We stood on the hillside silently, the only noise being the breeze teasing at our clothing. The two graves were peaceful, if a tad crude, but we knew that was how they would have wanted it; a no-fuss burial with little ceremony, side by side.

The red mountain flowers I had planted on Mama's grave years ago had begun to grow with an energy of their own, swaying in the light summer wind. Father's grave was only newly planted, but people had paid their respects to the man that had once been their High King, leaving flowers and septims by the fresh dirt.

I looked around us, at the crowd of people standing yards away, watching silently in their mourning clothes as the children of the dead paid their respects. For a moment, I wondered what they were thinking of us, this ragtag group that could only by united by their hero parents. What did they think when they thought of the Dragonchildren, the sons and daughters of the High King and the Dovahkiin? Our parents were heroes now, and would be legends in the generations to come, but we may fade away with the dust. I cast my eye over my siblings, studying each as best I could.

Our eldest brother, Erik, the namesake, stood silently by. The Jagged Crown rested on his brow, the sign of his succession. His eyebrows were drawn together, and he pulled his cloak closer, as though he felt a chill. Erik had always played with me by the hearth when he wasn't running the country. I had been born about three years before my father decided to delegate the country to my brother. Young Erik had been twenty when he took the Jagged Crown, and had done the best he could for Skyrim, nearly costing him everything sometimes. His leg, though, had been hurt in a hunting accident, and he had to use a cane every since. His favorite was the one given to Father by a jarl of Markarth.

Malexa stood beside him in her Archmage robes, her expression sorrowful yet serene; she had always been the calm, quiet one, even when she had ascended in the College of Winterhold. Now, she moved her hands in an incantation that settled over the graves, sealing them against robbers and necromancers. Mama had been so proud when Lexie had joined the College of Winterhold. "Doing what I never did," was what she remarked, hugging my sister tightly as she left with naught but her apprentice robes and a leather satchel. I did not remember it, being only two when she left; I was ten when she returned for a visit, head high and carrying the legendary Staff of Magnus.

Waylas had been born when Erik and Malexa were twelve, two years after Mama and Father had gotten married. We had been extraordinarily close, and we loved each other dearly. Many a time I had gone to him with a scraped knee from falling out of a tree, or crying from a tussle with the young boys in Rorikstead, so close to our small house. He had left home when I was twelve, and never looked back. I had cried so hard when he left. He never told us what it was he did for a living, exactly, but he certainly led a life of style and some luxury, living in Riften with an attractive Dunmer archer. The luxury could probably be attributed to more shady lifestyles; I had seen him packing armor that could not be mistaken for anything other than that of the legendary Nightingales. To be honest, he probably looked like a long black stick in it, being the tallest and skinniest of the family. Nonetheless, I wished him all the luck in his endeavors.

And then there was me. Aeta, the youngest, and the shortest, who stilled lived in the simple, cozy house Father built for Mama, and had lived in for close to twenty years when he gave up the Jagged Crown. I had loved Mama dearly, and hero-worshipped Father; perhaps that was why I became a mercenary, a sell-sword, while my siblings aspired to fame and greatness. It was enough for me, though, to walk the hills and mountain ranges of Skyrim, armed with Mama's Daedric sword and Father's trusty bow, Brightarc. The life of a simple mercenary was exhilarating, and everything I ever wanted.

Father had died of old age; he had always said it was what would kill him, but that Mama would find death on her own. And she did, staring down a giant with the Companions at the ripe old age of sixty three. Father had never been the same after that, but he had borne it bravely; there had been times, though, that I would find him alone, holding the knuckle bone of a dragon and his eyes bearing unshed tears.

I was there when he died; I had tended to him in his final moments. When he had cast his last breath, still holding my hand, I could swear on all the Daedra that he looked the happiest he had been in years. I suspect he had seen Mama, standing at the entrance to Sovngarde, waiting patiently for him. There had never been two people who loved each other more, and no two people who deserved it more.

I took a deep breath, breaking the companionable silence we Dragonchildren shared. We all looked up, and looked at each other, and smiled.

"They are in a better place now," Erik stated, his voice gruff yet gentle. "Sovngarde has two more heroes to add to its halls."

"Do you remember," Waylas said to me suddenly, "when Mama found out that Father had let us go into that burial cairn all those years ago?"

A grin tugged at my features. "Aye, and she nearly caused an earthquake with how loudly she shouted at him?"

