glance over at the mother who was blatantly ignoring her screaming brood as she perused the adult section. And the screams were rising in pitch and intensity. "Shush! We don't need a lawsuit. Or for you to be arrested."

Dorian grimaced as the boy escalated, grabbing a book and promptly throwing it at his mother, demands to leave ever more persistent; they both groaned simultaneously as the book bounced off the blonde's leg. Finally paying attention, she bent down and scooped it up, flashing her son a saccharine smile. "Is this the one you want, my cherub?"

At that, Dorian was forced to duck below the counter as he was overcome with such a violent fit of laughter. Aevella kicked him sharply in the knee, but the act seemed to have next to no effect. "Cherub!" he cackled into his fist, more than loud enough for Aevella to hear. "More like a Darkspawn."

"Dorian!" Aevella chastised while trying not to laugh herself, "if you must laugh, do it quieter." There was never a dull moment, oddly. How strange that was.

"No!" the boy screeched, a loud bang causing Dorian to shoot up and for Aevella to spin around on her heels, both quite alarmed and concerned for the state of the shop. "Books are for stupid babies!" he yelled, proceeding to kick the Harry Potter stand once more; the spindly legs gave way, spilling books and merch all over the carpet. As Aevella watched, aghast, she saw the Voldemort Funko's head roll off and under the nearest bookshelf.

Oh, hell no. No one did that to the Dark Lord and got away with it.

Aevella steeled her courage and stepped out from behind the safety of the counter and marched over to the ignorant mother and her screeching monster. The other customers had left long ago, and in quite a hurry at that. She didn't blame them one bit.

This bookstore was her baby. Her home, and quite literally, seeing as she slept above in the flat and Dorian temporarily taking up the couch. Losing customers meant losing money. Losing money meant that she could lose her store and home. And she refused point-blank to allow a shemlen brat do that to her after everything she had been through to get to this point.

"Excuse me, madam?" Aevella asked, cursing the warbling nerves in her voice. Dorian behind was egging her on with little flicks of his wrist as if to say Go on, you can do it. The coward. "Could you please restrain your child or leave? He is damaging stock. If he breaks anything else, you will be liable to pay for all the damages." Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was headless for goodness sake.

At that, the woman turned and blinked at the sight of Aevella as if she hadn't heard a single word she had said. Slowly, cold and calculating eyes found the tips of her long and slender ears poking out from within her midnight hair; the mother's lips curled into a sneer. "I'm afraid that my dear does not enjoy reading elven drivel. Do you have anything written by people?"

Cold trickled down Aevella's spine. Fen'Harel take me now, she thought, wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow her. On top of everything, she just had to be racist. Wonderful. Just... wonderful. "You are looking in a section that has no elven literature," Aevella replied dryly. "In fact, it is next to impossible to distinguish between elven writings next to human ones. There's no difference in the brain process."

"So research says."

"So I say. And I have been selling books all my life. My parents and their parents before them sold books too. So please; enlighten me as to how they are so different when written for the general populace."

The woman had not been expecting such a fiery response, that much was obvious in her widening ice-blue eyes. Why did humans wear so much make-up? Aevella wondered; her eyes were next to encrusted with black. It looked like a thick layer of mould. "Boys will be boys," was the only words the woman offered.

Now she wasn't sure who was worse: the mother, or the son. A mother, a decent mother, would be horrified at such actions from her child. Children were supposed to respect their parents, not walk all over them via tantrums. A real mother would put her foot down instantly, not smile like her brat was the most perfect, most lovely child in all of Thedas.

People were weird.

"That is an incredibly damaging phrase. 'Boys will be boys' is no excuse for his behaviour, or indeed your own. It's this mindset that creates..." Aevella trailed off, not daring to finish that sentence. At least, not aloud. Rapists. Men that raid the poorer Dalish settlements and hoot with laughter as they ravaged the innocent women, and very often, the young girls. These people made her blood boil, hot and furious. She was fortunate enough to reside in a nice area of the city, but for the others? The ones that shared her blood and pointed ears? They were not.

