A/N: I added a short epilogue

Naerys did not weep, as she watched Aemon's body being consigned to the flames. She shed not a single drop of tear, as she stood erect and motionless, flanked by her son and her gooddaughter on either side, resolutely averting her gaze from the man she blamed for Aemon's death more than she blamed the Toyne brothers.

Countless eyes were watching her, waiting for her tears to fall, waiting for her sobs to be heard. One pair of eyes in particular had been stalking her all morning, the puffy, reddish eyes of her husband.

Who are you really crying for, Aegon? Your dead brother, or yourself?

Naerys would not weep, though. She was staying faithful to the vow she and Aemon had sworn to one another, to that oath they had taken promising that whoever died first, the other one would not allow his or her tears to be used against Daeron, to be used to cast doubt about his rightful inheritance, the way Aemon's tears on Naerys' wedding day – a brother's tears mourning the fate of a beloved sister about to enter into an unwished-for marriage – had been deliberately miscast and misconstrued by Aegon as the tears of a lover mourning for his lost love.

Promise me, Aemon.

I promise.

Promise me on our mother's name.

She had extracted that promise from him, and had promised the same in return, believing with all her heart that she would not be the one left behind to fulfill it, for surely Aemon, strong, sturdy Aemon would be the one to outlive her for many, many years.

But he had left her behind to fulfill their promise.

She loved him as a brother, not a lover, but why should that be any less of a great and enduring love? Why should her grief and her sorrow counted for any less than if they had truly came together as lovers?

No lover had ever offered his arm to be her pillow, on the dark nights when she cried and yearned for their lost and absent mother, and their equally lost yet still present father. No lover had ever spiritedly argued and debated with her about the nature of the gods, about how the Seven could be one and seven at the same time.

No lover had ever held her hand, firmly, when they were children running and hiding from the explosion of Father's sudden fury, from his moods that could swing from indulgent to severe in the blink of an eye. Father has scars too, Aemon had said, even if Father's scars are not as visible as Aunt Baela's burns or Uncle Aegon's melancholy.

Naerys turned to look at her son, whose hand was grasping hers.

"He was not my father, but he was the only true father I ever knew," Daeron whispered.

He was not her lover, but until the birth of her children, he was the only true love she had ever known.