According to the note Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire found along with their breakfasts, instead of meeting in the library, they would be convening in the courtyard.
Rumplestiltskin wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. He'd come to enjoy spending time with Baelfire and Belle, cooped up in the library, the smell of old books, dust, and that aroma of flowers that always seemed to linger with Belle. His reading had improved vastly and his writing had become much more legible—he'd glowed with pride when Belle declared his handwriting 'terribly elegant'.
"What's Belle going to teach us in the courtyard?" Baelfire asked skeptically as they stepped blinking into the sunshine.
"She's not," A curt voice answered. Both men turned to see King Charming staring at them with a hard expression in his gaze.
Rumplestiltskin cringed, recalling their last interaction with the monarch. The king still glared at Baelfire like he was a tick. Baelfire, to his credit, restrained himself from returning the expression and kept his face impassive.
"Your next lesson is to fight," Charming said finally after an awkward pause. "To learn to fight properly, that is."
Rumplestiltskin's eyes widened. Learning how to fight—surely the king was joking. He glanced at Baelfire with sheer terror in his expression but Baelfire was too busy glowering at the king in annoyance.
"I already know how to fight," He retorted, folding his arms over his chest.
To Rumplestiltskin's surprise, Charming actually smiled. His brow was still furrowed, so it looked more like a grimace, but nevertheless, there was still a sparkle of humor in his gaze.
"I once thought the same thing," He informed Baelfire. "But battling sheep and peasant boys is a lot different than fighting in a battle."
"But surely—" Rumplestiltskin croaked. "Surely he wouldn't—wouldn't have to fight. We're not at war, we're a land in peace…"
"That's true," Charming acknowledged. "And I pray to the gods it will stay that way. Still, you need to be prepared. Not to mention, ceremonial events, showmanship, fencing—the people will expect that out of you. Noble lords are raised on the art of the sword."
Baelfire's frown had not disappeared. "I don't swordfight," He announced. "I use a crossbow. Or hand to hand." His tone was challenging and disrespectful.
Once again, Charming did not look offended. "I understand," He cleared his throat. "That's common. That's what I knew, before I came here. But you'll need to know. You should see Emma, she's proficient with a sword."
Baelfire looked mollified at that, but Rumplestiltskin still couldn't seem to garner the courage to raise his own protest.
"So you're going to be teaching us," Baelfire presumed and Charming smiled, shaking his head.
"Truth be told, I'm a terrible teacher," He stated. "We brought in Emma's teacher—and Snow's, come to that." He looked askance and both Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire turned to see another young man step towards them.
Rumplestiltskin was clearly older than this man—and yet, there was something strangely aged about his eyes. He could not have been much older than Baelfire, but he carried himself with a posture only age and wisdom brought. He wore a wolf pelt on his shoulders and his eyes seemed haunted and ancient. He sized them both up critically.
"This is our huntsman," Charming introduced. "An old friend of Snow's. His name is Graham."
Something flickered in the huntsman's eyes but he did not refute the introduction. "Hello," He said simply.
"I'll leave you to it," Charming acknowledged, tilting his head. He looked like he wanted to add something, but decided against it, choosing to disappear towards the stables.
Graham the huntsman was intimidating, but he was not a king, and Rumplestiltskin finally found his voice. "Forgive me, but I think—I think you'd be better off teaching Bae. Perhaps I ought to observe rather than participate."
Graham regarded Rumplestiltskin carefully. "Why?"
"Well—" Rumplestiltskin stammered. "I—I'm lame. What good would I be with a sword?"
"Why should that matter?" Graham questioned and Rumplestiltskin glanced at his son, slightly exasperated.
"I—well—I can't very well swordfight with one leg, can I?" He asked helplessly.
"Why not?" Graham inquired. "Are your arms broken as well?"
A small smile formed on Baelfire's face and Rumplestiltskin didn't know what to say.
"It is true, that footwork is important for swordsmanship," Graham acknowledged. "But we can work around that. I can teach you a style of fighting that works with your abilities and talents."
Frankly, this sounded like nonsense to Rumplestiltskin. He had vivid memories of being hardly able to lift a heavy broadsword. Despite his youthful zeal and concerted efforts, he'd been something of a joke to the rest of the regiment. The only difference now, was that Rumplestiltskin was not particularly keen on making a further fool of himself in front of this huntsman and his son.
"Follow me," Graham directed and the two men trailed after him, Rumplestiltskin looking downcast and Baelfire looking cautiously optimistic. Graham stopped in front of a stack of weaponry, turning to face them.
"Pick a weapon," Graham ordered.
