"It is a great honor," I hear, as my eyes open in a red mist. Ravens whisper and then fly.
She has been beside me on the battlefield countless times; I have watched for her back and she for mine in those times. She is wearing a coat of shining mail now, shining like gold, with a swan's wings. She kneels beside me, lifting my head slightly to give me a sip of what I at first think must be water, but it is a horn of mead.
Lagertha.
"Come," she says.
There is a longship burning in the fjord, the smoke rising. Farther out, waves wash over the jagged skerries. I feel strong hands slip under my arms, lifting me to one of the Æsir's horses, and sense the shell of me that remains. I hear drumbeat, songs and prayer, and the priest's antiphon Dirige; but I am happy. I see our son. Lagertha begins to cry when I say this to her, so I know that it is true. I cry also. I am old now, and I have lived a long, full life. Do not mourn me; for I am happy, I want to tell him, my son, my children.
It is a great honor. To sit at Odin's table, Lagertha at one side of me, Ragnar on the other, just as we have always been.