He liked numbers best. There was an unshakeable certainty in numbers that Maekar found sorely lacking in words, even the most poignant of them.
That was the day all smiles died, his eldest brother would later say, about that infamous day, about the day Blackfyre passed into the hands of Daemon Waters.
But Baelor's words, as poignant and moving as they sounded, were not truly accurate, thought Maekar. That was not the day all smiles died. He was smiling after all; he, the king; he, the man Maekar would refuse to call Grandfather from that day forward; he, the root of all their later troubles. Daemon was smiling too, and so were many others. Maekar noted them, noted them and counted them one by one, all the ones who smiled while his father was being robbed of his birthright, while his father was being publicly scorned and humiliated.
His father smiled too, incredibly; a sad and gentle smile, as he restrained Maekar, at the time a boy of only seven, from launching a protest, from shouting out harsh words of reproach and rebuke to his royal grandsire.
"It's only a sword, Maekar. Only a sword. I'll have other swords."
I'll be your sword, Father, the sword no one could ever take away from you, the sword no one could ever rob you of, not even him, not even your own father who never acted like a father to you. I'll be a sword whose blade is sharp enough to match any ancestral sword, even the ones forged with Valyrian steel, vowed Maekar, silently, even before he was old enough to wield a sword made of steel, Valyrian or otherwise.
"It's only a sword," Maekar grunted, as his wooden sword clashed with the wooden sword of one of the king's pages in the training yard of the Red Keep.
"It's not just any sword. It's Blackfyre," replied the page, a nephew of Lord Gormon Peake, one of the king's current favorites. "It's the Targaryen's ancestral sword. It's the sword of Aegon the Conqueror. It's the sword of kings."
"Daemon will never become king, no matter what sword he wields. My father is the king's rightful heir, his one and only trueborn son," pointed out Maekar.
"Is he? Is he truly?" The pointed look Garlan Peake gave Maekar as he asked this question exuded a level of skepticism and cynicism that was almost breathtaking for a boy his age. "Are you quite certain of that?"
Fists flew and blows landed. More words were exchanged, most of them coming from the mouth of Lord Peake's nephew. If the boy was bold enough to say all the things he was saying about Prince Daeron to Prince Daeron's own son, he must be certain that he had powerful backings on his side, more powerful than just his uncle.
When it was all over, Maekar had to answer to his lord father, for being the one who struck first, the one who landed the first blow.
"You are a prince of the blood. The boy you struck might have felt obligated to suffer your blows without even trying to defend himself. How could you strike him, knowing that? How is that a fair fight? Is this any way for a noble and chivalrous prince to behave?"
My brothers could be your noble and chivalrous princes. I'd rather be your most ferocious sword, Father, and your staunchest defender.
"Garlan Peake returned my blows quickly enough." And ferociously too, judging from the state of Maekar's face. "He continued striking his blows, even after I had stopped hitting him."
His father's hand carefully and gently dabbed wine on Maekar's bleeding and swollen lips. "And he will have to answer to me for that, make no mistake. But another boy might not have returned your blows, Maekar. Remember that, the next time you are tempted to strike the first blow."
"He is not another boy. I would not have struck him if he was. He said –"
He said you are not the king's trueborn son, Father.
"He said the king means to make Daemon his heir. That's why he gave Daemon the sword. He, the king, I mean. Garlan said he heard the king saying this on many occasions, in front of his uncle Lord Peake, and later in front of all the royal pages too. He said the king laughed and said that you would not know what to do with a kingdom, Father, just like you have never known what to do with a sword. The realm would rot and rust, just like your sword, if it is left in your hands, the king said."
"The sword is not the kingdom," his father said. "It takes a lot more to be a good king than merely being a good swordsman, than merely being the man who bears the Targaryen's ancestral sword. Prince Maegor took Blackfyre with him when King Aenys sent him into exile, and he challenged the king to wrest the sword away from him. Being the man who bore the sword did not make Maegor the rightful king, nor did it make him a good king when he finally sat the Iron Throne. A good swordsman is just that — a good swordsman, and though he deserves all the praise and credit for being a good swordsman, it signifies nothing about his right to be king, nor his ability to be a good one."
"The sword is not the kingdom," his father said, when Maekar was old enough to wield a real sword in place of a wooden one, "but some men turn it into a symbol of the kingdom, which could be harmless enough, if it is not taken too far. But foolish men, reckless men, think that the symbol is more important than the real thing, and that is not quite so harmless."
"The sword is not the kingdom," his father reminded him, before he left for battle to defend his father's kingdom. "Do not risk your life to wrest it away from Daemon's hand and to put it into mine."
Later, he wished he had done just that. The man who called himself Daemon Blackfyre perished in battle, but Blackfyre the sword escaped in the hands of Bittersteel, who took it upon himself to grant or deny it to Daemon's various sons as if he were an anointed kingmaker chosen by the gods. The King Who Bore the Sword became the siren song for the discontented, the call to arms for treason that lasted long after the death of Maekar's father.