“You find yourself in Sovngarde, hall of the honored dead. Now, what would you have of me, son of the north?” he bellowed. “I seek counsel,” said I, “for tomorrow we fight a desperate battle and my heart is full of fear.” Ysgramor raised his tankard to his lips and drank until the cup was empty. Then he spoke once more. “Remember this always, son of the north - a Nord is judged not by the manner in which he lived, but the manner in which he died.” With that, he cast aside his flagon, raised his fist in the air and roared a great cheer. The other heroes rose to their feet and cheered in answer. The sound still rang in my ears when I awoke.