[b][u]Lord John Stark of Winterfell[/u][/b]

John began making his way down to the feast, Shiera at his side. He had spoken to Daeron only a few minutes ago. John would be the Hand. As much as he tried to make himself seem unworthy, Daeron disagreed. And what Daeron wanted he received. John entered the feast, Shiera padding along silently, gaining looks from the nobility that was unaccustomed to the pets that Ned Stark and his children had popularized in the North. 

"My boy!" John heard the shout from across the room and glanced up to see his uncle, Lord Jon Umber making his way over. He grinned and hugged the man, smelling the wine waft off of his figure. They discussed the new king for a few minutes before his uncle brought up the appointment of a Hand. "All the gold in the Seven Kingdoms that it's you boy," he said, gaining a halfhearted laugh from the Stark.

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[b][u]Lady Gemma Baraetheon of the Stormlands[/u][/b]

Gemma was enjoying the feast immensely. Her cup was always filled and the food was beyond amazement. She was pleasantly surprised by the spectacle the Targaryens had produced. But it wouldn't matter to her in the end. She wanted the downfall of the Targaryens, much like the Lannisters, or so she heard. She'd be happy to work with the lions though, if it meant her name went down in history as the woman who slew the king. 

She made her way over to where the Dornish princess and the Frey lord were speaking, silently joining the conversation. It was part of her job to make rounds ad let everyone know that she was still their friend. The Baraetheons weren't exactly the king's favorite house. Any allies were useful, especially when there was grumbling of war.