A Game of Thrones

He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and BOILED LEATHER. Her son was dressed in BOILED LEATHER and ringmail, she saw, and a sword hung at his waist. His armor was iron-grey chainmail over layers of BOILED LEATHER, plain and unadorned, and it spoke of age and hard use. Under black wool, BOILED LEATHER, and mail, sweat trickled icily down Jon’s chest as he pressed the attack. Robb was seated in Father’s high seat, wearing ringmail and BOILED LEATHER and the stern face of Robb the Lord. It was soon revealed that the new recruit had brought his own armor with him; padded doublet, BOILED LEATHER, mail and plate and helm, even a great wood-and-leather shield blazoned with the same striding huntsman he wore on his surcoat. There were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only the twang of bowstrings as Morrec and Lharys let fly, and suddenly the clansmen came thundering out of the dawn, lean dark men in BOILED LEATHER and mismatched armor, faces hidden behind barred halffielms. A round scarred face and a stubble of dark beard showed under his steel cap, and he wore mail over BOILED LEATHER, and a dirk and shortsword at his belt. “How well would BOILED LEATHER jerkins and mailed shirts protect them when the arrows fall like rain?” He wore only a shirt of black oiled ringmail over BOILED LEATHER, a round steel halfhelm with a noseguard, and a mail coif. The red cloaks wore mail shirts over BOILED LEATHER and steel caps with lion crests.

A Clash of Kings

They were clad in shabby skins and BOILED LEATHER, with long hair and fierce beards. Some wore bloodstained bandages over their brows or wrapped around their hands, and others were missing eyes, ears, and fingers. A scarred face and a stubble of dark beard showed under his spiked steel cap, and he wore mail over BOILED LEATHER, dirk and shortsword at his belt. The prospect of food brought other men out of the houses, near all of them wearing bits of mail or BOILED LEATHER. “My brothers are long dead, and my sister … well, they say Asha’s favorite gown is a chainmail hauberk that hangs down past her knees, with BOILED LEATHER smallclothes beneath.” “I wonder if I still have that chainmail gown I like to wear over my BOILED LEATHER smallclothes?” “You have fewer than four hundred horse, my scouts tell me-freeriders in BOILED LEATHER who will not stand an instant against armored lances.” Like Davos, the king was plainly garbed in wool and BOILED LEATHER, though the circlet of red gold about his temples lent him a certain grandeur. Catelyn had ordered garments sewn to her measure, handsome gowns to suit her birth and sex, yet still she preferred to dress in oddments of mail and BOILED LEATHER, a swordbelt cinched around her waist. A jerkin of BOILED LEATHER and a pothelm at his feet were his only armor. The men stood in their mail and fur and BOILED LEATHER, as still as if they were made of stone. Beneath his black surcoat and golden mantle was a shirt of well-oiled ringmail, and under that a layer of stiff BOILED LEATHER. About half of them hid their faces behind crude helms of wood and BOILED LEATHER. The rider’s helm was made from the broken skull of a giant, and all up and down his arms bearclaws had been sewn to his BOILED LEATHER.

A Storm of Swords

Chett felt it too, biting through his layers of black wool and BOILED LEATHER. Jon took their measure with a glance: eight riders, men and women both, clad in fur and BOILED LEATHER, with here and there a helm or bit of mail. Elsewhere two bearded youths in BOILED LEATHER were sparring with staffs, leaping at each other over the flames, grunting each time one landed a blow. With his own eyes Jon had beheld the Hornfoot men trotting along in column on bare soles as hard as BOILED LEATHER. Ygritte slammed the heel of her hand into his chest, so hard it stung even through his layers of wool, mail, and BOILED LEATHER. No shield, no breastplate, no chainmail, not even BOILED LEATHER, only pink satin and Myrish lace. And under the roughspun was BOILED LEATHER and oiled mail, Arya knew. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and BOILED LEATHER of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. The Thenns carried shields of black BOILED LEATHER with bronze rims and bosses, but theirs were plain and unadorned. Almost every wagon had its guards; men-at-arms wearing the badges of small lordlings, sellswords in mail and BOILED LEATHER, sometimes only a pink-cheeked farmer’s son clutching a homemade spear with a firehardened point. Beneath the trees were all the wildlings in the world; raiders and giants, wargs and skinchangers, mountain men, salt sea sailors, ice river cannibals, cave dwellers with dyed faces, dog chariots from the Frozen Shore, Hornfoot men with their soles like BOILED LEATHER, all the queer wild folk Mance had gathered to break the Wall. On either side of the giants came a wave of horsemen in BOILED LEATHER harness with fire-hardened lances, a mass of running archers, hundreds of foot with spears, slings, clubs, and leathern shields. Beneath that would be BOILED LEATHER and a layer of quilting. The point punched through mail and BOILED LEATHER. He wasn’t wearing mail or even BOILED LEATHER, so it went right in, the same way Needle had when she killed the stableboy at King’s Landing. When he turned, they were all around him; an ill-favored gaggle of leathery old men and smooth-cheeked lads younger than Petyr Pimple, the lot of them clad in roughspun rags, BOILED LEATHER, and bits of dead men’s armor.

A Feast For Crows

Tarly wore mail and BOILED LEATHER, and a breastplate of grey steel. Beneath he wore heavy grey chainmail over boiled black leather. Even in mail and BOILED LEATHER, she felt naked. His ringmail was old and rusted, worn over a stained jack of BOILED LEATHER. Payne seemed as comfortable in his silence as in his rusted ringmail and BOILED LEATHER. They wore mail and BOILED LEATHER, with here and there a bit of dinted plate. His armor was a studded brigandine and a cap of BOILED LEATHER. Underneath his steel and wool and BOILED LEATHER Jaime Lannister was a tapestry of cuts and scabs and bruises. This one still has her maidenhead, I’ll wager, Cersei thought, though by now it’s hard and stiff as BOILED LEATHER. “Armed men in mail and BOILED LEATHER, and yet the beasts had no fear of them.”

A Dance with Dragons