If is there anything to be said about forest witches is that there is no maximal amount of drugs one can take and this witch in particular certainly made it her life's goal to smoke all the vision inducing drugs in Westeros, maybe even Essos by the look of her permanent goofy smile and the glazed over eyes. Must be some happy visions. But Sansa made sure to come here in the early morning to ensure a somewhat fruitful conversation with the witch. And what a fruitful conversation, indeed.
"From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair!..." the witch sang. It's what she kept doing since Sansa set foot on her threshold. She tried to get her attention, to shake her, to threaten her but the only reaction she got was a hysterical laugh and another rendition of that awfully ridiculous song. And not a very good performance either. The off-note keys and that high-pitched, gravelly voice would make even the deaf clutch their ears in agony.
She probably wont find the help she needed here anyway. She hoped that the witch will be able to help her find happiness. Wasn't that what princesses and ladies from the songs did when all hope was lost? Go to the forest, find a witch, state your wish, cut your finger, say a spell and -POOF! They lived happily ever after. Easy. Except the fact that in the stories the enchanted beings weren't high on whatever drug they decided to abuse, and didn't sing their clientele's ears off. And if they did, how by The Seven did they reason with them?
Sansa sighed turning around, taking in the mess that was the witch's hut. The otherwise spacious chamber was rendered practically the size of a barrel from all the things scattered about. Thread, feathers and animal parts were hanging low from the ceiling, making Sansa duck her head in horror every time the breeze would sway them. The big round table in the center of the floor was falling under the weight of numerous glass vials - some empty, some filled with colored liquid - a cauldron with a muddy substance in it that made Sansa's nose loose all it's fine hairs, and underneath a pile of unwashed plates and stinking clothes - doesn't this woman believe in water? - she could see the golden corners of a thick book. In the corner of the hut was a makeshift bed that curiously enough seemed rather clean. At least she likes to sleep in somewhat clean sheets. Either that or the witch doesn't sleep in the bed ...or at all. The fireplace had another cauldron boiling furiously above the smouldering fire. Cupboards covered almost every wall and were filled with jars the contents of which were better of unmentioned and ... Oh, Holy Mother! Is that a human ear?
She should really go now. Who knows that when the old bat's head is filled with anything other then that bawdy song it wont be thoughts of murder and cutting little Sansa and putting her in a jar like pickles for better preservation. Winter is coming, don't you know? And old hags living alone in the forest have to eat too. On that happy thought, Sansa started to make a beeline to the exit when a sudden crash stopped her feet. She turned slowly to see that the happy fool had fallen face down on the floor and didn't seem to be moving at all. Not even the telltale signs of breath being drown. Is she dead? Good! That's what you get for wanting to cut me up and put me in small dirty jars! Although that can't really be the reason the Gods decided to punish the old lady. Sansa doubted she was even aware of her presence. But she should leave before somebody pines this death on her too.
Or not...? Among the sounds of chirping birds outside and the boiling of the cauldron, she could hear sound of faint mumbling. Sansa stepped slowly to the prone figure on the floor and bent down. She could make out some of the words now."The bear ...maiden fair ... bear"
"Are you serious?" Sansa asked irritated and then flinched as the old woman quickly stood up raised her hands toward the ceiling and started singing that awful song again with renewed enthusiasm.
"From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair!" She started spinning around, the things hanging from the ceiling catching on her hands and then further flung about the room. A foot of some poor fluffy thing landed in Sansa's face causing her to scream and to step back a couple times. A dull thud followed her shriek and she saw the witch on the floor again, this time face up, eyes closed and the steady rise and fall of her chest told Sansa that the witch finally fell asleep. The loud snore that came from her throat next further confirmed that.
What to do now? Leave? But the crazy was asleep and sleep was known for clearing one's head and Sansa was determined to get what she came here for. Or not that determined. If she saw as much as a nail near any part of her body that wasn't her finger with the intention to cut she will be on her horse and riding for Winterfell faster then the witch could blink. So what to do? Snoop around? Although Petyr would agree, snooping would require touching and she is not going to, even with gloves on.
She never thought that she would find herself in this situation; going to beg help from the obviously mentally ill. Although she could argue that this was the most exciting thing she did in a long time. Her betrothal to Ramsay was going well. Petyr said he had fallen for her though she sometimes wonders if he is not just playing his part and hides his true feelings. She senses that from him -whenever he is with her, playing the dutiful husband-to-be- a constant feeling of fakeness. That she could relate with. King's Landing has left her mark on her and fake is all she is allowed, taught by Petyr to be. She doesn't want that anymore. She wants happiness, and by The Seven, happiness can't come fast enough.
Pacing holes in the limited space allowed by all the clutter, the golden corners of the book beneath the dirty clothing caught her eye. She looked at the sleeping figure on the floor - the old lady didn't move an inch - and lightly touched the cover before gripping it tightly and pulling the book out. It looked like an old grimoire, with golden letters giving the title of the book on a background of pure black leather. She didn't understand the language and she could hardly guess what part of the world it come from.
The pages were littered with what looked like runes that Sansa couldn't assign any meaning to. There was the occasional picture of women stirring over a cauldron or sometimes numbers that she took to mean the quantity of each ingredient. It was all quite fascinating actually.
The last page though was in the common tongue. Strange. And stranger still there was no title for the potion, or any description to go with it like the others seem to have. Just dull instructions for its creation. Dull instructions that seemed quite easy to follow and she was a bit bored. Sansa looked at the witch on the floor and saw the witch passed out still. She wouldn't even know. And the ingredients were easy to come by...
It didn't even register to her as hands fished a relatively clean pot from the table or even when she left for the nearby stream to fill it with water then return to replace the already boiling cauldron with her half filled pot. When it started to boil she realized she was cutting a great leaf in fine, long ribbons. What am I even doing? What is this for? And then she remembered: it was for the potion. Yes. She knew for sure that it will bring her happiness. Yes. She needs to finish this... the shredded leaf first then a long lock of hair, in a five strand braid, five drops of blood... The tail of a mouse? From where? Oh. That jar over there. Perfect. Dove's wings, a flightless bird's feather, stag's antlers reduced to powder, one inch of human skin...
When Sansa came to again she was holding in her hands a glass filled with a liquid of the most pretty shade of pink she ever saw, the color swirling in hypnotising circles. All she had to do now was drink it. Yes. this is what she waited for all her life, her chance at happiness. She took the glass to her lips. Distantly she herd the high-pitched, gravelly voice of the witch telling her to stop. But it didn't matter to Sansa she slowly took a sip, and then downed the whole thing.