Donovan's smithy, a half dozen years after Donovan walked the Pattern. The fall air was crisp and clear. The smithy was hot from the forge and resounded with the rhythmic pounding of Donovan's hammer against a long sliver of steel, which Faiello's son held against the anvil with a pair of tongs.

Princess Mercury was heading toward Birnham Wood on her steed Shadowfane -- a grey mare shorter than average among the Ebon stables -- when she was distracted by the industrious sounds made by her youngest half-brother. Hopping down from her horse, she entered the low building and watched Donovan working the steel into a long, thin dagger. Titania's daughter watched the smith with interest, but without disrupting his work.

The young man was unaware of his half-sister's presence until he held the finished dagger up to the light and caught an odd reflection in its blade. Turning he saw a short but slender woman in high, dark-brown riding boots, tan riding pants, and a grey blouse. The blouse brought out the color in her eyes, which were a grey to match the newly-formed dagger in Donovan's hand. Mercury's hair was shoulder-length, wavy, and brown. She wore a rapier at her side.

"I did not think I would live long enough to see a brother of mine doing something useful," she announced with a smile. "Perhaps mother's latest husband is all that I hoped he would be."

The heavily muscled youth regarded his older sister with a combination of interest and faint suspicion, though a smile touched the blue eyes, shaded under a heavy brow. He raised a callused hand, one finger scratching at his short, black beard.

"Perhaps," he said softly in a voice that was both lower and rougher than indicated by still youthful features. "Not my judgment to make."

Donovan considered the dagger a moment longer, half turned from his diminutive sibling, examining its balance, weight and striations with an expertly critical eye. Then, seeming to note the slightest imperfection in the blade, with a faint hacking sound of disgust, the young smith let it drop on the surface of his polished granite work table. Despite the implications of his actions, the discarded blade made the musical, bell-like ringing sound of well-honed steel as it clattered down.

Donovan moved to a stone washbasin, stripped off his cotton shirt and leather vest, and without further preamble, dunked his head and shoulders into the water and reemerged, dripping water glistening against the chiseled muscled of his arms, chest and stomach. Toweling himself off roughly with a woolen blanket, he drew a dipper of what appeared to be hard apple cider from a barrel nearby and drinking deeply, before offering Mercury a fresh draught of the same with raised eyebrows.

The petite princess accepted the proffered beverage and sipped at it delicately. She avoided excesses of alcohol as she was both figuratively and literally a lightweight. A bemused look crossed her face at Donovan's suspicion and non-commital response. With a chuckle Mercury noted, "now, now, do not be so suspicous. Were I planning to act against your interest I would not be so foolish as to let you know I was involved. Of course, I suppose your suspicion of me is well founded and thus speaks well of your judgment."

After pausing a moment to brush a stray hair out of her face, Cymneo's daughter continued, "and speaking of making judgments, it is very much your place to make them. Certainly you would be foolish to accept those of your kin."

These words actually elicited a chuckle from the young and generally taciturn prince. Faiello's son shook his wet head twice with a crooked smile. "I make my own judgments Mercury. I said that a judgment of the worth of my father as pertains to your 'hopes' for him is not mine to make. Different thing."

He shrugged massive shoulders, dropped the makeshift towel in a basket, and slipped on a clean, azure shirt.

"As for suspicion of you, certainly I have no cause for such. But I must take note that now, after so many years, you have come without announcement or invitation to observe your youngest brother in such a menial task...

"What may I do for you, sister?"

"No cause for suspicion of me?" Mercury repied with a snort. "Well then clearly you have not spoken to any of your brethren, or at least not heeded their warnings. I've taken a little time out of each day to make their lives as miserable as possible. Only one of the lot could truly be called a Prince, and even he would ruin Ebony with his foolish notions."

Titania's eldest child was silent for a while, staring off into space as if remembering every prank played on, or disappointment seen in, Titania's other children. Eventually she drew herself back to the present and continued, "as for waiting so many years, perhaps our views of time are slightly different. In fact, I have been watching you for some time, trying to get a measure of you. Unlike your immediate predecessors you come from good stock. You do not appear lazy, wholly self-centered, foolish, or blindly optimistic, so perhaps, unlike the rest, you are worthy of the title 'Prince.'"

"Regarding announcements and invitations, I would think you'd be happy to have your big sister take an interest in your work," the princess mocked a hurt look.

The young prince shrugged again. "You are welcome to come. Formality for the sake of formality is pretense. But such work would hold little interest for most." He nodded his head vaguely towards the discarded dagger, still resting on the work table. He sighed. Perhaps the intricate word play and half-veiled references were beginning to bore him.

"Still...this might be of interest," he offered after a brief pause. Donovan crossed the room to a small cabinet with an intricate lock on it. Pulling a key from one pocket, he opened the lock, removed it, and then opened the cabinet doors. Inside was a stunning collection of small figurines, mostly of animals. The sculpting medium varied but was generally of stone -- sometimes precious or semiprecious gems, but often little more than a well-polished hunk of common rock lovingly formed into a work of art.

The prince fumbled through the menagerie for a few seconds, before removing a single, small sculpture. It was a marvelous sculpture of a tiny mare rearing, teeth bared and forehooves appearing ready to strike sparks from the very air. Formed from a single piece of dark grey obsidian, even rearing it stood no more than four inches, though the detail for its size was nothing short of extraordinary.

"Shadowfane," Donovan said with a soft voice. "Color's not perfect...a little too dark. I used a flaw in the stone to match her rear leg sock. It felt right." His thick finger delicately indicated the tiny internal scratch that perfectly conformed to Shadowfane's own light, left sock.

"Not perfect," he repeated, but there was the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned the tiny horse gently.

Then the bulky royal offered the figurine to his petite sister. "It's yours if you want it, princess," he said with a raised eyebrow and faint shrug.