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Tales From Sasham	By : NiaraAfforegate Category: +G through L > Lord of the Rings Online, The Views: 938 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is set in the universe created by Turbine, with permission from Tolkien Enterprises. I have no affiliation with either, and no such permissions. No money is made, and no ownership of LotRO, its universe, or related media is claimed.

Chapter List
- 1-Tales From Sasham
- 1
The tales from Sasham will of necessity be somewhat ex-sequitur to the main stories. They take place as scenes and sequences of note or interest within the Sasham village, where Niara's hunting lodge is located, along with the Gathering Hall and the two other households assigned to meet there. The characters living in the other two houses are those of two other players (just as the ten characters in the main tales are my own), and I write, with permission, for them as well.
This first chapter is mostly just an introduction to the Sasham village, whereas the following ones will be spotlights on particular shorts and events. Chapter length may vary wildly, depending on the snapshot being presented. As a necessity, Story Codes for these stories will be presented at the top of each chapter, rather than for the story as a whole.
Please enjoy,
-Niara
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Tales from Sasham: Kinship
The sun was bright and the air crisp and cold as Niara spread her arms wide and inhaled deeply, eyes closed for the moment. Up this high, the early morning breeze tugged gently at her, but not enough to be concerning.
The Sasham neighbourhood served the Free-People’s army as supplied housing for those who aided the cause that needed it, but over time it had become much more than that. For Niara, at least, it was home now, both by association, and by company. Oh she might have been placed anywhere, of course, but she’d seen other areas, and found nowhere that seemed as pleasant to her as this small, largely secluded vale.
She stood now on the outer parapet of the massive stone tower that rose over the area, the most prominent feature of the various ruined structures that could be seen in the area. The structure dwarfed the gathering hall that had been constructed behind it, beside the waterfall that flowed down to a wide pool, deep and clear. From her perch she could see the whole valley, with her own lodge up on the hill near the centre, and the training pavilion almost out of sight at the bottom of the hill, with the local inn beyond. From the pool by the waterfall, a river ran out, meandering northwards through the vale, before forming another wide pool, where it went underground, flowing out towards the Midgewater marshes. Her eyes drifted back to the hunting lodge on the hill, Free People’s Army flag flying out front, marking it as supplied housing, just like the majority of the homes in Sasham.
Originally it had just been a half-way house that she had been assigned, but in the space of her early years working the mercenary life, she’d grown increasingly attached to having a safe house she could come back to. Eventually she’d set aside enough to buy the home outright, and keep it as she pleased. A smile crossed her lips. She’d set it up the way she liked it, and decorated to her own tastes, but even so, she’d heard other people call the place sparse. It was functional and effective though, which made her feel comfortable.
Most of the other houses had been assigned multiple lodgers, and though Niara hadn’t needed to put up with others being assigned to her home once she’d bought it, she had invited several of her close comrades and colleagues to make use of the house as well, all the same.
It was sort of like a family, now, she reflected, though none of them ever stayed in the house permanently, and they might go for days or weeks without seeing one another. Though, admittedly, those meetings had occurred at the worst possible times on more than one occasion. Awkward scenes of being caught in compromising positions with men by returning friends crossed her mind and she smirked, blushing slightly.
“A smile and that shade of pink. How I wonder what amuses you.” A mature voice, deep and strong, with just a hint of wry amusement threaded through it. Niara stepped back from the edge and turned, nodding to Sarabien. The old man was leaning on the far side of the tower-top, near the stairs, pipe in one hand and his raven, Storm, on his shoulder. The bird watched Niara with one eye, then the other. It seemed to nuzzle its head against his ear for a moment, making small quiet sounds in its throat. Niara stretched, grinning.
“Oh, just recalling something that I’m quite sure you appreciated more than you let on, old man. What brings you back to Sasham today?” She took a moment to look him over as she answered. Sarabien was wearing an intricately embroidered robe that covered most of his body, dyed a deep, rich green with the embroidery and trimming at the edges done in gold thread.
As he lit his pipe she found herself marvelling again at how able-bodied he seemed for a man of his apparent age. He had climbed the tower to speak to her, when he might just as easily have waited for her to come down, something no other man of his age would do by choice, she was sure. She could tell that his hair had been black once, though now the traces of colour in his beard were few, and in his hair, even less. It had certainly been that way as long as she had known him, however, and more, there were old men in Bree whom she had spoken to who claimed to remember listening to his stories as small children, and described him as looking no different back then.
Once she had tried to bring up the subject of his age, carefully, but the stern and withering look she had received had permanently curtailed that line of inquiry. She kept meaning to ask Khima about it, but somehow she never remembered at the time, or never seemed to get around to it. Sarabien drew on his pipe and exhaled a small puff of smoke, seemingly unconcerned by her comment.
“Just passing through, actually. There is a matter concerning an encroachment of trolls, up north, and Khima and I have agreed to assist them. Khima was already up by Trestlebridge when we communicated, but she wanted me to pass a message along to you on my way there. We expect you’ll find yourself heading to the ruins of Ost Guruth before long. When you get there, she’d like you to seek out dwarf Unni, who tends the horses there, and let him know that the arrangement she made with him should be carried out. That was all.” He puffed on his pipe again, nodding to her once and standing up off the parapet. As he turned to leave he paused for a moment.

