"You have to keep your feet separated, Emma," David said with far more patience than someone who'd repeated that exact same sentence four times in the span of about seven minutes should have been able to muster. "You won't be able to get proper leverage unless your feet are at least shoulder-width apart."

Emma grunted in exasperation, mostly with herself for constantly forgetting her footing. There was so much to think about, so much to try to keep straight in her head. As it turned out, her amateur experience with a sword was exactly that: amateur. Her grip was wrong, her footing was wrong, and the way she swung the sword was wrong.

In true father fashion, David had bristled at the term "wrong." Her technique wasn't wrong, he'd said. It had clearly worked for her well enough to slay a dragon and fight off zombies and pirates and evil witches. It just ... wasn't proper.

It didn't matter to Emma whether they deemed her technique wrong or improper or any other term along those lines. It all boiled down to the same thing: she had to relearn everything she'd taught herself. She had skated past frustrated a few minutes ago and was now barreling straight for angry and discouraged.

David must have been able to gather as much from her body language and facial expressions because his voice was apologetic when he instructed, "Loosen your arms up a little. You're going to get hurt once we start swinging if you're too tense."

"Ugh, forget it!" she cried, coming very close to throwing the sword down in aggravation. She obviously wasn't any good at the sword fighting thing if she couldn't even manage to get her stance right. No amount of trying to teach her the proper way to do it was going to make her good at it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snow look up sharply at her cry, tearing her attention away from her "lesson" with Henry and glancing over in their direction. Emma winced but the embarrassment soon gave way to even more annoyance. Now both her mother and her son knew she was having trouble with the whole sword thing. Fantastic.

David sheathed his sword, approached his daughter, and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "We're not going to forget it. You can do this, Emma; the history speaks for itself. You just need to calm down."

His touch took her by surprise but she was more surprised by the fact that she hadn't shrugged his hands away. "Easier said than done," she grumbled.

"Deep, slow breaths. I'll count it again if you want."

Emma shook her head. No, she didn't need him to count it again. Even though she'd been relegated to the back seat of the car all day long, she wasn't six years old. Instead she silently counted herself, just as David had done earlier. In, two, three. Out, two, three, four.

A couple of deliberate breaths later, the tension in Emma's shoulders relaxed. With a kind smile, David gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and removed his hands. Once again, Emma was surprised to find that she missed the warmth of his hands and the comfort it gave her. "You all right now?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, giving a curt nod, because in all honesty, the way the encouragement and little touches he'd been giving her all day made her feel was so damn confusing. It felt like part of her was railing against it, against the comfort and the love because she didn't know how to handle it. But there was another part of her that had waited twenty-nine long and lonely years for it and welcomed it now that she was getting it, and that part of her was starting to overshadow the other part.

She had no idea whether or not she liked this development.

Emma shook her head slightly as if to clear it. There would be time for rumination later. Right now, she had to learn how to properly use a sword. "Yeah, I'm good now. Let's go."

David smiled at her and stepped back a couple of paces, resuming his previous position. He unsheathed his sword and got back down to business. "All right, hands on the hilt where I showed you, feet shoulder-width apart." He waited until she resumed her stance as well before continuing. "Now, keeping the blade pointed at the sky, bring the sword down in front of you so that the pommel is in line with your belly button."

Emma lowered her arms, bringing the sword down towards her stomach. "Like this?"

"Almost. Keep your arms a little further away from your body." He demonstrated the stance with his own weapon. "This is a block – known as a parry – and it won't help much if the thrust of the other sword pushes the pommel of yours into your stomach."

She nodded and tried to copy his stance. She couldn't help but feel that hers was awkward and stiff whereas his was fluid and natural. "I feel ridiculous," she sighed, dropping the stance.

Seeing that Emma was entirely out of her element and David was scrambling for a way to get her back on track, Snow excused herself from her lesson with Henry. She walked over to her husband and daughter and gently instructed, "Emma, hold the sword you way you held it in the Forest."

Emma flicked her eyes to her father, who gave her a nod. Even though she didn't have the slightest clue what difference it would make, she shifted the sword in her hand and held it in a way that felt more natural to her. Sudden understanding flooded David's features, and when he met his wife's eyes, she simply smiled at him.

All right, what the hell? Emma thought. Her eyes darted back and forth between her mother and father. Nothing further was said, though, and Snow eventually turned away and walked back over to Henry. Emma arched a single questioning eyebrow at her father, who smiled at her. "What the hell is going on?" she asked once it became apparent that neither he nor Snow was going to tell her anything.

"What's going on," David said softly, "is that I'm going to teach you your way."

"I thought my way was improper."

"It is, but we're going to make it proper."

Now she was completely confused. "Weren't we doing that before?"

