"According to your personal theology, at least. There are some who think that there's glory and beauty awaiting after you die."

He looks around for the flask of maple mead, and - ah. There it is. He holds out his hand to the soldier, who passes it to him; he thanks the man in Barrayaran Russian. Perhaps there's something to this soldierly camaraderie after all. He takes another swig and narrates, "Here on Barrayar, they think that as long as you're remembered by your descendants and by your family, your spirit will remain content and at peace. It's not exactly religion, but...it's faith, after a sort." Dryly, "Or at least social control. Have children and obey your family or face eternal torment after death. Smart religious policy for a planet that desperately needed population growth."