Author's Note:

This is it, my dear readers. This is the final chapter. This story had quite a turbulent history; and here is the well-deserved happy ending for it. If you enjoy my writing, check out the links to my other media under the chapter, and please consider supporting me on P.A.T.R.E.O.N.

Thank you for reading!

Yours truly,


It was ten years after his unexpected adventure, which had to do with a mountain, a dragon, and many others perils, when Mister Bilbo Baggins received the first letter from Lady Werna of Erebor, the Queen Under the Mountain. The letter was simple and touching; and from the first words he could hear it in his head spoken in her voice that he remembered so well.

Bilbo wasn't able to get through the first three paragraphs without having to put it down and rush to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The kettle boiled, he took it off the stove; and then he stood, his unseeing eyes fixed on the wall above the table; and then he had to put the kettle back on to warm it up again.

She told him that life was peaceful and prosperous in Erebor. She told him of each member of the company: who stayed in Erebor, who married, who fathered children.

She herself was now a mother, of the Heir of the Line of Durin - Thror, son of Thorin, son of Thrain. She told him of her new family in the sober joyous tone that he could recall clearly, which didn't sound patronising or boasting.

She also asked of Bilbo himself; and finally, she expressed the hope he would write to her if such were his desire.

And he did.

Over the years, Bilbo and Werna exchanged many letters - until one day a knock came to his door. It was quite late in the evening; and a Wednesday - not quite a day a respectable Hobbit would expect guests.

Bilbo tightened the belt of his robe, and jerked the door open.

And once again, decades after the first time, his house was invaded by Dwarves! Feet stomped; cloaks were being pulled off; loud voices greeted; strong arms hugged, almost crushing his bones. There were pats on the back; questions that didn't seem to require answers; and more and more noise and commotion - and Bilbo felt almost faint.

Balin was already inside, telling everyone to stop crowding the parlour. Dwalin was inquiring about supper. Bofur was loudly pouring news onto Bilbo, who just kept looking between familiar faces. Bifur and Bombur were hanging their cloakes. And then Thorin walked in, a soft smile on his face. And Werna followed, pushing the hood off her face, just as all those years ago.

Bilbo froze, and some weapons and garments lay into his arms that he outstretched without thinking - and he just could not stop staring at a small boy who stepped from behind Thorin and gave the Hobbit a small ceremonial bow.

"Evening, Master Baggins," Thorin's voice came; and Bilbo, shaken out of his stupor, started greeting his guests, and inviting them in, and smiling from ear to ear.

"Bilbo, my dear," Werna stepped ahead; and her hand lay on the Hobbit's shoulder. "I know we have planned this visit for the Spring, but the company just couldn't wait." She smiled to him; and he could not tear his eyes off her slightly flushed face. "And this is Thror."

The boy looked exactly like his father - same dark locks, and bright blue eyes. Even the cantankerous expression was a precise replica of his father's.

Bilbo gave the boy a decorous bow.

"Welcome to Shire, Master Thror."

After many hours - after the dinner, and coffee, and smoking, and of course all the conversation - Bilbo finally fell in his armchair in front of the fireplace. Just as last time, the Dwarves were wandering his house; Bombur and Thorin were talking somewhere in one of the smaller parlours, Bilbo could hear their low voices; Bifur was still in the kitchen, clanking with some dishes.

"Thror's finally asleep," Werna's soft voice came from behind his chair; and then she stepped around, and took the seat in front of him. "What a day he's had!" She laughed softly. "His first long journey, all the sights, and finally, meeting the renown hero of the Quest for Erebor!"

Bilbo gave her a confused look; and she laughed harder. "You, my dear Hobbit! He'd heard so much about you! The adventures of Bilbo Baggins of the Bag-end have always been his favourite bedtime stories."

"Well… that is… most unexpected," Bbo muttered, and his nose twitched in unease. "Shouldn't it be… the story of Thorin Oakenshield, and his company, the renown Dwarven warriors, reclaiming their homeland?"

She leaned back in the chair, and stretched her legs in front of her. She'd changed little. There was silver in the small curls around her face now, not just on the nape; and the expression of her face was softer, unburdened now - but it was the same beautiful woman who had arrived at his doorstep as the fourteenth Dwarf that evening.

She smiled wider.

"I've always found that a story of a man who was thrown into an adventure, almost against his will; who overcame his fears out of loyalty and compassion, to people of a different race, which had less than him, and sometimes were lesser men than him…" He saw her eyes shine softly. "A man who did not share their beliefs, but who stood by them nonetheless… Who showed mercy to his adversaries, and love to his friends… I truly believe that it is a much more important story to tell to our children."

Bilbo felt his throat constrict, and he looked away, to hide the tears in his eyes.

