He awoke and kissed her.
“What, then, was thy dream, sweet?” he said. “This is no hour for bad dreams.”
“No hour for bad dreams, truly, husband; yet dreams do not weigh the hour of their coming. I dreamed this: that I lay dead beside thee and thou knewest it not, while Swanhild looked at thee and mocked.”
“An evil dream, truly,” said Eric; “but see, thou art not dead. Thou hast thought too much on Swanhild of late.”
Now they slept once more, till presently Eric was wide awake.
“Rouse thee, Gudruda,” he said, “I too have dreamed a dream, and it is full of evil.”
“What, then, was thy dream, husband?” she asked.
“I dreamed that Atli the Earl, whom I slew, stood by the bed. His face was white, and white as snow was his beard, and blood from his great wound ran down his byrnie. ‘Eric Brighteyes,’ he said, ‘I am he whom thou didst slay, and I come to tell thee this: that before the moon is young again thou shalt lie stiff, with Hell-shoes on thy feet. Thou art Eric the Unlucky! Take thy joy and say thy say to her who lies at thy side, for wet and cold is the bed that waits thee and soon shall thy white lips be dumb.’ Then he was gone, and lo! in his place stood Asmund, thy father, and he also spoke to me, saying, ‘Thou who dost lie in my bed and at my daughter’s side, know this: the words of Atli are true; but I add these to them: ye shall die, yet is death but the gate of life and love and rest,’ and he was gone.”
Now Gudruda shivered with fear, and crept closer to Eric’s side.
“We are surely fey, for the Norns speak with the voices of Atli and of Asmund,” she said. “Oh, Eric! Eric! whither go we when we die? Will Valhalla take thee, being so mighty a man, and must I away to Hela’s halls, where thou art not? Oh! that would be death indeed! Say, Eric, whither do we go?”