Shape of My Heart, a grey's anatomy fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy.

Author's Note: This is an original story that came to me after I had a dream one night this week and then heard this song from Sting, "The Shape of My Heart', the very next day wherein the balance of the story was born. It is a fairytale, a wild adventure of deep love and trust. I truly hope you enjoy it and would love to hear your thoughts.

Lyrics for Sting's, "Shape of My Heart":

He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He doesn't play for the respect
He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart

He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the Queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart
That's not the shape, the shape of my heart

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost

###

Shape of My Heart

Once a long time ago there lived a young Prince who was raised in the royal way, the way in which he was so well cared for and so privileged and so revered that he was almost naïve – for never did he want or desire – all of his needs were anticipated by those around him who served him both inside and outside his castle of arms. Now, let it be known that he wasn't ignorant or cruel or even jaded, for the way he lived was simply the natural order of his life, much like the King of the jungle was deemed the lion and not the mouse.

As such, he was a happy boy and as the years passed he grew into a happy young man – simple, bright, handsome – and well, he was Prince, in every sense of the word … he was intriguing. And so taken by this apparent intrigue, many people reported being captivated by his azure blue eyes and disarming smile – eyes and charm that were so legendary amongst his subjects (and even as far and wide as neighboring countries) – that a myth circulated around him.

"Stare into the eyes of Prince Derek and you will loose what was so rightfully yours, the words on the tip of your very own tongue!"

And so as he came of age, it was only natural that the handsome Prince began to look for a match, a suitable royal-blooded woman with whom he might marry and extend his own bloodline via his offspring (and maybe even fall in love with said Princess too). And as astute and quick as his parents were to marry him off to the most benign courtesan, Prince Derek was known to insist (at every turn):

"That is not the shape of my heart."

Time and time again, he would utter these words, quite content to wait for the right woman, quite bedazzled by most, yet fully aware that something was amiss. And he would argue that point with parents, for a stranger could see how madly in love with one another they were. And they would smile on the truth of that fact, but would counter his argument, insisting that they merely 'learned' to love and respect and trust one another over the years. But a modern young man like Prince Derek had otherworldly ideas … for he was seeking to find and keep his true love (and then marry her).

And this is where this story begins – a lonely time for the Prince – a time in which he felt as though his wings were tethered, pinned to his sides, no place to go and no room to grow, with no real duties of governance over the small country his family reigned over and no real interests if his own, he was merely a man unto himself. And while that might have been fine for some, it was not fine enough for him.

To say he was restless would be an understatement and as such, with his selection of courtesans becoming smaller and smaller (and younger and younger), the fine Prince with the beautiful blue eyes and charming disposition grew, for lack of a better term, uninterested in the small world all around him.

And so it was no surprise that one morning that restless boredom took him outside, the sunrise calling to him from the balcony upon which he sat with his eyes closed – his chest and cheeks warmed by the new light of day – the birds also calling to one another and perhaps to him as well. Opening his eyes again after a short time, the handsome man found himself drawn to dress casually and slip out of his quarters, a hat under his arm, one that he planned to use to disguise himself if need be – his path unknown – though his desire apparent as he stealthily entered the stable and readied his horse.

Covering the family crest upon the horse's robes – he mounted the tamed beast and carefully rode out – that desire to find his peace of mind readily on his head as he skillfully rode along the outer perimeter of the palace grounds where in minutes he found himself arriving and passing through the unguarded threshold of the north east gate without a single hindrance or word of protest.

And as he rode on, he kept to himself, careful to stay on the outskirts of the small village city, making his way to the vast open countryside his mother and father so gloriously governed … his eyes wide open and fresh as he entered a small cluster of trees, a dense forest. The early morning summer breeze moving through the canopy all around him – the sunlight peering down and onto the rich soil and fallen leaves – rays of sunlight that called to him and fell along his tense shoulders akin to a hug from an angel. Yes, he felt at peace, for he was aligned and at one with nature inside this environmental church God had created.

Breathing deeply, he lingered for a small amount of time before he pressed on, moving out from under the protection of the forest, his confidence somewhat restored as he came to a small village still within the province of his coat of arms – a terminus where many farmers and tradesman lived – those constituents who rallied early in the morning and set off with their wares for the marketplace in the city just outside the palace walls.