We all chuckled.

"He was always getting yelled at, it seemed," Erik murmured, leaning on his cane. His dark red hair was being shot through with premature silver; he was only in his mid-forties, after all.

"Because he could handle her Voice," I remarked. "He was the only person who could withstand her thu'um."

"Aye." Erik looked up at the sky; the sun was beginning to set, casting streaks of bright orange against the darkening sky. "I'm not sure what to say over them. They deserve closure."

We were all silent, and then Malexa raised her head.

"You were our father and our mother," she said, her voice slow and soft. The wind seemed to die down as she spoke. "You were our heroes, and our caretakers. We owe you our lives, and all that we are, and all we will become. We can only pray to the Blessed Divines that the legends of Sovngarde will hold you in the highest regard as befitting your honor and bravery. You have both saved Skyrim, against not only the dragons but those who would do her harm, as well.

"Skyrim shall never forget you. Skyrim shall never have others as heroic and noble. Skyrim will never be the same without you."

As her voice died down, I watched Waylas run a hand over his eyes quickly, trying to hide the spilled tears. Erik's face was staunch, and stony. He suddenly raised his arm and placed a fist over his heart before bowing deeply towards the graves. With that, he turned to us, kissing both Malexa and me on the cheek before gripping forearms with Waylas. He limped back to the royal party, which slowly drifted away.

Malexa was the next to leave, pressing her fingertips to the graves with her eyes closed before wishing Waylas and me good tidings, kissing us on the cheek. She mounted her horse and slowly crossed the hills as the aurora began to shine over us.

Waylas put his arm around me and held me tightly as I cried into his shoulder. "Just let it out," he said quietly. "It's just the way things had to be."

"I know," I said when my tears faded away. "I'm fine, Waylas, really." Smiling, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "You should head back - you wanted to be in Whiterun as soon as possible, aye?"

"Aye." He smiled, and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Well, occupy yourself. It makes no sense for you to be nursing your grief."

"Yes, big brother," I said teasingly. He squeezed my hand and turned to where his sweetheart, a tall, beautiful Dunmer with clever eyes, stood, holding the reins of two hardy Skyrim horses.

Soon, it was just me, two graves, and the aurora. I paused, clenching my fists, closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.

"HUN KAAL ZOOR."

The signs of summonings faded into existence, the swirling spheres making the breeze move faster. As they faded, I smiled to see the ice blue eyes of my mother, and my father's silver streaked red hair. The dragonplate armor of my mother made her seem even more unearthly and regal, while the golden plate that adorned my father seemed almost uncomfortably at odds with his personality. He was still strikingly handsome.

"Aeta," the Dragonborn said gently. The High King reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. His touch was cold on my skin.

"Mama. Father," I sighed. "I'm not going to call you again, but...I wanted to say goodbye. Properly."

My mother smiled. "Oh, my little fox," she murmured, "we are so proud of you, and your Voice has become so strong."

"Yes, your mother won't be quiet about that one," my father said, a twinkle in his green eyes. The Dragonborn gave him a mock glare, a smile tugging at her lips. He winked at her. "But we are extraordinarily proud of you. Especially your archery," he added under his breath. Mama did reach out and smack him on the breastplate then, but she never took her eyes off of me.

"Have you told your siblings about your thu'um yet?" she asked. I hesitated before shaking my head.

"No. I don't want to draw attention to myself at the moment." A smile spread across my face. "I am perfectly happy to live in anonymity as the fourth child of the heroes of Skyrim."

Mama smiled and kissed me on the cheek. It left a sensation that was not unpleasant, but strange nonetheless. "We are being called back to Sovngarde, little fox. We will await you there."

"Goodbye, love," Father said, the pride glowing in his eyes as we gazed at each other. "You will do great things."

We exchanged smiles, and I determinedly held in my tears as the summoning circles reappeared, taking my parents back to Sovngarde. Looking up at the sky and the rippling waves of light that illuminated the plain, I brushed away the wetness with the back of my hand.

Yes, the Dovahkiin and the High King, the Stros M'Kai native and the Rorikstead farmer, were exactly where they belonged: together.

THE END

A/N: And that's all, folks. Thanks for sticking with the story through all this; I really appreciate all you readers and reviewers. Your opinion is always appreciated.

I really had a lot of fun writing and imagining for this; having an audience made it all the better. Take care!