The Patchface had come to them as a kid.

Ruler Steffon, of treasured memory, had tracked him down in Volantis, across the restricted ocean. The lord — the old ruler,Aerys II Targaryen, who had not been so frantic back then — had sent his lordship to look for a lady of the hour for Sovereign Rhaegar, who had no sisters to marry. "We have tracked down the most mind-blowing fool," he composed of Cressen, a fortnight before he was to get back from his unprofitable mission. Just a kid, yet deft as a monkey and clever as twelve squires. He shuffles and enigmas; what's more, he does enchantment; and he can sing pleasingly in four tongues. We have purchased his opportunity and expect to carry him home with us. "Robert will be pleased with him, and maybe in time he will try and show Stannis how to giggle." It disheartened Cressen to recollect that letter. Nobody had at any point educated Stannis how to snicker, in particular the kid Patchface. The tempest came up unexpectedly, crying, and Shipbreaker Straight demonstrated the reality of its name. Theruler's two-masted cookroom, Windproud, is separated from inside sight of his palace. From its railings, his two oldest children had looked as their dad's boat wascrushed against the stones and gulped by the water. 100 rowers and mariners went down with Ruler Steffon Baratheon and his wife, and for a really long time from that point, each tide left a new harvest of enlarged cadaverson the strand beneath Tempest's End. The kid appeared on the third day. Maester Cressen had descended with the rest to assist with putting names to the dead. At the point when they tracked down the moron, he was stripped, his skin white and badly creased and powdered with wet sand. Cressen had thought him another body, yet when Jommy snatched his lower legs to drag him off to the entombment cart, the kid hacked water and satup. To his withering day, Jommy had sworn that Patchface's tissue was moist. Nobody at any point made sense of those two days. The numb-skull had been lost in the ocean. The fisherfolk got a kick out of the chance to say a mermaid had trained him to inhale water in return for his seed. Patchface himself had said nothing. The clever, cunning fellow that Ruler Steffon had composed of never arrived at Tempest's End; the kid they found was another person, broken in body and psyche, barely able to do discourse, substantially less of mind. However, his numb-skull's face left no question of what his identity was. It was the style in the Free City of Volantis to tattoo the essences of slaves and workers; from neck to scalp, the kid's skin had been designed in squares of red and green.