THE FIGHTING PITS

When the slavers finally arrived in Mereen, Tyrion and Ser Jorah shuffled off the ship in chains. Tyrion with his short legs found the gang plank difficult going, so much so that he nearly fell off. If it wasn't for Ser Jorah grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers he would have fallen into the stinking water and drowned.

Once on the dock, the slave master cracked his whip and herded them towards the markets. The irony of his situation wasn't lost on Jorah. He had sold men into slavery and now here he was wearing chains. Along the road they heard how the Queen had agreed to re-open the fighting pits to celebrate her upcoming nuptials. Jorah didn't believe it at first. How could she? Ever since he had known her, Danerys had fought to free slaves, and now it was unfathomable that she would sit and watch men die, simply for entertainment.

Disheartened Jorah hung his head and shuffled along thinking thoughts of Bear Island. As the glaring sun burnt his skin, and his dry mouth cried out for water, funnily enough he thought of snow. He was a northerner, brought up in the cold. Until he came to Essos, he never thought he would miss the winter, but now he would give anything to feel snowflakes falling on his face again.

He glanced to his left and spotted Tyrion stumbling along. He expected the dwarf would be sold to act as a fool for some Mereenesse noble. He had wits enough to entertain, and would likely avoid ending up in the fighting pits. Jorah knew he would likely die in sight of Danerys' pyramid on the hot sand of the arena. He was a good swordsman but he also knew that there was the very real possibility that it would not be men he faced in the arena. Lions, wild cats, even bears were sometimes sent in for the amusement of the crowds.

The slave master called them to a halt with a lash of his whip. He pointed to a large cage, and they moved inside. Jorah looked at his companions while he waited for his turn on the auction block. Most were sailors from the ship he and Tyrion had been on. He thought that he was most likely the only swordsman in the group, most other the others would be sold for lion's folly in the arena or as household slaves.

The master and one of his helpers dragged Tyrion from the cage next. The dwarf looked back over his shoulder at Jorah as they took him away. Probably to thinking "this is all your fault Jorah". He was probably right. If he hadn't been so set on getting back into the Deanery's' good graces, neither of them would be in this mess. If he hadn't let his feelings for the young Queen cloud his judgement, if he had confessed his betrayal to her earlier, if he had never agreed to spy on her and her brother? If? If? If?

Eventually they came for him. Two big guards, so filthy Jorah could see the lice crawling on them, reeking of sweat, shit and something else altogether foul, each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him from the cage. They stopped next to the platform and the auctioneer looked Jorah over.

"The shirt." He ordered and one of the guards yanked Jorah's shirt over his head, leaving it to hang over his hands, covering his shackles.

"We want our buyers to see what sort of man they are going to spend their coin on." The auctioneer gave him a rotten toothed smile.

They shoved him up onto the wooden platform that served as the auction block. From his slightly elevated position Jorah could see Tyrion standing next to the man that had purchased him. It was Hizdahr zo Loraq, the man that had convinced Danerys to allow him to remove his father's body from the crucifixes that lined the city walls. The same man she had sent to Yunkai with Daario Naharis to re-take the city from the masters. The sight of the man made him wonder what he had promised Danerys to convince her to marry him. Jorah said a silent curse at Ser Barristan letting her go through with the marriage. Surely by now Selmy would know that their young liege was prone to making poor decisions based on the promise of ships or soldiers. Jorah liked to think that he could have talked her out of it, like he had done before. He smirked a little when he thought of how Daario Naharis must have taken the news.

"Big and strong this one, killed three men when they captured him." The auctioneer bellowed. "Do I hear any bids?"

The bidding started slowly, but Jorah was too lost in his own thoughts to realise that Hizdahr zo Loraq had spotted him on the block.

"Sold!" The auctioneer boomed, and the two guards yanked Jorah from the platform. They dragged him away from the auction site and shoved him to knees in front of a smithy. The blacksmith put down his hammer and picked up a metal collar from a selection on the bench at the front of this store. The guards held their prisoner while the smith placed the collar around Jorah's neck and locked it in place. He attached two heavy lengths of chain to the collar, one he attached to the shackles and the other he handed to one of the guards, along with the key.

The collar was tight and heavy around his throat, and it took all of his self-control to not try and yank it off his neck. The guards laughed and tugged on the chain, pulling him to his feet. Jorah stumbled after them. With the collar chained to his shackles, it restricted his movement even more. There was no way he could escape from them, at least without the key.

They lead Jorah to one of the storehouses in the shadow of the pyramid. They shoved him inside and locked the door. He stood looking at the door for long time, in the darkness, before fumbling around to find a wall to sit down against. It was a relief to be out from under the burning sun. Jorah slipped a finger under the collar to hold it away from his throat. He wondered why they had brought him to the storehouse and not to the cells beneath the fighting pits. He doubted very much that the person who had bought him wanted him to guard his storehouse.

It was night time before Jorah heard someone at the door. The bolt slid open and a man with a torch entered. The blazing light of the torch hurt Jorah's eyes and he tried to lift up his hands to shield his eyes.

"Ser Jorah Mormont." The man mocked. "Once the Queens favoured advisor and now here you are sitting in the dirt wearing chains."

Jorah didn't recognise the man's voice.

"Danerys told me of your betrayal." He continued, and Jorah realised who the man was. "I was surprised to see you at the auction today. I understand Danerys told you that she would have you executed if you returned to Mereen?"

Hizdahr obviously liked the sound of his own voice, and Jorah did not want to give the smug bastard the satisfaction of responding to him.

"Hmm. You have nothing to say?" Hizdahr squatted down in front of him and fingered the chain that ran from his collar to the shackles around his wrists. "I am going to give you to my lovely bride as wedding gift." He yanked on the chain, pulling Jorah towards him. "When the fighting pits re-open tomorrow you will be part of the main event. A fight to the death against five champions of the pits." Hizdahr chuckled wickedly. "And you will die like a dog in front of your precious Queen." He sneered and shoved Jorah back against the wall.

When the door closed, Jorah slumped back against the wall. Tears welled in his eyes, not out of fear of dying but out of disappointment. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. How many more people would he let down? The list was long. It started with his father and ended with Danerys, or did it? Perhaps Tyrion was right. Perhaps the person he had let down the most was himself. Poor decisions, no, not poor decisions, following his heart instead of his head. If he hadn't been fool in love he might have been of better service to the Queen.

What Jorah didn't know was that Danerys was in more danger than even she knew. The deal she had made with Hizdahr zo Loraq for peace would likely mean she would never leave Essos. She had chained two of her dragons and third, the wildest, had not been seen in weeks. Dany's deal for peace had effectively nailed her feet to the floor. She was without her dragons and without friends.