And here's the last chapter!

If you enjoyed this silliness, I invite you to my newly opened AO3 account (same nick: kkolmakov) for Faun!Thorin and Pixie!Wren for romance, humour, and adventure!



The next morning Wren opened her bleary eyes and groaned. Sunlight was streaming into her window, with curtains she had forgotten to draw. Her head was splitting with excruciating ache. It seemed rather late. Til, of course, had not woken her up, it had been arranged the day before that she was not to show up this morning, in case Wren was to wake in the King's company. The memories of the previous evening rushed back into Wren's mind, and she fell back into the pillows. Humiliation and hurt flooded her, and she bit into her bottom lip not to start crying again.

It was time to get up and start her day, but Wren was feeling apathetic and lay in bed, twirling a tussle from the cover in her fingers. She was feeling strangely numb. A knock came to her room, and even that didn't stir her out of her state.

It was Til, with a tray of food. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"Your breakfast..." the maid muttered in shaking voice. "My lady..."

"Are you alright, Til?" Wren asked in worry, forgetting her own brooding for a moment.

"Aye, my lady. It is nothing." The maid sobbed but then tried to smile. It looked endlessly disturbing.

The door opened again, and Gylta came in.

"Morning, my Queen." The apprentice sounded mournful as well. Til placed the tray, wailed a deep bellow, and ran out of the room. Wren followed her with a confused look.

"You have to forgive her, my lady." Gylta shook her head. "She took our failure a bit too close to the heart."

"Our failure?" Wren asked, stretching her hand for her cup.

"To entice the King last night. Poor girl." Gylta tsk tsked. Wren's hand froze mid-air. "She expected an easy victory. But you and I know, my Queen, one has to fall to get up and fight again." Gylta lifted a tightly fisted hand in front of her face, bearing a fierce expression. Wren's jaw dropped.

"Um… you two are taking it seriously, aren't you?" Wren muttered.

"It is our disgrace, my Queen. We are here to assist you, and we failed you. Poor Til has been bawling all morning, since the King's servant brought his letter for you." The girl shook her head in shame.

"What letter?" Wren asked, and the apprentice pointed at a parchment - rolled and tied with a red silk ribbon - between the sugar bowl and a milk jug on Wren's tray.

"It's from the King. So we gathered he didn't spend the night." Gylta sighed deeply. "We should have gone with a picnic. The two of you used to go to many picnics."

Wren blinked several times, clearing her mind.

"Alright, Gylta. Firstly, do not blame yourself." Wren searched for the right words. She didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings, but since when were her most personal matters of anyone's concern but hers?! "You have told me everything you knew, the rest was my responsibility." Gylta gave her a slightly confused look, and Wren raised one eyebrow, hoping that the meaning behind her words was clear.

"We were trying to help..." Gylta started.

"And you did. The rest was between the King and me."

Gylta blushed, understanding dawning on her, and she nodded. Wren considered the question closed.

"And secondly, Gylta, how did it happen that Til has been hired as my maid?" Wren asked cautiously, and the apprentice sniggered.

"She burst into tears during the interview. You felt pity for her."

"I gathered that much." Wren sighed. "That does sound like me. Well, Gylta, thank you. And I will dress myself, no need to drag poor Til from wherever she is hiding. Come back with my papers to the study in half an hour, please."

The apprentice placed the papers and letters she brought for Wren on the edge of the bed, curtsied, and left.

Wren decided that she definitely required sustenance before she was ready to open the letter, so she poured herself some tea and forced herself to eat at least one sandwich. She felt no taste, and the bread - as soft and fresh as it was - scratched her throat and travelled down with difficulty. Wren felt almost irritated with her mawkish self. It was probably a short apologetic note. Nothing to be flustered over.

She finished the tea, and with a deep purposeful exhale she picked up the roll, pulled at the silk end, and started reading.

"For the hands I've always loved.

I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask."

Wren stared at the words in confusion. Indeed, some Kings here had no excuse for the previous behaviour. Wren could have, of course, come up with some - she seemed to do that easily - but it was nice to see that unlike during the conversation in her garden, this time the King didn't try to put a part of blame for their misunderstanding on her. The first half of the note remained a mystery, though.

But only for half an hour, until a knock came to her door. Gylta who was back by then opened the door. A courtier came in, with a large crate in his hands that he lowered on the floor in Wren's study, and then he gave them a decorous bow and left.