But as he rode, a great feeling of sadness washed over the young Prince, for as common as these people were (his people) and as humble as their homes were – he felt a sense of community – a sense of order and belonging that he hadn't felt, if ever at all, from whence he came. And so saddened was he by this realization, that his thoughtful mind began to wander and he became more and more despondent until he slowed his pace entirely and looked ahead to find a place to sit … and weep.

With his vision blurred and his eyes with stinging tears, he leaned over and praised the hard-working horse he rode so loftily upon – his mind so fatigued and beleaguered by his oppression and his desire to see and do more now – that the weight of his responsibilities to his parents and to the sovereignty of his country were suddenly overwhelming to the point of no return. For he had to accept that his hands were tied, he had to come to terms with his responsibility to marry and that his entering into this holy bond did not have to be for the sake of love, but only for the love and longevity of his country.

Spotting a river bend up ahead now, he picked up his pace, the breeze caressing his cheeks as it barreled down from the snow-capped mountain ranges high above him and along the plain on which he rode, the long blades of grass surely tickling the horse's hooves as the strong animal reacted to his command and moved, pressing on and forward, en route to their destination: the lifeline of the river. And as he approached, he pressed his heels into the animal's ribs and held him steady with his thighs, ordering him to slow down, Prince Derek's eyes focusing on the swift current of the river as he did.

Sliding from the horse's back, he approached the embankment and tilted his head up towards the sky, silently praying now, and for what, he wasn't sure – though he desperately sought clarity and direction and a sense of purpose – resting his heart, he listened to the water, focusing intensely on the sound of the current where he became lulled for a lost beat in time, time that belonged solely to him. The horse snorted, his feet shuffling as his strong whinny interrupting the serenity of the moment wherein Prince Derek opened his eyes to find three quiet, yet seemingly resolute maidens fast approaching him.

And therein, he responded to their silent, untrusting duel, looking at each of them squarely in the eyes before he noticed a fourth young woman – her hand wrapped tightly around the horse's reign as she began to pull the animal – her emerald green gaze meeting the Prince's for a brief flicker before she yanked on the reign and continued to pull the loyal, protesting horse down and away toward the muddy embankment … and Prince Derek would have moved to protest himself, had he not lost what was so rightfully his: the words on the tip of his tongue.

And so there he stood – quite awestruck by the maiden's apparent tenacity, quite aware of her untamed beauty – for she was a goddess, unlike any woman he had ever laid his eyes upon, and though her gate was somewhat tense and rigid, her beauty was all-consuming, with the way her wild golden hair framed her face and also billowed in the wind and the way her bright green eyes shone against the sunlight like that of a wild animal … she was, much like many had described him … quite charming and intriguing.

He stepped forward then and watched her pull his beast of an animal, whispering to him, her melodic voice dancing in the wind – 'calm yourself, trust me' she requested and as she led him down to the rushing water, his whinnying coming to a slow stop as she grounded herself against his strength and guided him into the current without looking back. The spring water, gray-blue and adorned with handsome white caps, rushing all about her lithe form now as she held her own and began to cup water in her hands only to caress the animal's mane and back with the cool, natural panacea – her frock wet up to her waist – her wild eyes locked on the horse's as he grew less agitated, 'see that, all better now' he heard her say, her hand pressed to the swell of the horse's cheek before he trusted her enough to bend his neck down to lap at the water.

"Who is she?" the stunned Prince asked of the maidens who stood off and to the side. He tipped his hat to get a better look at the wide-eyed women.

"Why, she's Meri, Thatcher the roofer's daughter," one of them answered factually.

To which he made no reply, rather he found himself walking down the embankment, the rushing of the water drowning his ears as he walked on and forward without hesitation or fear, his feet sinking into the mud as he did – the last of his breath stolen as the roofer's daughter looked up to find him – a satisfied smile etched along her beautiful face.

"Whatever are you doing?" he asked of her, his inquiry twirling in the current.

"Your horse was thirsty and you … you are skilled on a horse – but you are absorbed in your folly – so much that he … was struggling, he was in pain while you were … distracted," she called out to him, pulling on the reign of the horse to guide him back from whence they came.

