By the time supper came around, Thorin found himself in a much calmer place than he had been in weeks. The morning’s brief encounter with his father’s ghost still lingered in his mind, and unlike the calmness that he had woken up with in the morning, this feeling after his father's visit had stuck with him the entire day. He felt at peace. It wasn’t a peace that erased his grief, but a kind of peace that made everything possible.

He’d spent the day productively doing things that needed to be done, mostly tending to the small things around the cottage that had been neglected for too long. The woodpile was low, and the house looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in a fortnight. Thorin couldn’t make everything right in a day, but he could begin somewhere.

He had prepared his meal—a simple stew of root vegetables and dried meat. It wasn’t much, but it was a far step from where he had been. The hearth was warm as he ladled the thick soup into a bowl, the fire crackling softly in the background, casting a flickering glow across the room. For a moment, as he sat down at the small wooden table, there was a feeling of normalcy. He might not have had all the answers yet, but he was beginning to feel something like balance again.

His hands, still rough from the labor of the day, grasped the bowl as he took the first spoonful of the stew. The warmth spread through him, a simple comfort. He took another bite, slower this time, letting the flavors fill the space around him. The silence of the cottage was no longer oppressive—it was just ... still. Not empty, but not overwhelming either.

Then, as he lifted the spoon to his lips once more, a familiar voice broke through the silence, so clearly, so unmistakably, that Thorin nearly dropped his bowl in surprise.

“Thorin.”

His heart skipped a beat, and before he could think to stand or speak, he froze. His breath caught in his chest as the air in the room seemed to change. It was as if the warmth from the hearth dimmed slightly, and in the soft glow of the firelight, his father’s figure reappeared.

Alaric stood at the far end of the room, his presence solid and comforting in the otherwise still space.

He smiled softly, his expression warm and knowing, though the edges of his figure flickered slightly as though he might vanish at any moment. “I know you’ve been doing your best, Thorin. And I know it hasn’t been easy. But I see you trying.”

Thorin could only nod, his voice caught somewhere between relief and something deeper, more vulnerable. His hand trembled slightly as he set the bowl back on the table, not knowing if he was ready for another visit from his father, but unable to look away.

Thorin swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “How will I know I won't fall back into the way things were. Every step forward feels like I’m dragging the past with me.”

Alaric’s form flickered, and for a moment, his figure wavered as though the very air was filled with the tension of unspoken words. Then, with a slow, measured movement, he stepped closer, his ghostly presence almost tangible now.

“I know that feeling,” Alaric said softly, his eyes filled with something like regret and affection. “When your mother told me she was expecting you, I felt like the world had shifted beneath my feet. I was ... terrified, to be honest.”

Thorin’s eyes widened at the unexpected admission. His father, a man who had always seemed so steady, so confident, was admitting that he, too, had doubts, had fears. For a moment, Thorin felt the weight of his father’s words more acutely than he had ever expected.

“Terrified?” Thorin repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You? But you always seemed so sure of everything.”

Alaric smiled faintly, a trace of sadness in his expression as he nodded. “I was sure of a lot of things, or at least I pretended I was. But when your mother told me you were on the way … I honestly didn’t know if I was ready. I had just lost my father, and here I was, about to become one myself. I had no idea what kind of father I was supposed to be. I felt … lost. Not ready.”

Thorin felt a tightness in his chest, a tangle of emotions he didn’t know how to unravel. For so long, he had viewed his father as someone with all the answers, someone who never doubted, never faltered. To hear him speak of fear, of uncertainty, was like a door opening to a version of his father he had never known.

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But then, just as Thorin began to feel some semblance of hope, his father’s expression shifted, his voice darkening with a quiet, but unmistakable urgency.

“Thorin,” Alaric’s tone softened, his words heavier now. “There’s something you need to understand, something that I fear you’ve been blind to.” He paused. “Your wife ... Elysia. She needs you.” Alaric’s expression grew even more solemn, his gaze piercing, as if seeing straight through Thorin. “You’ve pushed her away, Thorin. You’ve buried yourself in your grief, and in doing so, you’ve shut her out. She’s been trying—trying so hard—to be there for you, to comfort you. But you’ve kept her at a distance, closed off from the one person who can understand your pain.”

