[b][u]The Next Morning[/u][/b]

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

It had been a long night filled with drinking. John was currently draped across his bed, breathing rhythmically. A servant crept quietly into the room and roused the young lord, earning a curt nod and a thank you. John slowly got dressed, allowing the grogginess to creep away, waiting for the next early morning rousing.

John had slept in the Tower of the Hand last night, as had most of his entourage. His mother was awaiting him in the dining room where a meal was awaiting him. Shiera was feasting by the window, looking up every now and again to watch him. He took a seat across from his mother, offering a smile. "John, your position as hand is both a blessing and a curse. The Tyrells won't like it. Many people won't. You're young, and they don't trust that. However you wield a lot of power now. I hope you'll use it wisely. I'll be off for Winterfell in a few hours. I know you'll do fine here," his mother said, smiling at him.

John breathed in deeply before releasing his breath. "Mother, I'm worried that I won't be able to do this. Daeron is... he's..." John struggled to find the words. He knew them deep down, however he wasn't sure that he wanted to speak them. Finally he made a decision. "I'm worried Daeron won't be a good king," he said. His mother responded with pursed lips. She was thinking. Finally she spoke up. "Don't write Daeron's destiny before he has a chance to pick up the quill. You are the king's Hand. You make sure he doesn't turn the realm to ashes. I'm confident you can do that whether or not Daeron is a good king.

John nodded as he stood, having finished his meal. He brushed himself off and Shiera padded over, ready to follow him around for the day. John thought about today's events. There would be a tournament later, a celebration of the coronation that would last for a few more days. John began to exit but turned to his mother before he did. "Please tell Cullen that I'm rousing the king and that he should meet me in Daeron's quarters should you see him. And please write when you get to Winterfell," he said. His mother smiled and nodded and he made his way towards Daeron's room.

[b][u]Lady Gemma Baraetheon[/u][/b]

Gemma had retired early the night before, not interested in waking up with a pounding headache that would follow her throughout the day. She prepared herself for the day, brushing her hair and dressing in one of her mother's old dresses. Gemma wished she would be allowed to participate in the tournament, however it was restricted to those of lowborn origin. While the crown had treated Baraetheons like shit for two centuries now, they were still of noble blood.Gemma began wandering the halls of the Red Keep, her blue dress flowing behind her as she looked for some entertainment until the tournament began.