Prince Derek stared at the young woman, quite smitten by her, in all ways … her beauty, intellect and humanity already capturing his heart. And then he felt something he hadn't in a very long time, a smile – a genuine one – rooting itself along his face while he stared at her and she at him for a brief connective moment in time.

"You are right," he deemed thoughtfully as he held his hand out for her where she took his hand – wherein he felt a spark of untamed energy akin to the current of the river as it passed between them – and from the wide-eyed appearance upon her face, he could tell she felt it too.

She stared at him then, this handsome stranger who took her by the hand so naturally that she suddenly felt as if she had been bewildered by an unforeseen storm of sorts; the energy warm and cohesive and disarming. So much so that she pulled her hand away as if burned, though it was her face that was scorched by their innate heat.

The Prince reluctantly released the maiden's hand, taking the horse's reign to guide him up and onto the embankment, the rushing water circulating below them now. "I am … I was distracted …," he stated evenly when he finally caught his breath. He smiled still as he released the horse and pulled his jacket off, slipping it around the young woman's shoulders, breathing in a floral essence that could have only belonged to her.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes flicking to his briefly before she looked away – her gaze falling on his hands – so, strong and warm and large … and manicured. And then she froze, tilting her head as she regarded him more closely, looking up only to see that he had seen her scrutinizing him. She smiled and so did he. "You are a skilled rider … you should have known –"

"Meri," one of the women interrupted, stepping between them. "We must take leave if you are to get back to your village … tonight …," she said with a raised brow, unspoken nervousness mounting now.

"Well, if you must," Prince Derek answered to diffuse the tension he felt, though so curious now as to what the beautiful Meri was about to say to him.

"Yes, we must," said the young woman, tugging on a Meri's arm as she led her away with the other maidens stepping in line.

The young Prince watched them go, his heart alighted, his mind suddenly clear with one circular thought making its way around and around – 'Meri, Thatcher the roofer's daughter' – his same smile etched along his face now as he turned to his horse, patting the animal with love and fondness where he could see his own satisfied reflection set deep inside his black liquid eyes; he sighed deeply and then he heard Meri's voice again.

"Your jacket," she muttered, turning around to find the handsome stranger with his captivating blue eyes.

He smiled and shook his head. "By all means, keep it," he offered genuinely.

"And where might I find you to give it back to you?" she asked brazenly, wrapping herself inside the warm fabric as she did. "What is your name?" she found herself asking; her cheeks pink.

"You will learn soon enough," he answered confidently, so sure of their connection that he knew they would meet again … and again.

###

That evening as the sun set upon the glorious day, Prince Derek announced to his parents that he planned to ask the beautiful roofer's daughter for her hand in marriage.

Appalled, his mother protested, arguing the obvious, that there were plenty of royal bloodlines left to explore where a 'suitable' match would be found, a woman worthy of his station … his wealth, power, intellect and charm. The Prince remained silent giving his mother the respect she deserved, the right to be heard, though he had clearly made his decision. He turned to his father for reaction, not surprised to hear him joining the defensive now, though surely he spotted within his son's own eyes a renewed light – a fiery passion – a stance of determination perhaps he had never before seen before from his son … until now.

And so, with that flicker of recognition, the King chose his words carefully and then he spoke. "Son," he appealed, draping his arm along his boy's broad shoulders. "Surely you cannot entertain this notion any further," he stated evenly, a passion of objection found in his voice. The young Prince turned to his father and tilted his head so that they were eye to eye, man to man. Undeterred, the older man pressed on. "And where on earth did you meet this peasant maiden?" he challenged with interest.

"I met her today father and my decision has been made," the Prince answered firmly and being the only heir to the throne, he knew all too well that his father needed him to remain, and that ultimately this decision would come down on his side of the scale. And then he smiled, staring straight into his father's weathered, all-seeing eyes.

The King pushed back, not giving up so easily, though with that look in his son's eyes, he knew he would be hard-pressed to change his mind. "Son, with all due respect, be rational here – how can you attempt to explain this decision – for surely this woman you speak of cannot –"

"Do not father – do not belittle her because of her station – because from where I stand and stood today, I know what I found in her and how she made me feel, for she is as innately regal in how she holds her head as any courtesan I have ever encountered," the Prince deemed as he held his ground.

