(121-04-24) Swimmingly
Summary: In which Eomer and Johanna beat the heat.
Date: April 24, 2014
Related: None, directly

It is yet another warm and drizzling afternoon at the garden isle manse, hot and sticky enough to make the day a generally unpleasant one. Johanna can be found in that great hall, draped elegantly — in her mind, anyway, it might look a bit more like a slump — in one of the chairs as she whips a hand fan back and forth to try and stur the humid air. A goblet half empty goblet of what was once chilled wine sits beside her, but she ignores it now that it's become somewhat less refreshing and closer to tepid.

Well, bleh. Who wants to be out and about in such weather, rather than floating in a lake or something. But duty (and debt) calls, and Eomer is ever dutiful… well, no. He's not, but he is in debt and feeling fairly happy with his bruise-free face, which is nearly as good. He's left his coat and scarf behind, today, and his sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows. He still uses a kerchief to wipe at his brow as he steps into the great hall. "Do you know what we need?" he proposes by way of greeting. "Cold wine, fresh from the cellar. I bet it would restore the curl to your hair, my lady."

"I had some brought up, but it's warm now," Johanna complaints as she cuts the fan through the air back and forth, causing the few loose curls to sway. "I should have them bring more." She motions to the table, to the seats near her, "Make yourself comfortable." The fan stops after a moment, lips quirking into a smile. "Are you saying that my hair is flat?"

"Yes they should," Eomer agrees, his voice a touch scandalized that fresh, frigid wine hasn't simply appeared out of the ether. He sits down with a small huff and another swipe at his brow. "Damn this heat," he sighs, "If I wanted to bake like the Dornish, I would have gone to Dorne." He smiles softly and holds up a hand as if to ward away Johanna's disapproval. "I would never say such a thing, my lady. I only say that we all feel the heat. In every bit of our person." Even hair.

Johanna's blue eyes narrow on him skeptically, but it doesn't appear to truly annoy her. Or if it does, it's well hidden. After a moment she smiles and lifts a hand to beckon over one of the servants. "Chilled wine. Some of the gold this time, I've had enough of the red." With that done, she looks back to Eomer. "And how have you been, Ser?"

"Ah, you know me, Lady Johanna," Eomer replies, stretching out his legs and offering a small grin for her use of his dubiously-gained title. "I keep my head above water, even when it's sweltering and I'd rather I was under it."

"I would suggest that you should sink, but I think I fear what you might do if you did," Johanna points out, offering a grin at him in return. With the servant gone, and the exceptionally guards busily looking looking up at the ceilings, she plucks a letter from the chair beside her and slides it across the table to him. "So it's best that you just keep afloat as you do."

"Haunt you foreeeeever," Eomer agrees, holding up his hands so he can wiggle his fingers in spooky fashion. "Especially in the bath." One hand reaches and quietly accepts the letter, tucking it into the pocket of his jerkin.

"You would do that, wouldn't you?" asks Johanna, laughing again. "You would pop up at the worst times, too, I imagine. The worst and likely least appropriate times." She doesn't say a word about the note that was passed, but does give a slight nod as it's tucked away.

"What fun would it be to haunt anybody if I couldn't," Eomer agrees with a laugh, "so think carefully on it if you should ever wish me ill. My misfortune may become yours, oooooh." More spooky fingers!

Johanna laughs and holds up both hands, as though to try and physically fend off this threat of mystical misfortune. "I surrender, I surrender. I promise not to wish you any ill, if only for that reason."

"Whew," Eomer breathes out, pressing a hand to his chest. "Your fondness… or, at least, your lack of apathy… warms the very cockles of my heart, Lady Johanna."

"Oh, I am terribly fond of you, Eomer," Johanna assures him with a grin that edges nearer playful. "I would never wish to see anything terrible happen to you, it's just that I hope that even more if your demise means my being haunted."

"Why Lady Johanna," Eomer murmurs, lowering his gaze and peering up through his lashes like a maid might. "I think you may cause me to blush with all of this kindness." His head turns a little, looking hopefully towards the doorway where a servant ought to eventually appear with fresh, icy wine.

"Eomer, you don't blush," Johanna points out as she sits back in her chair, laughing and twitching the fan that had since gone still. The servant should be back, but apparently something is holding them up. It's Garden Isle, so who knows what.

"Only because I'm tan," Eomer argues around a lazy smile, "and generally unkempt." He lifts a hand to rub idly at his bristly cheek. "Otherwise, I'd blush near constantly."

"Like a maiden," Johanna adds, just for her own amusement as she watches him with bright, mirth filled eyes. "As you are ever so sweet and innocent a thing."

Eomer flutters is lashes and ducks his head, just as a maiden might. "I am, I am. Such a rare gem in this jaded world of ours."

"Oh, you most certainly are," Johanna goes on with the joke, trying very hard not to laugh again, and largely failing. "And so fair to look upon too, it's a wonder that you're still unmarried Eomer. You must have a string of— er," she might have been about to say 'Garvins' and stopped herself, "People flocking to court you."