The crate contained brushes, paints, multitude of bottles on ink, and assortment of papers and parchments. Gylta hummed in confusion, Wren felt like she had just entered a cave with a treasure hoard in it.

The rest of the day was passed in drawing that Wren always loved and never had time or silver to indulge in.

The next day, three courtiers arrived with boxes of new plants for her garden and a note.

"For your gift that I admire so much.

I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask."

Wren spent the day with her sons Dain - who was helping gleefully - and Othin - who was digging a battlement hill under a cherry tree - in the garden.

The long narrow parcel with the note - "For your beautiful eyes and your precise hand that I almost fear. I'm begging you to forgive me and accept me, though I have no excuse and no right to ask" - contained a bow and a quiver of arrows, of the best Gondor craftsmanship, and Wren and Unna spent hours in the training yard. The girl was too short and preferred the thicker, sturdier Dwarven bow, but they still had plenty of fun practicing.

Through the ten days after Wren's unfortunate attempt in seduction, Wren didn't see the King. He wasn't present at the meals, and seemed to stop frequenting Wren's garden. It didn't feel as if he were avoiding her, though. The continuing thoughtful but not extravagant gifts, and touching notes were a clear indication that he was just giving her space, while courting her in the most romantic way.

And then one morning Wren woke up, opened her eyes, and realised that she was feeling very much in love; and it was most definitely time to let her husband know of it, and perhaps affirm in through some actions.

She was cheerfully consuming her breakfast, devising a plan for the day - which would hopefully turn into a pleasant plan for the night - when the new gift from the King arrived.

It was a simple ribbon, of green linen, and in astonishment Wren realised it was hers. Or, more precisely, it had been hers twenty years ago, when she served in the Dale infirmary.

The note this time was longer, and Wren sat, grasping the ribbon in her hand, reading the first love letter she had ever received in her life - or, at least, could recall to have received.

"My dearest Wren,

When we met, you bluntly and loudly told me off for being reckless and travelling wounded, while bandaging my injured shoulder. No one had ever scolded me in such manner, and I never stopped thinking about you since that day. Perhaps, I need to be rebuked by you, to remember where I stand and what is of importance in my life.

I apologise, my heart, in Mahal knows which time since I almost lost you, and I have only one excuse for my outrageous behaviour. The person who had always kept me true to myself and had always reminded me of the man I want to be is the person I am wounding these days by my rash words and blundering behaviour.

My darling, I am lost without you. You are the person I go to for guidance, for help, for support, and who am I to ask to save me when it is winning you over that I need aid with?

I fell desperately in love with you, that day, when you called me 'a cantankerous Dwarf,' muttering under your breath, frowning, while your hands touched me for the first time. You bandaged me, and scolded me, and I already knew no one would ever take the spot in my heart that belonged to you - only you, and forever.

I could never find the right words and the right actions to show you how much I cared for you, how much I needed you. It has always been you who understood, and took mercy of the tongue-tied Dwarf, and made the first step. That night you led me to your room, you simply did what I had dreamt of for moons, but dared not to ever hope for.

You have always been the one to put my feelings in words, to see into my heart, to give me what I craved but could not express. You forgave my rash words because you knew I meant no insult. You consoled me when I ached or suffered from fear, but had no courage to share my pain. You are the one who can pacify my temper. You are the one who knows me without asking, and loves without condition. You are the one who has always been kinder to me than I deserved.

And if I could, it would be you I would go to now - again, and just as always.

I do not know what to say and what to do, and I have only one way I know to solve my predicament. I will ask you for help. I will direct you to the only person who could convince you to be my wife again - you yourself.

Do not listen to me; listen to yourself, my beloved.

You are the woman who married me. You are the woman who gave me the most treasured gift - our children. You loved me, tolerated me, and forgave me for more years that I deserved, and does it not tell you that the woman you were and are today is the woman who would always choose me?

Come back to me, my heart. No Dwarf can leave without his heart.

I will wait patiently as long as you need me to, but remember I am always here for you.

Ever yours,

Thorin, son of Thrain"

Clutching the letter in her hand, Wren ran through the passages of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, her bare feet making soft noises on the stone floor.

