The soldiers brought Tyrion to the largest tent in the center of the camp. Several elite guards stood outside, each with at least two spikes on his helmet.
When they saw Tyrion and his escorts, one of them stepped forward. Only after confirming his identity did the guard lift the tent flap and gesture for him to enter.
The tent was brightly lit by several rows of candles. A young man stood with his back to Tyrion before an enormous map of King's Landing, seemingly deep in thought.
He wore a pure white silk tunic, his long silver hair falling loosely over his shoulders. At the sound of footsteps, he slowly turned around.
This was Viserys Targaryen.
The moment Tyrion saw Viserys, his heart clenched. The young man before him was younger than he had imagined, and far more handsome.
His features possessed the delicate beauty unique to Valyria. As Varys had said, his eyes seemed capable of seeing straight through a person, and they held a composure and authority beyond his years.
"The Imp of House Lannister, Tyrion Lannister. Your reputation precedes you." Viserys spoke quietly, yet Tyrion could not help but pay attention. "You're a little shorter than I imagined."
Tyrion thought he saw the corners of Viserys's mouth lift slightly, but that smile sent a chill through him instead. He forced himself to remain calm, then bent slightly at the waist in a semblance of a bow.
Then he raised his head and met Viserys's gaze, trying to keep his tone neither servile nor arrogant. "Viserys, restorer of House Targaryen, you are younger than I imagined. Nor did I expect you would actually agree to see a 'dwarf' like me." He deliberately stressed the word "dwarf," hoping to gauge the other man's reaction.
Viserys ignored the implication