Aevella suspected that the woman got the gist of what she'd meant to say from her narrowed eyes. "Creates what? Come now, do finish that sentence. Don't be shy."

"Please remove yourself and your son from the store." Aevella praised herself for keeping her tone so level, so calm. Her face was a mask that this bitch could not penetrate. After all, she had heard worse. Much worse. "And I'd be most grateful if you do not return. Either of you."

"Why would I desire to return to this hovel?" the woman sneered, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "This place is a cesspit, and run by savages at that. I'll make sure to tell everyone I know what kind of establishment this is."

"Go for it," Aevella retorted flatly. "Make my day."

The woman made sure to slam the front door behind her as she left, hurrying her son along before her. At the exact moment the door shut, Aevella sagged against the counter and sighed wearily, relieved the ordeal was over. At least, until the next fool came along.

She turned to Dorian who was finally coming out of hiding. "Thank you so much for your help (!)"

"You were doing perfectly fine on your own."

"Coward."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, bending down and plucking up Voldemort's dismembered corpse. "Did you see the size of her handbag? I feared moderate to severe brain damage if she hit me with that. Females have so many... strange items and articles on their person."

"Again, coward." Aevella sighed and crouched down, retrieving the mess from the floor; one of the books had been damaged by falling against the floor, its spine torn. Typical that of all the books on the stand, it would be the collector's edition that was damaged beyond repair. Setting it aside gingerly, she made a mental note to take it to take it to Josephine. She would most likely know someone who could at least patch it up enough to sell at a discounted rate.

Sadly, Voldemort was beyond repair. It took Dorian next to ten minutes to retrieve his head from beneath the Young Adult section. Not because it was wedged, or far back, but because he kept complaining that the dust would ruin the arm of his sleeve. "This is sea silk, Aevella," he whined, holding the length of the sleeve away from the ground with his other hand.

"I don't care, Dorian. If you had the money for this monstrosity, you can get the hell off my couch." Two months in and the cushion was starting to keep the Dorian-sized indent.

"It was on sale," he whined, almost petulantly, tossing the head over his shoulder for Aevella to catch. "Only one gold."

"Only one?! Dorian, you do realize that you only have a handful of gold left? You can't keep thinking that you're living some lavish lifestyle with that kind of coin!" Aevella fumed, throwing the pile of Harry Potter books down onto the desk a little too hard. "You left that lifestyle. And you most certainly cannot afford to fund it. Do you forget that you are staying here out of the goodness of my heart because I don't want you to be trapped in some... sham marriage at your father's behest?"

Dorian seemed to sober up immediately. "Aevella," he started gently, straightening up, "Thank you for taking me in. You didn't have to, we both know that. Do you feel that I am taking advantage of your hospitality? Because that is not the case. Far from it; you will never understand how truly grateful I am for your actions. I will repay you when I can, I swear on my moustache."

A small smile broke through Aevella's stormy expression. "That's serious, swearing on the tach."

"I wouldn't unless I was serious. I'm a very serious man."

"No you're not. Unless it concerns yourself."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You may be correct there."

Aevella rolled her eyes and gestured to the pile. "Make yourself useful and set these out again, will you? I'm going to see if I can glue Voldemort's head back on. He's coming upstairs with me."

"Kinky."

"Yes. Bald men turn me on. How did you ever guess my secret, oh great and powerful Pavus?"

"Well," Dorian started delicately, "you did date a bald man. Even when I warned you, you dove right in there. And enjoyed it, strangely enough. Did his lack of hair even bother you?"

Aevella hid her blush by choosing that moment to turn around and retrieve the Dark Lord's body. Ah, he meant Solas. "He wasn't bald everywhere," she smiled innocently.

Dorian gagged, effecting a dramatic shudder. "Fine, I won't mention him again. What did you even see in that man? He had the most terrible sense of fashion. Even worse than you!"