"But you do not know from whence she came, you cannot trust –"

"Trust?" the headstrong Prince questioned incredulously. "Is that what I should hope to garner from an arranged marriage?" he asked pointedly. "Is it not true that trust is still an earned commodity father?" he countered, his heart raging despite his smooth delivery.

"Son … please …," his mother sighed breathlessly, losing her voice as she stood motionless – still so enchanted by her son's remarkable determination – that she found it hard to look away from this new facet of his beauty.

"My parents, can it be that you do not see that trust in a bloodline cannot be enough of an argument to win this battle between us," he declared, his eyes volleying between his parents as they stood there still, quite speechless. "You know that I am right and that your collective belief that marrying me off to any woman with the right bloodline, sight unseen … sight unseen, with full trust – how can this be that you should wish to bestow this burden upon me – and it is in the name of trust … that all I ask is that you to give me yours," he appealed directly and he knew then by the softness he found within their eyes that he had won. "You will see, when you meet her, I know you will see everything I have … for she is remarkable and strong and smart and fearless – everything a Queen should be and more – just like you dear mother," he smiled broadly with his eyes wide open.

###

And so it was that the King sent two coachmen and a spray of handsome gifts to the small, modest home of Thatcher the roofer, to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage on behalf of the Prince. The family was quite blindsided by the sudden visit as they sat eating a small meal together, shoulder to shoulder. Even more blindsided by the sudden marriage proposal. Meri smiled at the kind young men and smoothed her skirts down and away from her waist as she stood to greet them, her eyes roaming over the lovely gifts they had bestowed upon her – silk brocade fabrics adorned with jewels, fine candles and wine and soap – celebratory gifts, somehow both pragmatic and extravagant.

"Do you have an answer for the Prince?" one of the coachmen asked.

"No," Meri answered, watching as her father's mouth fell open.

"No, is your answer?" the man asked, shifting on his feet.

Meri shook her head. "No … 'no' is not my answer, you asked if I had an answer and my answer to your question is 'no' … I do not have an answer," she reverse-engineered.

The man sighed with apparent relief. "When do you think you will have an answer?" he prompted with a wry grin.

"When the Prince asks me himself," she answered. "And not until I learn some more about him … learn to trust him … for the shape of my heart is not dictated upon me," she stated evenly, her father's eyes glassy now as he sat down in defeat.

"And how is it that a woman of your station can afford to be this … picky?" the other coachman interjected then. "The man is a Prince, he doesn't have to prove himself to you, or anyone for that matter … he was born with our trust, our hearts were made to beat for him …," he preached firmly.

The young woman smiled. "Respectfully, it is character we are born with and trust, no matter a man's station – he must earn it – and thereby shape the hearts of those around him," she sighed.

Breathless now as her keen eyes rested upon an earthenware pot where she became quite dizzy from the craftsmanship, so remarkable … so unique and captivating – carefully painted with a beautiful stallion that stood amidst the rushing river that made it's way around the base of the pot – handmade, she sighed inside … a rather personal gift, her heart softening slightly as an idea struck her when she spied a crocus bulb planted within. She smiled.

"So what am I to report to the Prince?" the first coachman asked, interrupting her private reverie.

Meri smiled and walked toward the door. "You may tell the Prince that he may court me, very similar to the manner by which he might court someone of higher prominence," she declared. "You may tell him that he has until this bulb here blooms to its full potential in the early fall months – inform him that he has until the fall to earn my trust, to shape my heart – and to ask for my hand in marriage the proper way … to ask me himself," she smiled thoughtfully.

###

And so it was that Prince Derek did as Meri, the roofer's daughter asked, a tiny smirk setting upon his face as he shared the news with his parents, the Queen especially smitten by the young girl's strength of character and her tenacity in protecting herself and what was so rightfully hers … the life would come to choose by marrying her son.

And months later as the crocus flower bloomed – the Prince did indeed ask the young maiden for her hand in marriage – choosing to do so one crisp fall evening at the very river bend where they first met and began their journey.

"Meri," he breathed her name as they watched the sun sink behind the mountains.

