07x02, 'Stormborn'

Samwell Tarly advised him to drink. Jorah had taken a small swig, but as the procedure begins, he wishes to all the gods that he'd had enough to drown himself in.

The pain is beyond comprehension. He tastes blood on the leather strap, the edges cutting into the sides of his mouth as he clenches with such force to stop himself from screaming. As the Tarly boy peels and saws his skin, Jorah almost wishes that he'd taken Grand Maester Ebrose's advice and finished matters himself.

Tears stream down his face as another section of skin is ripped free, all wet and pus-filled. Hot bile burns his throat, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself.

It lasts hours. Hours of torture that he imagines only the Mad King or Maegor the Cruel could have enjoyed. Though from what he's heard of the false queen Cersei and her eldest son, they could rival them all.

It's all-encompassing, so white-hot that it burns his skin like dragon fire, like fire crackers that burst over the clear Essos skies, tattooing the canvas in haemorrhaging colours. He tries to focus on that, on those first nights in Qarth before the dragons had been stolen, those heady, humid nights of opulent parties that had awed Daenerys and made his lips twist in fond affection at her innocent wonder at such finery. She'd been standing so close to him on those nights as they watched the firecrackers shimmer and dance that he had been able to smell her scent, musky amber and tibouchina, all courtesy of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. And she had looked up at him, face alight with colour, and smiled, joy and relief that she had brought them out of the wilderness to safety.

As the Tarly boy dissects him piece by piece, he hopes that he will be brought to safety too, to a place where he can return to his khaleesi's side.

It's the only hope that can get him through this torment.