"Ah, well," Eomer demures with a small flick of one hand to dismiss such gallant compliments. "I suppose I have my share of beautious female suitors looking to win my hand, but I confess, none has yet captured my heart."

"I imagine you must," Johanna remarks, grin returning as she considers him, though the grin dims somewhat as the maid finally comes back with a bottle of wine that is cold as you're going to find during this hot weather, and a pair of goblets. "Ah, here we go."

Eomer reaches for the bottle and the goblets, though he at least fills up Johanna's first before his own. He takes a swallow, closing his eyes and sighing softly. "Mmm, that's far better. Thank you, my lady, for your gracious hospitality."

Once her wine is poured, Johanna picks up the goblet with a small nod towards Eomer, and then she takes a large drink of the cooler wine. "You're welcome. Gods but it is stuffy today, this time of year is just awful. I will be happy in a few months when it cools again."

"Well, there's always swimming," Eomer offers. "Feels wonderful in this sort of weather. Nothing better than sinking up to your neck in cold water when the whole town's gone hot."

"I should like to swim," Johanna admits with a sigh. "Some cold creek or pond where you can sit and relax, get some relief from the horrid heat. I haven't done that in quite a while."

Eomer glances around before noting, with a small grin, "Why don't we, then?"

"Do you know of a place?" asks Johanna, brows creeping upward, curious. "I don't yet, but I've only been here a short while so I've yet to discover all of those lovely, hidden places."

"Ah, Lady Johanna," Eomer says with a soft laugh, "of course I know of a place."

"Of course you do," Johanna laughs again, shaking her head. "Of course you do, between you," her voice lowers quite a bit as she speaks, "and our mutual friend, I don't expect there isn't anything that can't be found in this city."

Eomer winks and touches the side of his nose before draining his goblet of quickly warming wine. "Shall we, then?"

"Oh, I suppose," Johanna tries to sound reluctant, but the prospect of being somewhere more comfortable is entirely too appealing to be passed up. "Let me go get a few things, and then we can be on our way." She brings her goblet with her as she turns to hurry up the stairs now.

So Eomer takes the opportunity to, of course, fill up and drain his glass, again. What? It's just going to get warm if he doesn't.

And he has plenty of time to do that, it's a number of minutes before Johanna returns with a basket slung over one arm, and wearing a different dress than she was earlier. "Ready to go?"

"Ready," Eomer agrees, picking up the bottle and falling into step beside Johanna. "Basket. Intriguing." He considers, fingers tapping on the neck of the bottle. "Picnic lunch?"

"No," Johanna replies with a laugh, shaking her head. "Not that I would be opposed to it, but if we're going out beyond the city, I may as well bring this in case I find anything useful to bring back with me. All sorts of things grow wild."

"Mmmm, or turn wild," Eomer agrees with a wink as they head out of the manse and down along the river. "What got you interested in herbs and such?"

"Terrible," Johanna tells Eomer with a momentary grin, leading the way to the door and then out. "I wanted to make a magic potion," she tells him. "I can't even recall what the potion was meant to do, something about dreams, it was in some storybook that I'd read as a child and I was set on making it. It didn't go quite as expected, but it led me to where I am now."

"Oh dear," Eomer laughs. "What happened? Did someone become sick? Were there hallucinations?" He takes her down one of the roads, letting it follow the river until the path is a dirt one, rather than cobbled and it leads them to the fields outside of Oldstone.

"No, nothing so exciting as all that," Johanna admits, shaking her head as she follows alongside him. "I wound up burning myself because I made it in secret, when I shouldn't have been, and got into trouble."

"How did you manage to burn yourself with herbs?" Eomer asks, one brow quirking upwards. "Or, I suppose to had to build a fire to brew them or whatnot."

"Boiling them in a pot," Johanna explains, glancing at him with a smirk. "The herbs on their own were harmless, it was all the damnable water I spilled on myself that did me in. The Maester started asking me why I'd done it, and I explained to him what I was hoping to do, and that led to a discussion of herbs and their actual uses," she makes a vague gesture here. "He may have regretted it, once I was healed I wouldn't leave him alone, and didn't for more than ten years. He was probably relieved to see the back of me."

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Eomer replies. "Maesters appreciate beauty wherever they find it, even in inquisitve young women with burnt fingers. Here, just down this little hill, here." The river dips and then, in the small valley, widens into a pool, perfect for swimming, before flowing on its way to the sea.

"My feet, actually," Johanna explains, making a gesture toward the ground. "A bit on my legs too, but it was worst on the top of one foot. I learned my lesson that day." She follows him down the path and to that pool, smiling at him once they arrive. "This is a lovely place, I'm so glad you knew about it. I'd never have found it on my own."