"Yes," she sighed, her knuckles grazing his as her eyes swept the landscape, her heart on fire with anticipation.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly, twirling his fingers through hers before he took a hold of her hand, completely lost within her emerald green gateways.

"You know I do," she answered, turning into his radiant heat. She looked up and saw with great comfort that look he saved just for her. "Do you trust me?" she asked of him; she blinked, waiting for his answer.

"Yes," he answered directly as he came to cradle her in his arms, his nose and mouth pressed against the crown of her head.

"How much?" she prompted breathlessly, pulling back and away, though heavy in his capable arms.

"Enough to ask you …," he smiled, staring down at the woman who had captured his heart and had earned his trust whilst he had earned hers.

"Is it enough, am I enough, the way I am – with my heart so tender and weak for you – with my shape so redefined … by the way I have fallen for you?" she dared to ask, her hands flanking his skull now.

"Of course you are, from the moment we met, right here … you took charge of my life –of my destiny as it awaited – of my fate to fall in love with you," he sighed, pressing his lips high upon her cheekbone, so close to kissing her now that he could feel the vibrations humming between them.

"We have trust and love and character and … determination," she sighed, quite captivated by her would-be husband's faceted eyes. She tilted her head up, swaying heavily in his arms as the sun went down.

"We do … together we have all that and so much more …," he breathed, his mouth hovering over hers. "And yes, it is you, Meri who has changed my shape, it is the love I have for you that has made me become malleable … my properties so true to myself now that no one can challenge them and therein – you have alighted me like no other – prepared me to rejoice in my station and look forward to one day ruling over this sovereignty … with you by my side," he declared, his hot breath fanning her face.

"Ask me then …," she mused, rising onto the tips of her toes.

He smiled and held her close, his forehead pressed to hers now. "Will you marry me?" he whispered with a sheepish smile, his heart filling with untapped love as he did.

"Yes," Meri answered simply, tilting her head up where she boldly brushed her lips against his for the very first time, her whole body reacting to their physical connectivity; her heart racing as she ached for more.

###

Years passed and Prince and Princess lived on and prospered alongside the King and Queen and her father whom moved into the palace with them. Two heirs to the throne, a baby girl followed by a baby boy, quickly materialized and though their parents doted on their every move – they were also busy with their shared governance over the land – the Prince utilizing his interest and intellect in growing the county's small army of men, while the Princess dedicated her time to the agricultural growth of their nation, quite a known for her strategies in water conservation and irrigation.

And they were happy and well cared for by one another and those around them and these early years of their marriage were truly magical and whimsical, every day was glorious and every night was heated, for even now, they made love like newlyweds, still quite captivated and intrigued by one another. And it is here where this story begins again.

With the babes tucked safely in bed, it was somewhat of the couple's nightly ritual that Meri would slip into the library for a time and read, her inner peace of mind restored by her escape into books from all over the world – her thirst for knowledge as natural as the air to breathe for her – while the Prince would escape to his art chamber just off of their bedroom where his clay wheel would sit and he would work – easing the tensions of the day – reclaiming the mold of his heart as he worked with the malleable clay of the earth upon which their homestead stood. Once their tensions from the day were diminished, invariably they would seek one another and bathe together, make love and fall asleep wrapped around one another.

And so as Meri stood just inside the doorway of Derek's art chamber, she watched him work for a time, the candle lights flickering all around him while he focused intensely – her beloved gift of their engagement – her lover's horse painted upon the crocus pot, sat up in the middle of a high shelf … a constant reminder of their beginning, one that always made her smile.

Sighing, she let her eyes move around his enclave, always challenging herself to see something different whenever she stepped inside – a small new pot, a new set of paints, a new bag of terracotta clay – her mind captivated by the images she might see painted along the pieces he left strewn about the place – for these images told of the shape of his heart – they told her of his troubles or concerns and from his drawings, she could readily see how his work would sometimes mar his beautiful mind.

Often, she would be able to coax him into talking a little bit about the army's health, she of course knew the state of their arms, but her husband did his best to shield her from the reality of their defenses and thereby she felt he claimed the burden as his own. And so she was always very happy to talk strategies with him, to help him vet out his concerns, to give him a woman's or a mother's point of view and though he was always grateful and felt better and more grounded after their discussions – she knew he felt guilty about sharing the stress – for they were a small nation and a very wealthy nation, one that many neighboring nations wanted to control.