“Oh, one other thing, Niara. You might want to check your larder again, over at your lodge.” Niara looked at him side on for a moment as the old man grinned wryly at her, but her mind was already guessing at what he meant. It would be the hobbits again, she wagered, stocking up the shelves with all manner of perishable or spoilable foods that they assured her were ‘Simply essential’. She muttered a small curse under her breath. Sarabien’s grin turned into a broader smile and made a gesture that was somewhere between the tip of an invisible hat and an open-handed bow before turning to retreat down the stairs of the tower.
She had considered telling him that she had no plans to go anywhere near Ost Guruth currently, but as long as she had known the pair, neither Khima nor Sarabien had ever been wrong about something like that. Instead, she wondered what unforseen event would appear on her horizon soon.
When she reached the base of the tower, Niara glanced up towards the sky, gauging the time. After a moment, she turned and climbed the steps to the front door of the gathering hall behind the tower. It was a large building, intended to serve as a muster point for recruits and service providers of the Free People’s army, and there were several scattered across the vale, to meet the needs of the number of houses in the area. This hall served for three main groups of people in Sasham, though officially only two were recorded. Her own house had originally be registered as mustering at this hall, but had been struck from that association once she had purchased it for herself. Even so, she and her other colleagues who frequented the lodge would still meet on occasion with the other Free People’s recruits assigned here, and over time they had all developed a sense of familiarity and camaraderie, even if some of them were very strange indeed.
Aside from the frequenters of her own lodge, the recruits from the house on Chestnut Street also made use of the gathering hall here, though they were a group as motley as, well, as her own assortment of friends and allies, she supposed. The house was marked by its notable absence of Free People’s marker flag, though upon closer inspection Niara had seen the broken remnants of it hidden under one of the garden’s bushes. The first occupant of the house, a wanderer and a thief called Gwynneth had taken exception to the flag, and repeated attempts by the neighbourhood guards to replace or repair it had proven far too much effort before long.
Niara had worked with the woman on a number of occasions, and found her solid and reliable; unexpectedly so. She was a mover and a shanker, certainly, and as far as Niara could tell had spent her fair share of time on the wrong side of lawmen. Her speech was rough and efficient, and as much as she might smile and flirt in conversation, it had been some time before she had come to trust any of them properly. Even so, despite their outward differences, Niara suspected that the woman had a lot more in common with Satin than the two might think, and that alone made her want to trust the burglar.
No new notices for now, it seemed. She paused to take a last look over the hall's map table, then turned for the door again. As Niara walked away from the gathering hall, her eyes drifted to the house on her right. A wry smile touched her lips. This house had an additional Free-people’s flag flying in the front, and a third above the doorway. It belonged to the group that she and the others had come to refer to simply as “The Hat Brigade”. They also used the gathering hall by the waterfall, and had each proven their dedication and determination to help with an almost fervent vehemence, many times. Of all the people she had encountered fighting this war, they were, without question, the very strangest.
She had never seen any of them not wearing the large, fancy make of broad-brimmed hat that served as their group uniform, and for the most part they all worked quietly, efficiently, and with a cheerful smile, no matter the dangers or odds. Niara herself had found the leader’s seemingly boundless optimism almost unsettling at times. As well as the hats, they all seemed to operate under assumed names of some sort, most likely awarded along with the hat whenever a new member was initiated into the group, and would cheerily insist upon being called by them, no matter how often anyone asked for a real name. Some were downright peculiar, and Niara suspected that their leader, a fire-haired young woman who introduced herself only as Ultiheart, made most of them up as pet names as she went. Nevertheless, each member seemed fiercely proud of their name, their hat, and their place in the brigade.
Ultiheart herself was standing on the front lawn of their house as Niara passed, surveying the valley with a contented smile on her face. Nothing more than that: simply watching the area, and being pleased by the peaceful atmosphere. It was something she did often, and a part of Niara deeply envied the sense of calm, clean joy she seemed to be able to achieve so simply. The other woman glanced in Niara’s direction as she passed, and offered a small wave, which the hunter returned with a smile.
As she rounded the bend where the path crossed the river and hopped across the sunken patches of pathing, her mind turned to wondering what disturbance the hobbits had caused at the lodge, debating whether she would need to restock everything, or simply deal with an abundance of spoilable foodstuffs. She paused for a moment, calling a greeting to Easar, who was mixing some concoction or other at the war pavilion. He was a herbalist she had met some time ago, had saved her life in fact, and though they didn’t meet often, she always felt inclined to give him a smile and a wave. The young man looked up from his work and grinned, tipping an invisible hat to her before bending once again to his task. Niara turned back, beginning the climb up the hill that led to her lodge.
She paused for a moment as she crested the hill, stretching and looking almost wistfully at the large gathering hall only a stone fence removed from her own lodge. She wasn’t quite sure who decided which houses were assigned which halls, but this one would have been a much better pick for her house. More annoying, the building seemed unoccupied and unused. She shook her head slightly. Even so, had she not been assigned to the hall by the waterfall, she might never have worked with, or come to know the others who frequented that place, and that at least made it worth the walk.
The soft sound of humming made Niara hesitate as she approached the front door, then walk around the back to the clothes line where she found Harla, the young hobbit girl, humming to herself as she hung clothes on the lower line, strung at her height. The tune was one Niara recognised as something Khima sang occasionally. The small guardian looked around as Niara approached to lean, arms folded, against the corner of the house.

