Samwise sat on his campbed, fidgeting with the strings of his trousers, unable to sleep. The unblooded Arryn who was more peacock than falcon might have felt the immense strain of his father's expectation and disappointment all his life, but that did nothing to prepare him for real troubles. Every night he would watch the men he had killed die again, spluttering their last, tough men begging or tougher ones saying nothing at all. He saw his friends fall, and not just those who he had seen die. Some still walked. He saw his sister die again and again. She was pushed in that hall away from home. Sometimes she was there one the battlefield with him and would suddenly start choking. Sometimes he himself would stab an enemy soldier only to have their helmet fall to reveal her face.
Not last night. Last night he had dreamed of warm sweet things with a woman's body pressed against him. This one, Minisa, a whore following the camp, had proven herself rather good at her job. A night with her had made him forget all the terrors that came to him in the night. Normally he preferred to charm those of higher birth into his bed, finding more thrill in spoiling another man's future wife. So many of them came to him hardly inexperienced, which gave him no delusions that few men actually received the perfect virgins they wanted for a wife. They must know too, as he would when he married the Baratheon girl for whom he had been bound to fight in the damned war. Not that he wouldn't have gone anyway for the glory - it was simply a convenient person to place blame on.
Without warning last night's whore stepped into his tent. He rose with a look somewhere between a smile and a smirk, moving closer to her. A gift of Littlefinger, she had said, and he had cared very little about anything except the pleasure she could give him. Apparently the small man had sent her to this camp for some reason or another, most likely to line his pockets. Sam hadn't realised he'd made enough of an impression on Littlefinger during their brief meeting to warrant a gift. He wasn't exactly going to turn it down. Clearly he was more charming and cunning than he had realised, and the other man must want to impress the future Lord of the Vale as he himself was from those parts. Sam would one day be a very important person indeed, and in his eyes he saw nothing wrong with how he presented himself. Why shouldn't everyone want to be his friend? He did not think all his encounters with Minisa would be free - the first a hook to catch him perhaps, and one that had worked - but it was certainly worth the expense for some fun and the chance to forget his troubles. Perhaps she had enjoyed last night so much she was back for more. He wouldn't be surprised, he had been told he was rather good.
The look on her face made him hesitate. She did not seem as though she was to get straight to business as she had the previous night. What was the point, then? He frowned, studying her face carefully. "What is it?" he said, irritated. "I'll pay, don't you worry. You look awfully troubled, it doesn't become your face," he spoke as rudely as he liked, placing little value on a bastard whore's feelings. They were specks in comparison to himself. He hoped she was not trying to be talkative, to make him open up emotionally or anything. Had he done something wrong to her? He didn't think he'd harmed her in any way. Hadn't given her any reason to complain. There was no way she would come to him with any troubles either, surely, though he doubted she knew many others in the camp yet. He stepped back with a sigh. "All right, tell me why you are here. I didn't send for you," he said, somewhat defeated.