"And Thror does love the part when you had a potato peel bobbing in your hair when you came out of the garbage chute in Mirkwood," she added, and he chuckled.

Their eyes met, and he smiled back to her.

"I hope some day you will come to visit the Mountain you helped to return, my friend," she said; and he nodded.

"Perhaps, one day..."

"Perhaps, with children of your own?" she said softly, and he gave her a pointed side glance. She laughed and lifted her hands in a feigned defensiveness. "I am not trying to compel you, my dear Bilbo. But I truly believe you would make a wonderful husband and a father."

"Perhaps, one day," Bilbo muttered, just to answer something.

When he had returned home and settled back in his house - after his somewhat tarnished name and most of his possessions had been returned to him - he once again found himself a true believer into the merits of bachelor existence.

They sat in silence and smoked; and then she gave out a small chuckle.

"What is it?" he asked, and she threw him an impish glance.

"I remembered the handkerchief trouble. At the very beginning of our journey, do you recall?" Bilbo laughed goodnaturedly.

"Ah yes, I truly thought at that time that I just could not continue without it!" he exclaimed, as if undignified; and she joined in his frolics. "Little did I know that I would have to face spider webs; barrels of fish; and the underbelly of the Lake Town later!"

He continued jesting, while thinking of her handkerchief - the one she'd given him then to save his face - safely tucked in the top drawer of his wardrobe, among his ties and cravats. He had the habit of taking it out, ever so often, to brush his fingers to the lilac branch embroidered on its corner.

"I still can't stand the taste of fish," she said, wrinkling her nose, laughing. "When we visit King Bain, they serve it every time!"

"Bain? The boy?" Bilbo exclaimed, and then remembered that indeed Bain, son of Bard would be a man these days.

"Aye. He ascended on the throne of Dale three years ago. We had danced so much at his wedding!" She smiled at her memories. "Oh, Bilbo! You truly should visit!"

"I will, I will," he promised. "But it is such a long journey..." he added somewhat timidly.

"Aye, it is; but it would feel so much shorter in a good company. A nice respectable Hobbit maiden, perhaps," she drew out, and he shook his head amused by her stubbornness.

They did not speak for a few minutes; and then he suddenly said, "You know… It is not at all decided yet, and I am not at all certain that I am the right person for it..."

She gave him a warm expectant look; and he thought that perhaps she was indeed the right person to share his thoughts with. After all, she was so very special to him - so close and kindred, but so distant; understanding and never judging; but opinionated.

"My relation, quite a far removed one that is… Well, his name is Frodo, and he's a youngling, just twelve years old he is. He's been recently orphaned. His mother and father died in a boating accident. And I suppose… I just thought that two men could so well coexist in this house." He threw her a shy look, and saw her nod and smile.

"Oh my dear Bilbo, I think that is an excellent idea," she said in a cordial voice. "And I think you're quite the right person for that."

"You do?" he asked; and she nodded again.

"I'm sure of it."

"Well then..." He took a deep breath, preening up in his chair. "Then it is… somewhat decided. And then, when he's old enough, we will travel to Erebor, and I will show him all the sights on the way, and we will visit the Skinchanger; and then he will meet you, and Thorin, and Thror."

Bilbo was now getting carried away by these new plans of his, and she nodded and encouraged; and they talked and talked, of how wonderful it would be; and reminisced on how exciting their shared adventures had been.

And now, that unexpected journey of his - there and back again - seemed like quite a pleasant affair to him; and perhaps, it would be even worth repeating - given, some perils could be omitted this time around.



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Jack in the Box


Armed with several degrees in psychology, sociology, and literary studies, as well as a particular set of skills and abilities, Gemma Wright works as a muse for artists in various creative fields. She can inspire a hit album; pull a popular novelist out of a writer's block; or organize an international tour for a dance company.

Gemma has strict rules and a precise plan for her personal life - and Jack Richards, a famous mystery writer, definitely doesn't fit her criteria. Perhaps, his direct competitor, John Barnett, with his soft manners and seemingly humble disposition, is a better match for Gemma than the dark and handsome Richards.

Understanding others and leading them to the fulfilling and rewarding life is Gemma's specialty, but does she know the answers to the same questions when it comes to her own life?

{Updated every Thursday!}


Official Town Business

Romance/humour/murder mystery

Imogen 'Mops' Fox is a personal assistant of the Mayor of the small rural town of Fleckney Woulds. According to all clichés, she's madly in love with her unaware workaholic of a boss; but that won't stop her from building her own little family; solving a murder; and saving the town from a financial scheme by a mysterious oversees corporation.

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3. A romance/erotica/drama webserial "Dr. T Series" on my blog kolmakov dot ca

Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.


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Romance/humour story Due North

A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists. Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer; mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance; a treasure map; a secret cave; and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and a lot of Tim Horton's coffee is drunk!

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Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?