After the shock of pain there is only silence. Viserys feels something blessedly cool touch the back of his head and cannot help releasing a sigh. This brings memories from his childhood when he used to sit on his mother's lap and she would brush his hair with a pretty gold comb encrusted with jewels.
"Viserys, my sweet, it is time to wake up," a kind voice whispers in his ears, faintly familiar and slightly hushed. "Come, open your eyes, my love. It is I, your mother."
Sluggishly, light violet eyes open, disbelief mirroring in those shining pools. "Mother?" His throat constricts as the image of Rhaella Targaryen forms before his eyes. She looks exactly like she did in those happier days of his childhood. "Mother."
She holds her arms open for him, the invitation clear in her gaze. He feels like a little boy when she clutches him to her chest, whispering sweetly that she had missed him. "I have been waiting." She brushes a wayward curls out of his face. "Let me look at you."
It's the abundant love in her voice that cracks the last vestige of his control and Viserys is flooded by shame. So deep and abiding is this feeling that he must step back and cover his face. "I-" he begins, unsure of what to say.
"I know," Rhaella says, mere moments later. "I am your mother." This time her voice is stronger, a hint of steel hiding beneath her words. "You are my son. Whatever else you may have become, you are my flesh and blood. And I could no more loathe you than I could cut my own heart out."
Stunned, Viserys looks at her with round eyes. He wants to speak, but the words refuse to come. He wants to at least tell her that he loves her for loving him, undeserving as he is of her affection. Rhaella's expression softens. She takes her son's hand in hers.
"A mother will never stop loving her children. She may occasionally be disappointed in their choices. She may be angry at their mischief. And sometimes she does not understand them. But her children will always have a special place in her heart." She smiles benevolently upon her son.
Something crashes against his leg and Viserys looks down, instinctively tensing. A small round face peers up at him, shining black eyes holding hope. It takes no more than a few moments to recall the name that goes along with the face. "Rhaenys."
His niece gives him a wide smile. She hugs his leg tighter and turns her head around. "He looks like father!" she yells to a woman who is rocking a babe. Viserys nods towards the gently smiling Elia Martell. But Rhaenys is already pulling on his sleeve, demanding his attention. "Play with me, uncle Viserys."
Rhaella is laughing lightly. "Oh, do. Play with us Viserys. What shall we play?" his mother asks, bending over slightly. "Perhaps a game of tag."
"Uncle Viserys should choose," Rhaenys decides rather loudly.
Two pairs of eyes turn towards Viserys, one amused and the other excited.
A light feeling settles in his chest. This is when Viserys knows that he can leave behind whatever was and no longer is.