05x09, 'Dance of Dragons'

The roar of the crowd deafens him, squeezing his eardrums.

He can't take notice of it. It's a distraction, whether they're cheering for him or not. He strongly suspects the latter.

He has to keep his wits sharp. If not, any second could be the fateful, fatal blow. Dodging this way, lifting his sword to parry, attempting a lunge. His breaths come in ragged pants, burning his throat and constricting his lungs.

He's always been a decent swordsman. Not the best, but good enough to hold his own.

This scenario is unlike anything else. These men are hardened by misfortune. They understand what is at stake. They've done this their whole lives.

A blow across the face takes him down. His sword skitters from his loosened grip, coming to a rest just outside his reach.

Jorah lies on his back on that dusty ground, winded. Above him stands the victor, a triumphant grimace upon his face. The point of the lance presses into his breastplate.

There's no point trying to fight. He's lost. And even if he lives, he's still a dead man walking, an Other from the Lands of Always Winter.

The crowd's roars reach a crescendo. Just slightly, he turns his head, seeking out the one thing that still matters. In this chaos, he wants her to be the last thing he ever sees.

Daenerys' eyes are locked on his. He can see a miasma of agony on her face.

She doesn't want him to die. He can read that in the twitch of her eyebrows, in the slightest wobble of her lip. But she is a queen. She can't go back on her command.

He respects that.

It's not forgiveness. But it's not hatred or joy. He can die accepting that she doesn't want to watch him die before her eyes.

So he lays there and waits for that final blow, ready for the pain to end.