For the better part of ten seconds, the most Varric could manage was a polite but (very obviously) surprised stare. Now, it wasn't that she was an elf, or that she was Dalish, or even that she was a fan--his own editor rarely brought up things like interpretive bias. He wasn't offended but, frankly, he wasn't prepared for that level of critique.

He honestly wasn't sure if the Seeker had accused him of bias...lying, sure, but bias?

He also had to take a second and actually try to remember if Hard in Hightown had an unreliable narrator. He was pretty sure it didn't, but he might actually have to read it again to be certain.

Of course, as he thought about all this, his expression shifted to thoughtful confusion, a strained look as he attempted to remember, and then a grimace when his memory failed, all set to increasingly awkward silence.

"Okay," he said as he finished his mental gymnastics. He shot the elf a sidelong, assessing look as he bent and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. "You--are officially not allowed to read anything of mine that's older than that, and I demand you give me your name and clan in case I need a reader. Maker knows it's hard enough to get one who grasps character arcs, let alone author bias."

He passed both his pen and the paper to her and reached into his shirt to pull out his editor's card. (Sure she was with the Coterie in Kirkwall, but all editors were thieves. She was just up front about it.) He set the card down on the blank page and looked the elf dead in the eye.

"Whatever you charge per page, you're hired."