She jerked the door of his study open, without a knock, and there he was standing by his window, arms crossed on his chest, his pensive gaze fixed on the peaks of the Misty Mountains - and she rushed ahead. He opened his arms and caught her, and she embraced him, rising on her tiptoes, seeking his lips. The letter fell out of her hand with a quiet rustle, but Wren didn't hear.

"I am here..." she whispered between kisses. "I came back to you."

His hot hand cupped the back of her head, tangling into her hair, and he pressed her into him, lifting her off the floor. Wren's arms were tightly wrapped around his neck, and she wasn't afraid whether her actions were clumsy, and even when her teeth scraped at his - because despite the truth, in her mind this had been her fourth kiss in six years, and she hardly knew what she was doing - she only laughed, and he joined her, with a warm rumble in his chest, and she cupped his face, and leaned into another kiss.

And then he moved away, still holding her in his arms, and looked at her, and she saw love, and desire in his eyes, and her cheeks flushed.


"Yes." She pressed her forehead to his.

"Could we..?" he started, and she smiled wildly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I am meaning to ask..." he started again, and she quickly kissed his lips, interrupting him.

"Yes, Thorin, yes. It is me answering your question. Yes!" He guffawed, and she grinned to him, feeling no doubt or nervousness at all.

"Shall we then?" He released her and stretched the hand to her.

"Lead the way, my King," Wren laughed. "It is your turn after all."

"Insolent woman," he rumbled, his eyes twinkling, and then he stepped to her quickly, whisking her into his arms, making her emit a happy squeal.

He marched to their bedchambers, and Wren laughed through the whole trip, occasionally kissing his ear and cheek closest to her, and marvelling at how easy and exciting everything felt, and then they were inside, and he back kicked the door closed behind him.

Six moons later…

Wren opened her eyes. The room around her seemed unfamiliar - dark and warm. There was a heavy canopy over the bed she lay in. The next thing that came to her attention was a large male sleeping in the bed near her, making soft noises - not quite a snore, but some sort of cozy sniffling. Wren stared at him, and then she realised that her hands, which she habitually pressed to her middle as she always did when emotional, were resting on a firm roundness of a pregnant stomach.

"Maiar help me, I'm with child!" Wren yelled, and jerked the covers off herself to see better.

The man near her stirred in his sleep, and then his eyes slowly opened. Wren gawked at him.

"I am with child! What?!.. How?.." she hollered, and he sat up sharply. He studied her, and his eyes widened.

"Wren..." His face grew pale. "Mahal help me, not again! Wren, do you remember where you are? Who am I, Wren?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"What do you mean who you are?! Thorin, I'm pregnant!" She pointed at her stomach, but then when he opened his mouth - no doubt to start roaring - she pressed her hand over his lips. "Wait, wait… It's all coming back!" He mumbled something under her hand, and she loudly shushed him. "No! No talking! I'm thinking! Oh… the pigs on the Dale bridge!" The Dwarf made a pained sound somewhere down in his throat, but Wren didn't release him, shushing him again. "No! Quiet! Alright… So, the cart with pigs… And then there was the hammer from the scaffolding… And then six moons, and I didn't remember anything… You called my flirting ridiculous!" she cried out, and he made another muffled noise, but she ignored him. "Yes, I remember now… All of it… Oh Mahal, I'm pregnant!" Wren let her husband go and pressed her palms onto her stomach. "I'm forty five and pregnant!"

"You talked to midwives, you both are healthy," the Dwarf reassured her, and then his hands were on her upper arms. "Wren, do you truly remember everything?"

"Yes, I do! All twenty years, and the past six months, and..." And then she paused, looked at him, and punched his naked shoulder. "You called my flirting ridiculous!"

He guffawed and pulled her to his lips. She feigned some resistance, and then melted into the kiss. He then turned them both, toppling into the sheets, pulling her after him.

"Welcome back, my heart," he murmured into her lips, and she smiled to him widely.

"I will always come back to you, my cantankerous Dwarf."



1. Facebook Writer's Page: katyakolmakov


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{for FanFiction that is more my independent writing but with elements of ThorinxWren ship in it}

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romance webserial: Dr. T Series

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.

Updated every Saturday!

5. JukePop: Katya Kolmakov

Blind Carnival

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

Summary: Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.


Better Than One

a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

Summary: 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 erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

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My book on Amazon!


{my first novel

inspired by the story initially written here}

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!


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?