You clear your throat: "In a less jesting tone I must agree. Power is power, however it is leveraged. Him who weighs by his own merits oaths kept and broken, him who enforces law and pact upon men we call king, and an independent realm in the Reach is not within my interest, especially so if wields to power to bind any and all around it to its will with bargains struck by clever tricksters. You have been giving me plenty of reason why you desire the crown, but none why I should indulge you. You speak about bargains made, but you have not offered any such. So then, in plain and simple words so that this poor mortal can understand, if I let you have this crown, what shall I get in turn? Would your lord and his court be willing to swear itself to a mortal lord of the skill and character needed to ensure that your assurances about the benefits come to pass?"
"Poor mortal says the dragon in man's skin, the sorcerer and binder of spirits fel and fair," the lady of the fey rallies. "Thou are no more poor than the Lord of the Westerlands on his mountain of gold, no more mortal than I. So I ask unto thee lords, who holds the promise of an undying king? We folk of del and wood living beside your world and visiting seldom, or the wyrm who would be coiled about the throne of swords when your grandchildren's grandchildren are dust and memory?"