And so as she entered his space on this night, she noticed straight away the dark images he had painted along a long planter he had been working on for the last several days – the images were more akin to shadows, a group of men dwindling in size as he painted and painted, nameless and faceless men … disappearing – she swallowed hard and stepped further into the chamber, watching now as her husband froze and then turned to find her. He smiled weakly, his hands still covered with clay, red, earth, salt, tears … she smiled in return and came to stand in front of him.

"You are so beautiful," he said softly, his eyes vacillating with uncharacteristic insecurity as he looked up to idol her, his cure-all for everything that was disconcerting to him.

"So are you," she replied, stepping between his feet, her mind moving to the countless times they made love, even inside this very room, unable to wait to be clean and fresh and wrapped inside their bed linens. "Speak to me … share it, this burden you keep," she encouraged, unable to stop herself from running her fingertips through his disheveled dark locks.

Derek smiled at his wife. "There have been some troubling disappearances my love … some of our countrymen have all but vanished – and I cannot believe they are unrelated any longer – there is something or perhaps someone who has captured or killed them," he confessed as he stared at her, his mind working over the reports he had counted over the course of the last two full moons.

"I must confess, I did hear of two such disappearances myself, two of the wheat farmer's three sons have also … well, it was believed to be that they took leave, often like some young men do … but now …," she sighed, her hands on her lover's broad shoulders.

"We must stop this madness … before long, we must do something," he sighed, his hands on his woman's hips now, his lips pressed to her bosom.

"Come morning my darling, we will have a plan," she soothed, pinning her fists to his shoulders as he drew her near and she came to raise the fabric of her skirts and straddle him in his chair, her feet wrapped around the small of his back.

Her mouth on his, mating already – her feral need to covet him pounding away in her heart already – for they both knew that come morning, he would likely set off in disguise to get to the root cause of their collective troubles. And with this on their heads, they prepared to make long lasting and deep love, his nimble fingers, still stained with the earth as he undressed her and she him, where they danced and kissed and loved their way to their marriage bed.

###

And so it was that early the next morning, with promises to take care of himself, that the handsome Prince with the captivating and convincing blue eyes disguised himself and took leave, exiting the safety of his world only to throw himself into the fear of the unknown. And as he moved on and forward, his heart and mind were heavy, his thoughts swirling out of control as he breathed the fresh air and made his way out and into the countryside, stopping here and there as he traveled – careful not to loiter – but to listen all the same. And as he traveled, within days he learned of a legend or perhaps a myth centering on a neighboring village, just outside the boundaries of his country.

The legend as it was told to him by the way of some eavesdropping he had done, pointed to an old wheat mill where some of his countrymen would venture to in the night in order to make more money – a place where they were said to have gone off to chase their dreams – and at first many men went off at night and came back in the morning and it was reported that they did this night after night until it seemed that they invariably would stop coming home.

And so with keen eyes, the disguised Prince traveled to that village, making his way there in less than another half of a day and upon his arrival, he immediately began to look for this mill, having heard it was on the outskirts of the main city there. Some time later he stopped and dismounted from his horse, leading him to a nearby stream where he splashed some cold water on his face while his tamed beast drank. Sighing, he swept his eyes over the plains and took a deep breath, turning around only to see an old man perched upon a nearby rock.

"What are you looking for?" the man asked, his voice as weathered as his skin.

"I do not know," replied Derek, watching as the man seemed to look right through him.

"You may come closer, I may be blind, but I do not bite," the man chuckled heartily, his long white hair moving in the wind.

Derek smiled and with that invitation, he guided his horse nearer to the old man and after some time, he felt comfortable enough to ask him if he had ever heard anything of the legend. And with a keen ear, he listened as the man told him the story of the priest and priestess who had assumed the running of the wheat mill, this man and woman who were said to be doing the work of God by opening their mill for men to come and work at night so that they may earn extra money and perhaps leave their lives of poverty. But what started out as a beautiful story of hope soon turned to something more sinister as the old man confirmed that after a time, countless men would enter the mill at night only to never emerge again.

