On the breeding of Direwolves, Dragons, Falcons, Stags and Lions. (rewrite)

AU: After the gods allow young Jon Snow to live through his fever Catelyn tries to do what she believes is the right thing and asks Ned to have the child legitimised, instead she learns a terrible truth. This leads to a series of divorces and questions about children's paternity which completely reshapes the landscape of Westeros.

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Prologue: Varys

Letters, letters, letters… it all came down to letters. Varys could replicate over a hundred men's handwriting, and their seals. He could misinform, misdirect, and reroute troops. He ran his fingers over his various quills, Northerners used goose feathers, men from the Riverlands tended to prefer those from ducks… the Vale used goose feathers, but cut them differently, royal decrees were written with dove feathers, a hangover from the rule of Balon the Blessed, and the quill was disposed of after the use. House Wyl preferred Hawk feathers, and the Stormlanders used whatever they could get, usually chicken feathers… he selected an uncut dove feather, cut it with practiced ease and turned his attention to his ink pots. Northern ink was darkest, it was often no more than soot and gum, messy and difficult to work with. Vale ink came next, made mostly from Oak Galls, Dornish ink was like a strong black tea… Royal ink, now that was a special recipe, three recipes actually, and difficult to acquire. He rechecked the lock on his door, then carefully pulled a plain looking lockbox out of a draw, opening it with a tiny key. There were three small pots of ink in it, a deep, bluish black, an expensive rich blue, and a rare blood red. He selected two more dove feathers and cut them with practiced ease, he would burn the quills once he was done.

Next he selected a piece of parchment, one with the royal watermark, for such a valuable item the Targaryen's were rather lax in keeping it safe. Each step was meticulous, yes, time was of the essence, but one more push was needed to start this war. Push too hard, or in the wrong direction… Jon Arryn was a good man, well mostly, in truth there was no such thing as a truly good man, but Jon Arryn was better than most. He would protect his wards, he would never question why the heads of Robert and Ned were demanded, but not the heads of Stannis, Renly, and Benjen. Rhaegar would keep Lyanna safe, and the resulting child, for surely there would be a child, would be mouldable… even if there wasn't a child, there would be a child, Varys had taken precautions, as long as Rhaegar stayed in Dorne…

Hours later Varys' hands were scrubbed pink and clean, three dove feathers were no more than ash in his fire, the royal inks locked away, and a royal courier was on its way to the Vale.

Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark all acted as expected, most mean did, Tully was a little trickier… Lannister was the problem. Aerys had made a mistake making Jamie a Kingsguard, Varys suggested sending him to Dragonstone to watch over Elia and her children, Varys wanted young Aegon safe (after all, the future king was integral to his plans) unfortunately Aerys' poisoned mind did not act as expected. Varys wasn't poisoning him, the same could not necessarily be said for Archmaester Pycelle. Elia and her children were ordered back to court, Rhaella and Viserys sent to the safety of Dragonstone… Viserys was unsuitable, Varys could already see that… well, he was the spider, was he not? He would weave other plans, there was always more than one option…

Rhaegar didn't stay in Dorne, nor turn to the Dornish for aid, fool! Varys had hoped the Prince was smarter. Men often disappoint. A whore, whom had been one of Aerys' favourites, gave birth to a silver-haired boy, the babe was born too early, he was small and weak, but he might live. Sometimes the disappointment of men is useful. The silver-haired child was kept hidden, but that web was tattered and torn, so Varys turned his attention to a new web. Young Eddard Stark had proved surprising, maybe… hmm… a Stark as King? It was a thought, another strand in a different web. Illyrio wanted… did Varys care what Illyrio wanted? Yes, he did. Illyrio had saved him from the streets, taught him to survive, and flourish, despite being a mutilated boy. Stark would not do, Robert Baratheon was less moral, more mouldable, either way Rhaegar needed to loose.

More dove feathers burnt in Varys' hearth, and a royal messenger rode hard to intercept Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry, whom were marching reinforcements north to meet Prince Rhaegar. Varys had sympathy for the poor Prince, oh, indeed, he did, but Rhaegar had proved himself unfit to be King, and unusable as a puppet. In truth they were all unfit… Wyalla had confirmed that Lyanna was heavy with child, such a good little dove, she thought she was helping Rhaegar. If the child didn't survive? Well, Varys had a boy ready, the silver haired boy was getting stronger by the day, and was tiny, it would be simple enough to pass him off as Lyanna's in a few moons time when all was done, power resides where people believe power resides, and the spider weaves his webs.

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No need for dove feathers now, the Dornish ink was easy to work with, he wrote on an animal hide instead of parchment, that was how the Dornish kept their secrets. The only risk was that Eddard would not notice the unfamiliar skin amongst his things until it was too late, but it had been slipped into his saddle bag by one of the stable boys. Would Ned act on the information? Or would he liberate Storms End first? Varys believed that Eddard would hold to his word, if he was smart he would free Storms End from its siege before going after his sister. If he was wise he would know to hide the child, he had to know what would happen to the bade if Robert ever learnt of it, he did know. Varys had seen the look in Eddard's eyes as the lad had stormed out of the throne room, the disgust at what had been done to Elia and her children had rolled off of the man in waves. The pain at Robert's acceptance of it was worse. Eddard Stark was a good man, and good men were predictable.

The message was simple:

Lyanna lives, she is in Dorne, see map below. She is with child, take only those you trust. – A friend.

A few moons later Eddard Stark returned North, a boy that he had claimed as his own sent ahead of him. Jon Snow, the lad was named, but Varys knew the truth, the boy was Aegon Targaryen. He sent a messenger to Illyrio, it was time to weave a new web, Hoster Tully was the weak spot, he was unsure yet as to how to exploit it, but Catelyn's hatred of the innocent boy would play it's part. Wylla was at Winterfell now, and the brave little dove still kept him informed. No need to add more dove feathers to the hearth just yet.

Illyrio asked him to send Aerys' bastard boy to Essos, just in case, the request had made Varys nervous, yet he had done it all the same. The spider was still undecided as to how much he wanted to support Illyrio's plans. Unfortunately little Faegon did not survive the voyage, so sad. As Varys burnt the angry message from Illyrio, one claiming that he'd played a part in the babes death, he shivered and remembered another fire, a fire that had turned blue and spoken.

"Blood of the dragon for a dragon's egg, but not that blood, mage, and not that egg."

Varys had been but a boy then, frozen in fear, drugged and bleeding, his severed manhood still visible in the flames. glazy eyes had moved to the egg in the mage's hand. Red, orange and yellow, it was the missing egg of Aerion Brightflame, and his only treasure, given to him by his mother. The mage had caught him with it, snatched it, claimed that he had stolen it, and taken him as payment for the 'insult'.

The voice in the flame drew his attention again. "Varys, Vaerys Targaryen, blood and fire are your legacy, vengeance will be yours. Dragons will live and die by your choices, House Targaryen that is will be struck down by your hand, tooth and claw, beak and antler will claim them. Is this what you want?"

Somehow Varys found his voice. "Yes." He whispered.

Suddenly the dragon egg exploded, throwing the mage against the wall. Varys didn't know how he found his feet, didn't know how he made it into the alleyway or around the corner. He was naked and bleeding, close to death, but the voice in the flames had promised him vengeance, and he wanted it so very much! Vaerys, son of Jaelys, son of Vaerion, son of Maegor, son of Aerion wanted revenge, and Varys the mummer was going to get it. Not just against House Targaryen, but against all of Westeros for stealing his birthright!

"I'm not Vaerys anymore." Varys whispered. "I am Varys the spider, and I am lost in a web of my own making."

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