Dandelions represent the wishes we hold onto and healing.
The flowers are used in herbalism for numerous cures.
The seed head is what we use to communicate our hope for a wish come true.
Eyes squeezed shut and seeds spread throughout the air with a gentle huff of breath.
If one had asked Sigarda Tabris what she imagined her life to be like, her answer wouldn't involve Grey Wardens nor Darkspawn or any of the other adventures she had encountered along the way. At minimum all she could hope for was a good husband and perhaps a nice but simple life whether it be in Denerim or some other alienage. However, the best thing she could ever hope for was leaving the alienages behind all together. The likelihood of that was slim to none. Even if she did leave there was always the lingering fact that she was an elf and humans covered just about every corner of Thedas. There were rumors and stories of how some would run off into the forests to join the Dalish. That was a whimsical, albeit somewhat tempting, notion. Yet she's also heard how the Dalish didn't even see them as real elves – flat ears the term was. No matter what there was always stigma she would carry simply for what she was.
One of her earliest memories is from when she was a child before she knew how tragic life really could be. Spring was coming to an end and summer was nearly upon them. The three cousins run about, weaving past others in their path with laughter filling the air. Sigarda leads the pack with dark strawberry-blonde ringlets bouncing with each step and large smile spread across her freckled face. She comes to an abrupt halt a few yards from the gate that separates their world and the world outside. Bright blue eyes stare down at the ground in awe.
Shianni, who had been almost right behind her, nearly collides into the other girl when she comes to a stop. Soris on the other hand, had been trailing behind the two and stumbles a bit as he stands inbetween his cousins.
"Why did you stop?" she asks, brows furrowing.
Sigarda points at the plants that are poking out between the cobblestones. The tops of them looked like little balls of fluff and the stems were slender and tall. "It's some of those puff plants. I've only seen them a couple of times."
"Dandelions! I can't believe you didn't know." Shianni giggles. She bends down to pluck one of the plants. "What you do is pick it, take a deep breath, close your eyes and then blow on it like you're blowing out a candle! And when you do make a wish!"
Soris and Sigarda exchange a look before silently staring at her.
"Watch." And so Shianni gave a demonstration. Eyes closed, deep breath in and then the fluffy seeds disperse through the air. The other two watch in awe and wonder. They each pick a dandelion of their own, mimicking what their cousin did.
"What did you guys wish for?" Soris asks.
"Can't tell you otherwise it won't come true." Shianni replies quickly before Sigarda could give her own answer.
And so that started a yearly tradition for Sigarda. Every summer she'd find a dandelion and make a wish. Each year that wish evolved. It started out with just wanting everyone to be happy. The older she got the more desperate her wishes became. Some were filled with spite. The year her mother died she made the wish that whoever killed her along with Soris' parents would die a slow, agony and suffering filled dead. The last wish she ever made was for her to have a way out of the alienage. Low and behold the following year is when her father was able to secure her a rather nice match for an arranged marriage. She wouldn't meet him until their wedding day, but she had heard that he came from a good family in Highever. He's an accomplished blacksmith supposedly. The Highever wasn't too bad of a place to live from what some had said; better than a few of the alienages atleast. She prayed that after the wedding they could just move there. Maybe a fresh start. She knew deep down though that in some regards it didn't matter what alienage one lived in, life would always be unfair especially if humans had any say in it.
The fated day comes and surprisingly her groom is more than she could have hoped for. Handsome. Kind. She barely got to know him, yet he really was a dream come true. That fact became more painful when she learns it was he that spoke up after she and her wedding party were taken by the arl's son. It was he who led the rescue effort. Nelaros had not deserved the fate he received. His death had hurt just as much as any of the others - like a knife straight to her heart. And it only served to fuel her hatred and unbridled anger.
In the end her gets what she wanted. She stands before the elder and the Grey Warden with dried blood splatters on her skin and the wedding dress she had lovingly made nearly completely dyed in crimson. The flower crown atop her head is in as much of a pitiful state as she is. Nelaros' wedding ring rests on her right ring finger. It's the same hand in which she holds her murder weapon - a large longsword. Despite the situation she stands there proudly. For a moment she considers just running off into the wilds. Why not at point? There was nothing left. Her life ruined in the matter of one day. She doesn't get the opportunity to. Before she can act on any options she may have the city guard arrives to declare her a prisoner, saying she'll rot in the dungeons till the Arl gets back. Proudly she declares she was the only culprit and takes all the credit. She's debating on if she could go down with a fight. Maybe slice a few of their heads off.
"I invoke the right of conscription." The Grey Warden says suddenly.
That shakes Sigarda from her thoughts. Head whips around to face him with eyes wide. She can't believe the audacity! In truth she should be relieved. Afterall, he's possibly just saved her from the gallows. Not only that but it means she finally gets to leave the alienage. Her rages flares up like a newly lit fire when he makes the comment about how he needed a Grey Warden and that he found one. It's like a slap in the face especially when she remembers Soris saying it was this man that armed him and Nelaros before their rescue mission. If the thought lingered too long, she'd swear that it was all just a ploy.
In the wake of whatever displeased or even aggrieved expression she gives him, Duncan's is soft though stern. "Say your goodbyes. We must leave as soon as possible."
And so she does. Sigarda doesn't loiter for fear she might commit another foolish act and ruin her life further. There's a sudden feeling of sadness that overtakes her heart as she follows beside Duncan through the gates. She spares a glance back over her shoulder and for the briefest moment she harbors the feeling of regret. Not for what she did to Vaughn or how she handled the situation. But for the sheer fact that perhaps she should have been a bit more careful when making her wishes.
Author's Note:
My newest series are drabbles that are going to be focused on what I consider my canon Hero of Ferelden/Grey Warden. It's based off Floriography or the Language of Flowers. Back in the Victorian times flowers were a way to expression one's thoughts and emotions. Many plants were given a particular meaning to convey this. I'm picking out certain flowers or plants to use their meanings as prompts. However, more than likely the plant/flower itself that's used as a prompt will not be mentioned in the story. Hopefully that makes sense? :')
Anyways I hope you enjoy!