Disclamier - If you recognise it then it belongs to GRRM

Chapter 4

The wind swirled around the tent and the one of the flaps that made the doorway to enter had come loose and rasped against one of the poles holding the entire structure up. Sand bellowed through the various holes and gaps that littered the tent, covering Aegor as he lay there dying.

It all started with a chill he caught somewhere between Myr and Tyrosh. He had refused the maesters help and carried on for three days but when he tried to rise on the fourth day he was violently sick and struggled to move without suffering severe pain across his stomach. This carried on for a full moons turn and eventually when it became obvious to all he would not be recovering he was loaded into a litter on a makeshift bed and he has been dragged round Esso's ever since, following the Golden Company. Now he did not know where he was, he was fast asleep when his men moved him from the litter to this tent – his final resting place.

Aegor always imagined his death would be on the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of his own men and enemies. He thought he would be able to look the soldier who struck the death blow directly in the eye and thank him for giving him an end fitting for a warrior. Instead he was going to die in bed in a tent, covered in sand and sweat, like a decrepit Dornish coward.

He was grateful however that his men had not abandoned him, as he had done to many before him in the same situation. When he started the Golden Company he had always instilled a sense of loyalty and honour in his men, something not associated with sellsword companies, but he could see now that his words had indeed stuck. It of course helped that many of his men were Blackfyre exiles just like Aegor.

He had already instructed his men what was to be done with him once he finally passed on. His body was to be buried wherever he finally died, apart from his skull which was to be boiled until the flesh was gone and then dipped in gold and put on their company standard.

This request was queried at the time. "Forgive me General Bittersteel," a young squire had asked, "But why would you want this done? Would you rather not be buried whole so your spirit can be one as you meet the Stranger?"

Aegor had smiled, which was a rare sight, and replied "I am certain that one day the Golden Company will cross the Narrow sea to retake the Iron Throne in the name of a true Targaryen ruler. And I wanted to be able to see this with my own eyes but that is not going to happen. However my spirit can be there to see this glorious day and when it does I will finally be at peace. Until that day the Stranger will have to wait for me."

He could feel his heart beginning to slow and the shadows seemed to be moving closer and closer. The winds blowing through the tent were getting slower and Aegor felt he could reach out and grab a single grain of sand, if only he could move an arm.

Aegor's mind began to wander and he thought of the deaths throughout his life. Aegor had seen and caused hundreds of deaths, yet only four remained in his thoughts – his mother's drunken bloated corpse covered in vomit, Fireball head down in a stream with a solitary quarrel protruding through his skull, beautiful incredible Daemon lifeless on Redgrass Field and his only daughter lying in a bed of blood, the babe pale and silent in her arms. It made him feel alone. He always could inspire loyalty but never love. The only four who he ever felt truly loved him - be it motherly, brotherly or unconditional – were all long gone.

He thought of Shiera. He truly did love her and would have been a loyal and kind husband, if only she would have looked at him more than a half- brother. "Maybe if I had been more gallant or romantic she could have felt differently," He thought to himself, "I could have wrote her a poem, bought her fine lace, sung her a song. I could have just told her….". Aegor hoped she did not think ill of him and knew that he did not think anything bad of her. Mainly he just hoped she found happiness in her life and a husband who deserved her.

His thoughts then moved to his nemesis. "Bloodraven" He said weakly.

He still hated his half brother with the same fury as when he was a younger man. Time had not healed any wounds. Aegor had always covertly communicated with spies from Westeros and he had always kept informed of Bloodraven's activities – his ascension to Hand of King Aerys, his capture of Daemon Blackfyre II at Whitewalls, his allowance of the murder of Aegor's cousin the Brute of Bracken by the Blackwoods, his burning of the dead during the great spring sickness, his imprisonment on ridiculous charges by Maekar (Aegor always smiled at this. "I always said I liked my nephew Maekar" he would think) and his subsequent banishmen to the Night Watch when he was soon made Lord Commander.

As there were lots of Blackfyre rebels on the wall Aegor had debated finding a way of contacting one to assassinate Bloodraven but before he had chance, word reached Aegor that Bloodraven had gone missing beyond the wall and was presumed dead. "I hope he died cold and alone" he had thought at the time. That thought had not changed.

Sometimes Aegor wondered what Bloodraven would have said to him on Redgrass Field if he hadn't knocked him to the floor. That was the only time he ever saw his calm demeanour slip. Most of all he wondered why he never spoke to Aegor – was it shyness misinterpreted, arrogance, fear or was he playing his games?

Aegor knew this hate had defined his life and made him the person he was, the good and bad. He wondered what man he would have been if he would have never had Bloodraven in his life and there had only been Daemon.

The pain that had been coursing through his body for so long seemed to be gone now and he felt as light as snow. He closed his eyes and he felt relieved. There was nothing now.

Silence