Baelfire obeyed, lifting a curved sword that seemed to suit him nicely. Rumplestiltskin had never seen a sword like it, it brought to mind bandits and thieves with the wicked curve of the blade.
"And you, spinner," Graham said, but his tone was gentle. "Whichever one you like. Whichever you think fits best."
Somewhat desperately, Rumplestiltskin turned towards the weapons. The majority he'd never even seen before. He picked up the only sword that looked familiar, a large broadsword similar to the type he carried as a soldier. It felt heavy and cumbersome in his arms and Rumplestiltskin struggled to lift it.
"You think this sword fits you best?" Graham asked skeptically and Rumplestiltskin flushed.
"I fought with something like it before," He answered meekly. "Years ago."
"Not very well, I'd wager," Graham said, not unkindly. "Rumplestiltskin, you are not a large man. Why should you carry a large man's sword?" He bent down and retrieved a smaller sword, that was thin and silver. Rumplestiltskin took it doubtfully, testing the weight. To his surprise, it nestled comfortably in his palm, and felt easy on his arm. He could wield it one-handed while still keeping his balance.
"That's more like it," Graham said approvingly, gesturing for them to follow.
To Rumplestiltskin's surprise, there was no reason to dread these lessons. Graham was a fair teacher, encouraging, and Rumplestiltskin found this style of sword fighting bearable. He was still limited in his footwork, but Graham was able to teach him a fashion of swordsmanship that relied on clever tricks with the hand, antics that Rumplestiltskin never dreamed he'd be able to master. Still, his ability with a sword, though far from masterful, improved.
To Rumplestiltskin's surprise, Baelfire had a more difficult time. It was surely his imagination, but Graham seemed almost harder on Baelfire, more challenging, never allowing for weakness or exhaustion. Rumplestiltskin could tell Baelfire was annoyed, but his son said nothing.
When the sun was at the top of the sky, Graham paused. He turned towards the courtyard steps and Rumplestiltskin followed his gaze, noticing Emma at the top.
"Bae!" She called out joyfully, rushing down the steps. She launched herself into Baelfire's arms.
"Belle wants us," She announced. "If you're done, Graham."
Graham smiled at her, something sad in his expression. "We are done for today," He sheathed his sword and Emma clapped her hands in delight. She took Baelfire's hand and led him away, glancing back at Rumplestiltskin, gesturing for him to follow.
"He's strange," Baelfire remarked when Rumplestiltskin caught up with them. "The huntsman. What is it about him…"
"He was enchanted," Emma said knowledgeably. "A long time ago by a horrible witch. My mother set him free. He's wonderful, though." She waved happily at Graham who nodded in response.
"He seems to like you a lot," Baelfire noted, his grip slightly tightening on Emma's arm.
"Well, of course," Emma said blithely. "I'm very likable. And he's known our family forever."
This did not seem to relieve the slightly discomfited expression on Baelfire's face, but he said nothing and they walked on.
It was with great trepidation that both men entered the ballroom. As usual, Baelfire was antsy, impatient to have his lessons completed to Belle's satisfaction as soon as humanly possible, so he might disappear off to Emma's bedroom. Rumplestiltskin was attempting not to gape at the grandeur and majesty of the ballroom. His entire village could fit quite comfortably in this room, and its walls were decorated with jewel-encrusted murals, each depicting marked moments in Queen Snow White's history.
"Good afternoon!"
They both turned to see Belle smiling at them from the middle of the room. Rumplestiltskin's mouth went dry—she wore a beautiful, rose-colored dress that set off the pink in her cheeks and the blue of her eyes. She glided towards them, eyes bright and excited.
"Today," She announced. "We are going to learn dancing."
Baelfire took one look at his surroundings and then made a break for it. But before he could reach the doors, Emma darted backwards, slamming them shut, and crossed her arms.
"If I have to, you have to," She informed him hotly.
"We all have to," Belle said firmly, crossing the ballroom. "Especially you, Baelfire. When we announce you as Emma's new husband, all eyes will be upon you. You will be scrutinized from head to toe. We cannot have a single shade of a doubt from anyone that you are pure nobility—and your first dance with your new wife shall reflect that."
For a moment, Rumplestiltskin thought he might be in the clear, but Belle smiled at him next.
"The same goes for you, Rumplestiltskin," She sang. "Everyone will be curious about this new lord and his father. They'll want to know everything about your lands, your titles, your history. You'll have a line of ladies wanting to dance with you."
Rumplestiltskin rather doubted this, but he did not contradict her. Belle snapped her fingers and an unseen band began to play a cheerful waltz.