“Sarabien tells me I won’t be pleased if I inspect the larder about now.” Niara raised an eyebrow, but Harla only rolled her eyes.

“Don’t look at me. It’s Jakkin and Kellin. They both stopped by last night just as I was settling in for the evening, and once they got talking to each other they wouldn’t stop.” She pegged the last shirt and stretched, stifling yawn. “They got to arguing about something or other, and you know how they both want to be drinking when they’re talking. They went down to the cellar to pick out something, and didn’t’ come back up. They’ve been down there drinking and arguing all night! They haven’t slept! Do dwarves even have bladders?” Niara scrubbed a hand over her face, smothering a wryly amused grin as Harla glanced down the far side of the hill towards Gwynneth’s house. Gerania, one of the hobbits who lived there, had begun the short walk up towards them. She waved and called out.
“Morning there, Harla! I’ve got some morning tea up, if you’d like to join me? There’s berry-cake, just cooling now, and strong tea on the draw.” She stopped a short way from them with a wave and glanced to Niara. She was wearing a simple day dress, with her hair caught back in a scarf. “Morning to you too, miss Niara. Care to join us?” Niara raised a hand and shook her head.

“Can’t, sorry. I’ve got some misbehaving dwarves to talk to. You two enjoy yourselves.” She watched the two start back towards the other house for a moment before returning to the front of the lodge.
As she opened the door several sounds greeted her. The first was the dull murmur of dwarven voices vying back and forth from the cellar in debate, but what caught her ear more was the closer sound of a small gasp and an equally suppressed giggle. There was the sound of sudden movement, and the noise Niara had come to know as the sound of people trying to be silent. She waited, hand on the door still, and counted to ten in her head, then opened it fully and stepped into the main room of the house. It was another few moments before Caranwyn appeared from the bedroom, straightening her clothes. Her cheeks were flushed and she was slightly out of breath, but her eyes twinkled, defiant, and a small, dangerous grin was tugging at hte corner of her lips.

“Good morning, Niara. Jakkin and Kellin are at it again, if you can’t hear them already.” Niara felt the urge to comment that they clearly weren’t the only ones, but bit her tongue. Caranwyn continued as the bedroom’s other occupant, her sister Russellwen, emerged equally flushed, and somewhat more sheepish. “We were just passing through, to pick up supplies. Mayor Tenderlatch wants our help in co-ordinating some of the guard’s training routines in Bree-town.” Here Niara had to raise an eyebrow, smirking.

“Supplies, hmm? From the bedroom?” Caranwyn’s grin didn’t falter.
“Certainly. You know the hobbits keep emergency rations in a chest under the bed.”
“Hmm. Well, as long as you got what you came for.” As Niara had hoped, this comment caused the other woman’s grin break further, coming threateningly close toa giggle before she mastered herself and smoothed her features.
“Indeed, Niara. Indeed!” She glanced across to her sister, whose cheeks had become flushed with embarrassment rather than excitement now. “Are you ready to go?” Russellwen nodded once in response, but paused as they made for the door.

