"I gotta ask you a question." Varric began one night around the campfire. He leaned the obliging rock, cradling his head in his hands.
Adaar held up a finger for him to wait and after finishing the page, she closed her tome and gave him her undivided attention. "What do you need, Varric."
"That tattoo on the back of your neck. There has to be a story."
Adaar's hand grazed the block of script on the back of her neck and huffed a small chuckle. There was a story behind it but she was none to eager to share it- especially with Varric who would spread the story throughout Skyhold, no doubt.
"Is that a blush, my dear Inquisitor?" Dorian observed, with a sly wink. "A memento of a love long lost? A unwanted reminder of a foolish, youthful indiscretion?"
Varric laughed and leaned forward. "Now you have to tell the story, Po. Nobody blushes up to their horns without a good story to go with it."
"Aw, Varric, that's cute that you assume I have feelings." Adaar responded dryly. She set her tome off to the side, a sign that she was fully attending to the conversation at hand.
Varric shrugged. "What can I say? I'm an optimist."
"As a matter of fact," Adaar began with her usual imperious air, "The tattoo is a little bit of both lost love and foolish youthful indiscretion. I joined the Valo-Kaas when I was sixteen. It was the first time I was away from my parents and the circuit. And for the first time, I wasn't expected to look a certain way for festival performances. So, yeah, I was drunk on freedom as only the very young can be.."
She paused and fixed the lock of hair that always flopped over her eyes. She didn't relish sharing that she grew up with in a traveling mummer troop, mixed with Qunari and elf Tal-Vasoth. Her parents were not suited for a martial life in the slightest. The Tamassarin and the Fisherman and of course her, the Fire Dancer. She didn't relish a life of being a side show curiosity as she grew older. Luckily, they were connected enough to the Valo-Kaas. Regardless, with her growing role as Inquisitor, she soon forgot who she let privy to that particular nugget of information. When her companions didn't react with a barrage of questions, she knew she could continue.
"And then there was Kaariis. Kaariis is a poet- and not a very good one- but stupid sixteen year old me couldn't tell the difference. We started passing time after jobs and after a particularly tough one- undead- and a whole bottle of Dragon Piss…Kaariis convinced me to get a tattoo one of his sonnets."
Over the laughter, she unraveled her scarf so that the entire piece was visible and turned so that Dorian could inspect it.
"It's sideways." He observed between laughs.
"Tattooer also got into the Dragon Piss."
"It's not even readable."
She bristled under their scrutiny and in an attempt to recover her dignity, proclaimed. "It's Qunlat. And for your information sixteen-year-old me found it the height of romance. It talks about undying love and devotion and-"
She paused as Iron Bull walked past, on his way back from first watch. He tilted his head and briefly read the tattoo. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he announced, "Yeah, Boss, that's not a love poem. It's a recipe for chocolate mousse."