Contrary to those abnormal thoughts of others... the thinking of the Prince of Dorne was more straightforward.
And that was to use this chance to break the fake that their soft neighbors have drummed up. Among other things…
For Qoren Martell had heard the name Ronan Royce too often as of late, and each telling grew more extravagant than the last.
That alone was enough to make him distrust it.
It irritated him.
The lies that those dragon-bonding kind were weaving and weaving.
And it all started with that very publicized birth. The aggrandized drama of whether a babe was sired as a bastard or not.
A conundrum that happens at kingdoms that see bastards as less.
Of course, Qoren was not empathizing with the former bastard of Runestone... he was just pointing out how such a circumstance placed him as a center of scrutiny.
A perfect stage for intrigue...
One that Runestone or whatever did not fail to capitalize on.
Like how it is with that egregious popularizing of games and toys.
Toys and games that are apparently made by the bastard boy. A young boy of six.
A boy of wonder, they praised. But had the sheep of the dragons not wondered if it was actually the boy that crafted such marvels?
Could it not have been those employed maesters? Or some unknown craftsmen that they had in their territories?
What stopped Runestone from employing more and using those minds to prop up the image of their Lady's child.
Could it not have been stolen elsewhere? Like those kites that are said to be mummer's dragons from lands afar.
Qoren lauded those initial doubters, yet he also scoffed at them when they've caved to the more popular opinions that spread like a dumbing plague.
Especially when that bastard boy suddenly elevated himself to prestigious knighthood at an age so young.
Steel placed upon soft shoulders before sense had time to grow. Done by an equally young Lady Paramount that has been molded by a Royce who served as her regent.
Did those ignorants not see how convenient of an opportunity that was?
Clearly, they did not... for they more than accepted the continuing story that only got more fantastical.
Songs were even sung about mountain clans and tribes swept aside… hundreds slain… hills healed as if by divine wrath.
One good army could vanquish many, that is true... but persistent pests did not vanish so neatly.
So, it was clear that another sham was concocted.
Since it really was too easy to pay those bards to compose songs of what had not happened.
Qoren even tried it out... and it's impressive what musicians can do with steady gold in their pouches.
How simple it was, he thought, to pay lyricists to weave wonders.
For a lucky bunch to simply occupy an abandoned city... yet they can make it seem as if it were an achievement that whisked away ghosts.
To turn a drowned corpse into a squisher slain.
To rename patches of land when its savage inhabitants are not of sane mind.
To speak of demons hunted in far fogs... yet never show where those monsters now lay.
And an ice dragon, too, had been shoved into the tall tales... the great freezing beasts of the Shivering Sea.
Qoren had heard such stories from Ibbenese traders before. Men whose heads were numbed by cold and loneliness, who mistook bergs and shadows for monsters.
But that Ronan Royce took that chance to shape himself a dragonslayer. When he could very well just have dragged a floating boulder of ice back home.
Using that as a chance to woo a gullible Princess... and impress upon a fool of a King.
Supplementing it with an even more exaggerated feat… of one army ended by one man in one night.
Fiction that made Qoren shake his head at the absurdity. The audacity.
The falsehoods and claims to fame that followed one after the other.
Of this so-called Bold Bronze, who can apparently become a monster himself, transforming into a Deep One... as if holding one's breath longer than most was considered sorcery.
Some Kraken at his behest... yet those overgrown squids are just olden lies of unsleeping sailors… dusted off by the bronze fraud and polished anew.
Yet the most foolish news of all had come last. Just recently, as a matter of fact.
That this Ronan Royce can suddenly command many dragons.
But even Qoren, who had never bent the knee to dragonlords, knew better.
Targaryens only bonded one dragon, if they were fortunate. Old Valyria itself had no rider with multiple dragons as precedent.
And how convenient... Qoren thought... that such a feat spread now.
Just as the Triarchy armed its fleets. Just as Dorne made its intent known.
As if false wonders and louder songs were all Westeros could muster to stay the coming storm.
Dragonlords and their dramatics. When they know that their feeble might would fail them... they could only reach for overblown bravado.
A legend whose foundation was grounded on so many obvious falsifications.
Fabrications that those kneelers were now supporting in full force.
For shame.
Qoren judged it to be so.
And it was high time that the idiotic Westerosi woke up to reality...
He, along with the Triarchy he allied with, was sure to make them do so.
For the small, small price of putting that dragon-dependent bloodline in their place.
Or maybe just have the superior Martells outright replace them.
Gone be the days of Dorne being the odd one out... for his spear will bring about a new sun on a Westeros renewed.