“Niara, ten people share this household, on and off, now. Do you think we could, ah, get a door for the bedrooms, perhaps? With a latch?” Niara smiled.
“I’ll talk to a carpenter.”
“Thank you.” She glanced back to Caranwyn. “Let’s go.”
As the two departed, Niara turned her attention to the other side of the house, and the trapdoor that led down to the cellar. She stood for a moment in front of it, trying to listen to the muffled conversation below, and judge how fiercely the pair were debating. It was always impossible to tell with dwarves though; to her they always sounded angry. Taking a breath she bent and pulled the trap up, descending into the suddenly louder discussion.

“Oh, you can use all the big words you like, Kellin. You're still wrong! Ye can’t just stand back an'—”
“Nor can your anger and stubbornness change the facts! And the facts are that—”
“Morning, Gentlemen! You are aware it’s morning, aren’t you?” Niara straddled an up-ended keg between then, hands on the rim, and glanced between the two. At first they both seemed a tad resentful at being interrupted, but it only lasted a moment.

“Oh, morning then is it? Have we been going on that long already, then, have we? Ah well fancy that!” Jakkin glanced back to Kellin and chuckled, then took a long drink from his tankard. Though not yet an old dwarf, Jakkin was far from young, and despite the full, rich black of his hair and beard, there was the crinkling of age around his eyes as he smiled. Kellin was a much younger dwarf, as far as Niara could tell, though that still likely made him notably older than her. He stood up from the short stool he’d been seated upon, resting his own empty mug on a shelf.
“It is amazing how quickly the time passes when engaged in a lively discussion. I had best get on, in that case. I had meant to meet a friend in Bree for lunch today. A good morning to you, miss Niara, and fair battles until we meet again, master Jakkin.” As they both made to leave, Niara leaned back on her perch.
“Not so fast you two. Apart from the fact that you kept poor Harla awake all night with your bickering, just how much drink have you gone through?” Here they both paused and Jakkin winced.
“Oh, did we keep the wee lass awake? Ach, that was bad of us. We had best go and apologise to her at once. Come on, Kellin.” The other dwarf nodded and they climbed the stairs further.
“She’s gone to have morning tea with Gerania over on Chestnut. Gentlemen… The drink?” She couldn’t see it from where she sat, but Niara practically heard their shoulders slump. Kellin spoke.
“Aye, Niara, there was much, much drinking. Rest assured, we’ll replace it. I know just the dwarf to sell us some excellent years, to replace the back shelf, and I know Jakkin has a supplier to his fondness for the rougher ales from the lower racks. We’ll take care of it, on our honour as dwarves.”
“That’s better. Good fortunes to you both.” She followed them out of the cellar, closing the trapdoor behind them. Jakkin and Kellin both made for the door, but paused for a moment as they left.
“Oh, Niara…” Jakkin seemed hesitant to speak, but continued after a moment. “I know that you have a great many things to keep you busy, and that the Shadow waits for no-one, but… Well, there is a festival being held up in Thorin’s Gate, for a few days, a couple of weeks from now. It’s a spring celebration, and these years of late, we’ve been extending the invitation to all of the Free Peoples to join us, not merely our own folk. It does good to share cheer, especially when it seems like there’s less of it to go around, and we both thought that, well, it might really do you some good to take a few days to simply relax, and come along with us.” Niara smiled but shook her head.
“Not really my thing, Jakkin. You might ask some of the others though.” Jakkin nodded and headed out the door, but Kellin waited a moment longer.
“Please do consider it Niara. You could enjoy yourself.”
“Alright, I’ll think about it. Don’t expect much though.”
“As you will. Good hunting to you, Niara.” He closed the door behind him as he left. She heard their voices pick up again as they walked away.

“Oh, and Kellin? You're still wrong.”
“Aye, Aye, so you say… And your saying it will never make it true.”
“Coming from you, Kellin? Hah!” Their laughter faded away into silence after a few moments.
Once they were gone, Niara returned to the cellar to do a brief inventory of the house, then dropped into the chair by the small writing table. There was a message addressed to her, in Satin’s rough hand. As she read it over, she got the urge to laugh aloud, struck both by disbelief, and a complete lack of surprise. Satin needed to do some work down in Harloeg, the swamp-lands south of Ost Guruth. He was requesting her assistance traversing the wilds there. It looked rather like she was, in fact, soon to be making a trek out into the Lone Lands. With a small smile, Niara shook her head and stood, folding the letter before tucking it into her pack. She closed the door behind her as she set out, and paused for a moment to inhale the cool mid-morning breeze. The Shadow never rested.

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Tales From Sasham