"Baelfire, take Emma's hands," Belle directed. "Hands clasped here, hand touching his shoulder, hand touching her waist. Very good." She adjusted their fumbling arms.
"Listen to the music," Belle continued and to Rumplestiltskin's shock, she took his hands. "Listen to the beats. No, Emma, let Baelfire lead." She turned towards Rumplestiltskin and smiled brightly.
"Ready?" She asked cheerfully.
"I—well—" Rumplestiltskin stammered.
"Rumple," Belle said gently. "I don't expect you to be Casanova. All things take practice."
"But—my leg—"
"We won't go for long," She promised. "I know Graham must have worked you both hard. But I wasn't lying. This is essential. So we have to start at the beginning."
Rumplestiltskin sighed, taking Belle's hands. He led her onto the dance floor, following the strums of music. At least in this, he might stand a fighting chance.
For the fact of the matter was, he could dance. He'd learned long ago, and though he'd been worried that he had forgotten, the shock in Belle's eyes disproved that theory.
"Why, Rumplestiltskin," Belle's eyes sparkled. "You seem to delight in surprising me. Wherever did you learn to dance?" She was careful about not leaning her weight onto him, with regards to his leg, and he appreciated it.
He glided with her, unable to resist a smile. "I learned…from the women who took care of me," He answered quietly. "When my father left. They said dancing was important in order to court whoever I married, so…" He realized the implication of his words.
"Not that I'm—I only meant—that's why they taught me," Rumplestiltskin rushed to say. "I would never presume to—"
"Shhh," Belle said gently. "Let's just dance."
He stumbled a few times, but managed to match her motions. He felt as though he were dreaming, having Belle so close to him, the scent of roses and vanilla in her hair, that soft, dreamy smile upon her countenance. His leg had begun to protest, but it was a small price to pay for this moment. He would've been content for it to last forever.
It took several minutes for them both to realize that the orchestra had stopped playing. Emma and Baelfire were looking at them curiously.
Belle quickly stepped away. "That…should be enough for today," Her voice was falsely cheery. "I know you all must be tired. We'll reconvene tomorrow at noon sharp, in the ballroom." She smiled at all of them, her polite society smile, and quickly exited the ballroom.
Rumplestiltskin watched her leave, feeling crestfallen. Perhaps she'd caught the moonstruck look his eyes and was disgusted, and was now attempting to renew the distance between them. That wouldn't surprise him.
"Does your father fancy Belle?" Emma asked curiously as she led Baelfire onto the balcony. She'd wanted to show him the view ballroom balcony provided, as it would be rather gorgeous the night they held the ceremony celebrating their matrimony.
"Probably," Baelfire responded honestly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "He's not exactly had a lot of experience with women, and he's been in close quarters with a really beautiful woman for the past few weeks. I'd be surprised if he didn't fancy her."
Emma frowned, poking him. "You think Belle's really beautiful?"
"Sure, I do," Baelfire replied easily, grinning at her slightly put-out expression. "Why? Jealous?"
She kicked him. "No."
"She's hardly competition, considering half the time I'm skiving off on her lessons, trying to see you," Baelfire commented languidly.
"Not to mention, she likes your father," Emma said loftily, taking a seat on a stone pillar.
"We don't know that for sure," Baelfire said warningly. "Don't see things that might not be there."
"I know," Emma retorted confidently. "Just you watch." She turned and sighed, her gaze falling over the city. The balcony provided a wonderful view of the city and the seaside docks. With the right breeze, they could smell the ocean.
"Tomorrow," Emma murmured. "They'll announce our marriage in the streets. To further the anticipation. Then they'll officially recognize us and you will make your debut. And then we'll finally celebrate our matrimony—"
"Hopefully somewhere in all these events we'll actually get married," Baelfire said drolly.
"We will, privately," Emma sighed. "But it's one less event. Royal marriages are ridiculous, we're lucky to only be celebrating a reception."
"And then?" Baelfire turned towards her, placing a hand on her belly. "Then what will we do?"
"Then we'll live happily ever after," Emma said confidently. This answer seemed to please Baelfire, who cradled her face in his, kissing her soundly.
She broke away from him, something catching her eye.
"What is it?" He asked, gently stroking the side of her face.
"I've never seen that ship before," Emma murmured. "In the distance, with the black sails. I know all of the ships that come through here, I've never seen that one."
Baelfire squinted. Emma had the eyes of a hawk, he could barely make out its outline.
"Does it matter?" He asked impatiently, wanting to return to the very important business of kissing her.
"I suppose not," Emma smiled and he happily resumed his work.