Her fashion sense was not that bad! Solas' hadn't been either, Aevella thought indignantly. Sure, he was a little shabby in his frumpy clothes, but he was a historian and archaeologist. He spent more time in the dirt than out of it. Why would he dress in lavish clothing, given his profession? Though she wouldn't have turned her nose up at tighter clothes. Those thighs... they were positively sinful. As were other parts of him. But those glorious thighs were long gone.

"Okay, okay." Dorian raised his hands. "Shutting up now."

The sharp sound of a phone ringing cut the air. Aevella flung herself towards the counter and behind it, snatching up the landline. "The Hidden Grove, how can I help?"

"Hey, that Aevella Lavellan?" asked a gruff voice on the other end.

Aevella nodded, then realized that the man couldn't see her. "Speaking?"

"Varric Tethras here. Calling about the-"

"Oh!" Aevella realized excitedly as she recognized the name. "You're the author of the Champion of Kirkwall!"

"Also occasional publisher. I have a guy here, a celebrated author, and we need your help. If you'd be willing, that is; see, he was meant to be signing at the Imperial Bookshelf on Wednesday, but they've sprung a leak. Your shop is the only one big enough to accommodate so many fans and close enough. There would be benefits, of course: you would have a large volume of traffic coming through your shop, plus additional sales. And we're prepared to offer you a fee of some description for your troubles. You don't need to worry about security, I have guys for that. Your shop will be perfectly safe from the fans."

Aevella just stared at the wall opposite without seeing it. Had she heard correctly? "I... excuse me? Are you serious?" Was the Varric Tethras seriously offering her such an opportunity? There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. That Fereldan bookstore at the other end of the city was larger, and just as close. So why her place? It was... Dalish in design. She didn't pull in as many people as a human bookshop did, Aevella was pained to admit it.

"Very serious. You are our last hope, strictly speaking. And Cullen doesn't want to sign at the Orlais place; bunch of assholes if I do say so myself." Varric snorted."Too picky as well. They wouldn't know quality if it danced naked in front of them. So... you in?"

"Yes! She most definitely will!" Dorian shouted from the other side of the room. Aevella in her shock hadn't even noticed that she'd left the speakerphone on from her call with Mahanon earlier.

Varric sounded genuinely relieved. "Great! I'll come by tomorrow for a chat and to go over everything with you. I'll drag Cullen along too so he can get the gist of the place. One o'clock good for you?"

"Um-"

"Yes!"

"Shut up, Dorian! Yes, Mr. Tethras. That would be perfect. If you come in through the front, I'll get to you straight away."

"You are a treasure, Miss. Lavellan. And you may have just saved my ass from a beating from my boss." The call ended and Aevella was left still holding the receiver, suffering from a case of mild shock. Very slowly, she set the phone down and let out a long, shaking breath. "Creators... what was that?"

Dorian sidled closer, eyes glinting mischievously. Normally, she would have noticed, but at that moment, Aevella didn't notice anything. She was floating. Floating on a cloud high in the sky where she could scarce breathe. "What was that? Coin, Aevella. Golden and glorious coin. And if you don't want it, I am more than happy to take it off your hands. There's the most amazing sea silk jacket that goes with this on sale too. Though it would look almost as good on you with your luscious red locks. You temptress."

A sudden thought flashed through her fuzzy and high mind. "Who is the author?" Aevella wondered aloud, brows furrowing a fraction. "Mr. Tethras didn't say, did he?"

"I seem to recall the name 'Cullen,' though-" Dorian suddenly fell silent, staring at Aevella with increasingly widening eyes. "Cullen! That Ferelden chap! You know... the one who wrote that thing about Kirkwall's rebellion? But in the medieval style. So many delicious sounding men in armour... "

What was that name... "Rutherford? Cullen Rutherford?"

"Yes!" Dorian almost shouted it. Aevella was so glad that no other customers had wandered in so soon after the last left. "Big fellow. Curly hair and beefy arms."

Aevella was perplexed. That couldn't be right! The man, the human, was famous. This place was... too tiny, insignificant for a name like Cullen Rutherford. "But he's much too large to come here! His books took off. He is a huge hit."

"Not too large, apparently," Dorian replied smugly.