In the Red Keep, Viserys I Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, lay in his bed, his body weak from the pain of advanced leprosy. His face, once proud and majestic, was now marked by the scars of the disease, and his mind was numbed by poppy milk, the only relief for his torment. You had just entered the room as Viserys' last child with Aemma Arryn, who miraculously survived childbirth.

Carrying with you not only the physical resemblance to your beloved mother, but also the sweetness and gentleness she emanated. And in a moment Viserys stretched out his trembling hand towards his son, a weary smile lighting up his pale face. He held it delicately with his fingers gently intertwined.

"My Aemma..." Viserys murmured in a weak voice, his eyes shining with longing and love. With a glimmer of clarity, the King realized that it was one of his children there. He turned a tender gaze on the young heir and said calmly, "My sweet child, every day you look more like your mother."