"No."

She didn't understand, not until David stepped forward and met her eyes, once again silently asking if he could adjust her grip. She nodded and his hands covered hers, shifting them slightly on the hilt. When he let go, she immediately noticed that the grip still felt natural, a lot more natural than she grip he'd shown her earlier. She couldn't even tell what was different except that it just felt … right. "Is that better?" he asked her, smiling.

"Yeah," she replied, a little smile curling on her lips despite herself. "Yeah, that's much better."

Now she understood what he'd meant. Rather than trying to teach her as if they were starting from scratch, he'd decided, with his wife's help, to simply adapt what she'd taught herself so she would have more control over the weapon.

"Good. You still have to keep your feet shoulder-width apart, though," he teased.

The joke broke the tension completely, and Emma finally chuckled. "Happy now?" she asked as she corrected her footing.

"Yes indeed. Now, let's try that parry again, shall we?"

Over on the other side of the clearing, Snow was pleased to see that it looked like Emma was having an easier time now that she wasn't as frustrated and didn't feel as awkward. She even looked like she was having some fun fending off her father's – gentle, of course – attacks.

Only after Henry almost knocked the wooden sword from her hand did she return her full attention to her grandson. "You can give it up, Gramma," he said through a sigh. "I know you're only pretending not to know what you're doing."

"What?" she asked, blinking innocently at him. "Of course you're teaching me."

He gave her a look she had seen many times on Emma's face, one that plainly said to cut the crap. Ah, the things her daughter was teaching the boy. Snow might have to have a little chat with Emma on that very subject. "You're doing it perfectly and you're not even really paying attention," Henry told her. "Plus, I read the book, you know?"

At that, she lowered her sword and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Henry. It's just that you were so excited that I didn't have the heart to tell you I already knew."

"It's okay," he assured her, the calm smile on his face morphing into a mischievous grin. "That just means I don't have to go easy on you anymore."

"You shouldn't have been going easy on me in the first place," she laughed, raising the sword in challenge to her grandson.

As they sparred, she couldn't help but note that the boy seemed to have paid as much attention to the fencing lessons with his grandfather as he had to the archery lessons with her. His footwork needed a little smoothing out and his thrusts needed a bit of fine-tuning, but he was starting to look very much like a miniature Charming with the sword in his hand.

He swung his sword down hard on hers, once again trying to knock it out of her hand. She was impressed with the force he'd used. "Whoa, that was a good one!"

"Really?" he asked, pausing in place and practically beaming.

As soon as he stopped, she saw an opportunity to teach him something of her own. "Yes," she replied before bringing her sword down on his and knocking it to the ground.

"Hey!" he cried.

"Allow me to teach you a lesson of my own," she smirked. "Never let your guard down."

"Got it," he laughed as he bent down to pick up his sword.

All of a sudden, a shout of pain rang through the clearing. Snow instantly recognized the cry as her daughter's. Her heart skipped a beat and then pounded in her chest as she and Henry both spun in the direction of the sound.

Emma was cradling her right arm in her left, the sword lying forgotten at her feet. As they hurried over to her, David was attempting to coax her into letting him examine the injury. "Let me see," he was murmuring when they approached.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as he lightly touched her arm. "Emma, you've got to let me see it."

"It's fine," she said, then hissed in pain when he gently took her hand in his.

"That's not fine, Emma," he said in what was probably the understatement of the day. He slowly and carefully straightened her arm, keeping a close watch on her facial expression as he did so to make sure he wasn't hurting her.

"What happened?" Snow asked. Henry's hand reached for hers and she gripped it tightly, giving the boy comfort.

"She locked her elbow when she completed her thrust."

"Still standing here," Emma spoke up, a little annoyed that David hadn't let her answer the question on her own.

"Sorry," David replied, giving her a half-smile. He'd managed to straighten her arm out and now he was tenderly testing her range of motion. "Tell me when it hurts, and don't be your usual stubborn self."

Emma watched as her father held her hand and slowly turned her arm. "So far it's – ow, right there!"

David met Snow's eyes and gave her a tiny, reassuring nod. "Good news is, it's not broken. You did wrench it pretty badly, though."

He let her hand go and she tested her range of motion herself. Though she winced at the same spot she had when her father turned her arm, it didn't hurt nearly as much this time. "It's fine. I want to continue."

"Emma–"

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "I promise I'll stop if it hurts. Can we please just continue?"

Once again, Snow and David exchanged a glance. This time it was Snow who gave David a nod, silently telling him to continue the lesson if that was what Emma wanted. David then turned a smile on his daughter, giving the hand of her injured arm a light squeeze. His voice was soft as he said, "That's my girl."

And once again, Emma smiled despite herself.