"But now you'll be able to, I expect, and it's a wonderful place to be able to find," Eomer agrees, walking across the grassy bank and over to the pool. He drops into a sit so he can begin tugging off his boots. "Poor foot. I'm glad it recovered."

"I will," Johanna agrees as she moves to sit on the ground beside him, taking off her slipers, heavier and leather, the sort that are best for walking in. "It healed fine, I've only a bit of a scar there now."

"Aww," Eomer tuts for even the idea of a scar. He shrugs out of his jerkin, leaving his lighter shirt on for modesty's sake. Lady present, and all.

"I know, it's a tragedy," Johanna jests as she gets to her feet again. The gown she wears is a sort that wraps around and ties discreetly in the front, easy to remove, and even easier to put back on without the help of a maid, leaving her in a shift, which she keeps on. For modesty's sake.

Once Johanna gets down to her shift, Eomer deems it acceptable to kick out of his trousers, leaving him in his skivvies which are, well, modest enough. He stands, rolls his neck and then drives into the water with a satisfying splash. the water is calm, clear, and delightfully brisk, chasing the heat of the day from one's skin and replacing it with a surprising shiver.

Johanna doesn't go so far as to dive, that would be unladylike, and also she'd get her hair wet. With hair as curly as hers can get, you just don't do that unless you've got two maids present with combs at the ready. Instead she wades into the water carefully, which only makes the shocking change from hot air to cold water all the more brutal, as it's gradual, rather than all at once.

Eomer has a much easier hairstyle and he surface with a laugh, giving his soggy head a shake as if he were some sort of dog. "Oh," he gasps, moving to float on his back. "Wonderful. Are you feeling restored, my lady?"

Johanna is only just past her waist in the water by the time he surfaces, pausing at that point to look up at the sorry sort of knight. "Definitely much less hot than I was a minute ago," she assures him, giving the sort of cleched-teeth grin that suggests she's trying to keep them from chattering. Still, she doesn't complain.

"Just dunk in," Eomer advises, wiping water from his face. "Otherwise it's a slow, cold creep and that's never pleasant."

Johanna draws a deep breath and nods slightly, screwing up her face as she drops suddely, yelping a little as the water is abruptly up to her neck. "So cold," she mutters, but keeps there at that height as she tries to become accustom to the chilly water.

"I know," Eomer agrees, though the words sound more gleeful than apologetic. "We'll stay in here a little longer, then climb out and let the sun dry us, and what felt so hot and unpleasant before will be suddenly warm and welcome." His eyes close as small kicks push him towards the middle of the lake. "It's all perspective, my lady."

"Yes, I imagine it will," Johanna's teeth clack together a little as she sits shivering in the water, but she doesn't complain. Not after being so hot and miserable earlier, cold and shivering appears to be the preferable alternative right now. "How did you meet our mutual friend?" she asks, and even out here, she doesn't use his name.

"Hmm?" Eomer asks. "Oh. Gambling. Where else?"

"Of course," Johanna replies, only able to keep beneath the surface for so long before she rises, shift clinging interestingly to her figure now that it's wet. "I should have guessed."

"You should have," Eomer agrees before sinking under the water one more time. He then swims for shore, climbing out and offering Johanna a hand. Perhaps just to get a better look at the way that shift clings. "I suppose we're both just gentlement who understand discretion."

"Yes, I imagine that you both are," Johanna replies, taking hold of the hand and he offers and climbing out of the water, that shift continuing to cling, as wet fabric is wont to do. She is certainly a girl with curves, natural, rather than corset driven.

And Eomer, it seems, is a man who can appreciate natural curves, though he doesn't linger overlong on the display. Courtesy, you know. His own shirt and shorts hug his figure, but it's a considerably less exciting one. He settles on the grass in the sunlight, closing his eyes and tipping his face up to the sun. "How did you come to meet our mutual friend?" he queries.

"A tavern," Johanna answers as she settles in the grass beside Eomer, careful to leave enough distance between them that it doesn't appear too inappropriate. "We sat near one another and began talking, I enjoyed his company, and he mine. It's been an interesting friendship, that is for certain."

"I should frequent more taverns, if that is where such lovely friends can best be made," Eomer replies with a soft sigh.

"I imagine they are far easier made at taverns, than gambling tables," Johanna points out, laughing as she turns her face to the sun, eyes closing. "Less likely to try and stab you for your winnings, too."

"Oh, you well meaning and proper folk have no idea," Eomer laughs. "There are plenty of games of chance that happen in taverns and plenty of jovial, agreeable people at gambling tables. Though, I grant you, most would not look so fine in a shift as you do, my lady. Really, the stabbings are quite few and far between."

"Don't we?" asks Johanna as she turns her head, one arm flung up to block the sun from her eyes as she squints at him. "And what does that make you, Eomer? Ill meaning folk?"

"Worldly," Eomer replies, "and perhaps a little garish." He tucks his hands behind his head and stretches his legs out. "I recommend it."


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