Thorin’s heart thudded in his chest, a cold pang of guilt sinking deep into his stomach. The truth of his father’s words hit him harder than he expected. He had known, deep down, that he had withdrawn from Elysia, had pushed her away when she had tried to be there for him. The weight of his loss had been too great for him to share, too heavy for him to let anyone else carry, and he had shut her out, just as he had shut the world out.

“Elysia …” Thorin murmured, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just … I couldn’t be what she needed. I couldn’t give her what she wanted from me when all I had was pain to offer.”

Alaric’s figure shifted, his gaze softening with a sadness that Thorin had never seen before. “I know you’re hurting, Thorin. But she’s hurting, too. You’re not the only one who’s lost someone. She lost you—the man she married. She lost the connection you shared. And she’s been trying to reach you, trying to remind you that you’re not alone in this.”

Thorin clenched his fists, guilt pooling inside him like a tidal wave threatening to overwhelm him. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to go back and be the man she needs. I’ve pushed her so far away, I don’t even know if I can reach her again.”

Alaric took a step closer, his voice steady but filled with a quiet conviction that Thorin could feel deep in his bones. “You can. It won’t be easy. You can’t undo the hurt you’ve caused, but you can show her that you’re still there. You can start by letting her in. Don’t shut her out, Thorin. She needs you just as much as you need her. She’s been patient, but you have to be the one to meet her halfway.”

Thorin’s mind raced, his heart heavy with the weight of everything his father was saying. How had he not seen it? How had he not realized that in trying to protect himself, he had pushed away the one person who understood him best, the one person who still cared enough to stay by his side?

“Is it too late?” Thorin whispered, the words thick with regret. “Is it too late to fix things with her?”

Alaric’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something like hope, though it was faint and distant, as if he were seeing something Thorin couldn’t yet grasp. “It’s never too late, Thorin. But you need to act now, before the distance between you grows too wide to close. You can’t keep carrying this burden alone. Not when there’s someone right there, ready to walk with you.”

Thorin sat still, his breath caught in his chest. He knew his father was right. He had allowed his grief to consume him, had allowed it to define him. And in doing so, he had alienated the very person who had always been there for him. He had taken her love for granted, assuming it would always be there, without realizing how much he was pushing her away.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Thorin felt the heavy weight of his mistakes. The guilt was sharp, cutting into him like a blade, but there was also something else—a flicker of hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could still rebuild what had been broken. But only if he was willing to let go of his pride, his grief, and open his heart once more.

“I’ll try,” Thorin said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with something resolute. “I’ll try to make things right with her.”

Alaric smiled faintly, his form flickering slightly as the edges of his ghostly presence began to dissolve. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Thorin. You don’t need to know everything. Just take that first step. Show her that you see her. That you can be there for her, too.”

“Don’t wait too long, son. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Alaric stepped closer still, his form shifting slightly . He placed a hand gently on Thorin’s shoulder, though the touch was light, as if made of mist. “You don’t have to be me, Thorin. You never had to be me. You are your own man. I raised you the best I could, and you’ve turned out to be someone I’m proud of. You will find your way. I have no doubt about that.”

For a long moment, Thorin sat in silence, the weight of his father’s words sinking deep into his heart. A part of him still wanted to hold on, to keep everything exactly as it had been. But another part of him, the part that had been listening so carefully to his father, knew that this was the only way forward. He didn’t have to have all the answers, but he could learn, he could grow, just as his father had. The fear that had gripped him for so long—of being unable to move forward, of failing those he loved—began to loosen its hold on him.

“I’ll try,” Thorin said finally, his voice steadier than it had been in a long time. “I’ll try to move forward. I’ll try to be the man you believed I could be.”

Alaric’s smile deepened, and for the briefest of moments, his figure seemed to grow clearer, more solid, as if the bond between them had transcended the divide between life and death.

“I believe in you,” Alaric said softly. “You always did have more strength than you gave yourself credit for.”

And then, as quietly as he had appeared, the figure of Thorin’s father began to fade, the warmth of his presence slowly dissipating, leaving Thorin alone once more in the quiet cottage.