From the warriors who had followed us, from all the Aesir-folk, echoed that solemn sorrow.
"Farewell, lord Frey!"
Now we four started down the steep and narrow stair that was chiseled from the cliffside. Only Gerda and Freya followed us. The wind blew in great gusts, booming and moaning around the cliffs in the twilight. Thus we came down to the deep, narrow fiord in which floated the long dragon-ships of the Aesir. Among them, Frey's ship stood ready to give him Viking burial. It was trimmed and stacked with wood, and a low, broad wooden platform had been built amidships.
We stepped aboard and laid the shield that bore Frey's body upon that platform. Thor put Frey's sword in the dead hand. Then Frey's black horse was led into the bow of the ship. Tyr's dagger flashed, and the horse fell dead.
"Now all is ready," Thor rumbled.
We stepped back onto the shore.
"All is not yet ready," said Gerda calmly.
She stepped past up to the platform where her husband lay. When she looked down at him, her lovely face was strangely happy.
"For long," she said quietly, "my lord has lived with me at his side. He could not go on this journey into the dead without me."
Before any of us could move, she drew a dagger from her robe, and sheathed it in her heart. We watched rigidly as she fell upon the platform. Her golden hair fell across Frey's dead face.