Carmella left the end of the night last night looking a bit strange. MOstly relaxed, but thoughtful, distant. Too quiet. That has been the theme of the entire day on the barge, where he might have seen her but she truly ducked away from him before he could ever get near. Now, however, camp is set up. The woods are dangerous alone, so there are few places she can go. She’s standing near one of the first, instead, a folded piece of paper in her hand. A letter, most like. She looks utterly lovely but… sad too. Lost in her own thoughts.
Galan spots her, putting one of his predatory smiles. He barely notices her introspection and walks up to her. Once again walking quietly towards her, hoping to surprise her. “We meet again, milady.” He says, standing closer then he had the day before.
Carmella almost half jumps, turning, almost ready to pull away, but it’s too late. He’s seen her. She breathes out slowly and flickers a gaze up to his handsome face, a tempered smile tightly crossing her lovely features. “Ser Galan… aye, that we do.” She steps back, drawing away to a more respectful distance, a formality in her dark eyes that wasn’t there before.
The Green Lion’s big green eyes skitter across her face in confusion, but he continues, “I was hoping we’d be able to spend some more time together tonight. I’ve begun making inquiries to my family and I’m beginning to suspect that they might be a my family might be a bit more receptive then I orignally anticipated.”
Carmella breathes out slightly, her fingertips slightly crumpling the piece of paper in her hand, wrinkling it with just how tightly she might be holding those pages. She presses her mouth, “Ser… I have not been… entirely honest with you… or with myself, truth be told. I…” Her voice catches in her throat, breath crackling a moment there. She then forces herself to straighten, shoulders out, head shaking a touch. “I… cannot do this. I should not…”
Galan shakes his head, “Cannot do what?” He asks, reaching his hands to take hers, “I doubt there’s anything you could lie to me that would make me find you any less beguiling, milady. Unless perhaps…” He smiles again, “Are you a spy from Dorne, sent to seduce the greatest knights of Westeros to your cause?”
Carmella stares up to him, going stiff as he takes her fingertips. Her hand almost jerks back away, the paper in her fingertips slightly ripping as she pulls free. She draws in a ragged sort of breath, especially as he speaks of Dorne, and she shakes her head almost violently to him. “No… no. It’s… it’s not like that, not really. I am from Westeros, very much so… but my heart is not. And you are not him. I tried to… pretend you were, tried to… move on, Tried to pretend nothing had ever happened in the past. That I could play this courtly love game as well as the next. But I cannot! I… I cannot.” She hisses. And then it’s quiet for a long few heartbeats before she finally whispers, “Last night… by the fire… I almost called you his name.”
“Who’s name?” Galan says, eyeing her sharply. “Sweetling, tell me plainly. Do I not make you happy?” He hunches slightly and brings her hands up a small bit, “Sweetling, tell me true. What is this about?”
Carmella studies his eyes quietly, though she shakes her head as he requests the name, “No… no. It is no one you need… need know. It is my matter and my heart. But you are -not- him. And as much as I tried to make you him, to pretend you were, to… change the way I feel… it is not fair for me to string you along when I’m not being honest. I am in love with someone else, Galan… not with you, no matter how hard I tried to be.” She smiles bitterly as she admits that, flat and honest.
Galan drops her hands slowly to the rest before letting go of them. “I see… you do not wish to string me along.” His voice loses a bit of his warmth, though it’s hard to tell who he’s directing it towards, “You love another man more then you loved me, appearantly.” He gives a bitter snort.
Carmella swallows back quietly, forcing a bit more strength into her shoulders and her eyes. She shakes her head a touch to him, “I don’t think I… ever… Loved you. Hells, Galan, I hardly KNOW you! We have spent a few lovely weeks in Highgarden. The tourney, the heat, the wine… I thought it’d make me forget. But now we return to King’s Landing and… ” That bittersweet smile returns, “I realize I’ve been… a fool. Something I do not enjoy being. YOu have another lady whom has your eye. POssibly your heart. It is not fair to you or her that I continue in this charade, no matter how much I enjoy your company. And I -do- enjoy it. It is not love.”
Galan growls, “Do I not have a say in what is fair for me? I was not lying before. Doryssa is…” He grasps at an explanation, “But you had my heart. I wished to make you my Dornish princess.” He says, more bitterly and less sweet, “Would you pine for this man until you die?”
Carmella winces, just a touch, a moment of shock and uncertainty in her dark, Dornish eyes. She’s speechless at those words, disbelief on her tanned face. Her fingertips crinkle the letter just a touch more, but she does not quite let it go. “...I do not know… I have hopes death would be very far off. But I have pined for him every day since he left… and I cannot imagine it disappearing. I tried… I tried to forget. Tried to pine for you, but it was his name on my lips.” She finally breathes out, too earnest, as always.
“He is gone…” Galan says stubbornly, “You know how I can tell he’s gone, because if he truely loved you, he would be /right here/ defending the claim he’s made on your heart. What has he done to deserve such devotion from this most fair of women?”
The half Dornish woman shakes her head, almost violently hard, pulling further back from him as he says those things. “NO! No. Don’t say that. You do not know him or the situation. He had to go back, he had no choice, or he would be here. We ALL know what it is to be restricted by family, by station… By our LIVES. He is no more free than you or I!” She hisses at him, turning away now, her pain turning to anger and denial.
“I know enough of him to know that he’s not here.” Galan says, his voice growing a good deal more desperate, “Are you going to remain a maid with stars in your eyes forever?”
Carmella presses her wine dark mouth tightly, the bittersweet smile growing there, beneath that tension. She blinks away a touch of moisture from her dark gaze. She seems about to say something, but she lets the words catch in her throat. A cool, sickly amused laugh. She just shakes her head, “I do not know… I will remain with Dorne in my eyes, though, and books… and swords in my mind. Not court. Not this love game.”
“Then I will no longer make you suffer through it, Milady.” Galan says, his pride having taken a grievous wound. His voice is small and parched. He turns, his Green cloak and blonde hair being the only thing facing her as he makes off in the night.
Carmella watches him go, her lips parting to protest once again, but she cannot find the words. For a heartbeat, her eyes press as tight as her lips, trying to shove away the sting behind her lids as she sinks down to her knees and fully crumples the parchment in her fingertips.