Jaimera Frey


The woman known outside the Riverlands as the erstwhile Lady Trant of Gallowsgrey, but within the bounds of those mighty watercourses always and forever as Jaimera Frey, favoured (because most useful) daughter of Lord Walder, affects to be amused by the stories spread about her, and to treat them as though they were of no moment; which attitude has done much to prevent persons of consequence taking them seriously.

The facts of her life are few and plain. She was wed at fifteen to the lord of one of the principal houses of the Stormlands, a man badly in need of a son; failing to provide same, she returned six years later to her father's protection, childless and a widow.

The fictions, on the other hand, the half-baked theories and the murky possible truths, multiply ceaselessly.

Had she something to do with the bad eel pie which finished off old Lord Trant, only days before he would have completed the legal arrangements required to set her aside for barrenness? Had she, in fact, with her considerable knowledge of herbs and their uses, murdered untold numbers of Trant babes in her womb? Why the candlelight flickering in her arrow-slits at all hours? Why the odd noises, the odd smells? Why the terrifying retribution enacted upon Frey children who dare to trespass too high within the precincts of her lonely and dilapidated turret? And does she, as generations of Freylings have whispered to one another in the dark, turn into a bat at the full of the moon and go flying all around the Riverlands?


She has over the years succeeded in making herself indispensable to her father, Lord Walder Frey, and from time to time acts as his aide and representative. She is on cordial terms with some of her siblings who are of an age with her, but not with others; she doesn't even try to tell most of the younger Freys apart, but treats them all with the same bracing disdain.

Her favourite, inasmuch as she has one, is her bastard nephew (or possibly brother) Ser Maldred Rivers, who is useful to her in almost as many ways as she is useful to Lord Walder. Though the ways are, of course, somewhat different…

Physical Features

Sharp black eyes peer (or, more frequently, glare with deep suspicion) out of a narrow, bony face bleached to a startling white by the joint efforts of nature and indoor living. At one end is a small chin, at the other a pair of high, thinly-arched brows, and in between is nothing of distinction. She is well on into middle age, though her precise vintage might be a matter of debate.

Her height of 5'3" is extended another paltry couple of inches by a sweep of silvery-black hair, backwards and upwards from her widow's peak. She wears widow's weeds to match; sober black gowns, high-necked and long-sleeved, often slightly faded by the march of time and showing darker spots left by droplets of ink. Quality ought to last, and it is made to last, with a few neat stitches here, or a fresh white collar there, to enliven the fashions of ten years ago.

They are well-made, these black gowns, to flow over a figure still shapely and voluptous, unspoiled by child-bearing. It has oft inspired head-shaking amongst the men of the Riverlands, head-shaking and thoughts of sacks, this contrast between her stoatish Frey face and the feminine opulence further down. But how fortunate for her that she does not take after her lord father in all things.

Her black leather girdle is sturdy and plain, but finely-braided and well-kept, its buckle formed of golden twin towers. At its extremity a matching rhomboid pomander gleams against her skirts. On her left hand, she wears an old signet ring, skillfully crafted in heavy gold, showing the silhouette of a man hanging by his broken neck from a rope which flows up and around her finger. Despite this burden her small hands are equally quick and equally deft, always writing or knitting, or gesticulating to underline the point she's just made.

Her scent is soapy and herbish, mildly astringent. At least you know she's clean.

Allies and Foes


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