"You may sleep in my barn for as long as you like, boy," offered the man later, long after the sun had set. "Stay my child, but do not go to that mill," he implored as he quietly slipped out of the barn and into the night.

That night as Derek fell fast asleep on the barn floor, his jacket over the bales of hay on which he slept, his dreams flooded with images of his gorgeous wife and his children – happier times of bliss and longevity and love filling his mind and his heart – and as he slept, he prayed for the shape of his heart, he prayed to keep himself whole whilst entering that mill on the edge of town, he prayed that he would see the light of day again and that so many of his countrymen would as well.

The next evening as the sun began its descent, Derek bade the old man farewell and told him that he would come back when the time was right and with that he opened the man's palm and set inside his last two gold coins … the last of his travel money – and the last of his true identity as well as he removed the disguise from the horse's robes – his eyes roaming over his family coat of arms one last time before he informed the man that he had decided to move from here on foot and that should he not return; his horse should know from whence he came if he were to mount him.

The kind old man smiled and once again cautioned him against pressing on and toward the mill though he knew the young, educated man's mind was made up. Waving him on, he said a small, silent prayer for his safe return.

###

By the early rise of the moon, Derek found himself standing amongst a group of men of varying ages just outside the door to the infamous mill. There was no chatter, no camaraderie as they waited; in fact most of the men seemed to avoid eye contact, keeping largely to themselves. Not long after he arrived, the heavy wooden doors opened and standing just inside the threshold was a stately looking priest. The 'holy' man smiled and ushered them inside to a small interior chamber – cold, dark, the only light from a candelabra set upon the wall – the area was small, just enough room for the gathering of men to stand shoulder to shoulder.

After a few minutes, the door on the far side of the room was opened and stepping inside was the priestess Derek had heard so much about – and while she was admittedly beautiful – she was in no way as stunning as his dear wife. And so with his gorgeous Meri on his mind now, he surveyed the room and the crowd, looking at the space, already strategizing as the priestess began to speak, pulling him from his private thoughts.

And as she spoke, he watched the men around him and could so see easily now how she captivated them (and those before them), how her false promises of wealth and fortune, should they come with her, spoke to their hardship and rallied them behind her. And for a brief moment, Derek was saddened, for was it not the royal family's responsibility to rally their constituents in this manner? Did he somehow fail his people? And what could he do to improve their longevity and their lives?

But those questions would remain unanswered, for so abruptly did the scene change from the uplifting hopes of the future to utter confusion as the men were suddenly harangued by an angry mob of henchmen who took charge of the space and began to force them into the inner bale of the mill. Derek breathed, saying a small prayer to himself as he allowed himself to be prodded – moved like cattle – out and into the back of the mill where they were shoved into a covered wagon, the back policed by two of the ruthless men. And so now as he stood amongst his new band of brothers, huddled in the dark, he opened his ears like the blind old man and listened.

And as he alerted his mind and ears, he realized that time was of no consequence to the men now, for each was hopelessly lost within their own minds – there was no small talk, no urgency to escape, no conspiracy – instead there was peace without quiet as their thoughts raged on and on as the wagon bumped and shifted well into the night. There was no food, the elder men sat while the younger, more able-bodied stood, jostling in and out of one another's personal space … any and all privacy was gone.

And this is where Derek stood, caught between his dim reality and sweet memories of Meri and their babes, small moments of their precious times together – the way her hair moved in the breeze on their wedding day, the way her body moved in perfect congruence with his on their wedding night and every night since, the days their babies were born – fat tears stung his eyes then but he blinked them away, knowing the best he could do for everyone was to focus and keep those memories alive, even in the darkness that surrounded him.

Leaning back and against the back of the wagon, cool air breezed inside from a small tear in the canvas and as it moved and as it did, Derek took the liberty to savor that freshness, and as he did, he was suddenly hit with an additive he had not had the pleasure of inhaling in quite some time: sea air, the salty damp residue of the ocean!

Some unmarked amount of time after this realization, the wagon came to an abrupt stop and Derek immediately heard a swarm of footsteps – a soldiers' march encroach upon them – lots of shouting, plenty of direction and angst. Nervous fear encapsulated his heart as the back canvas of the wagon was hoisted up wherein the prisoners were greeted by an eerie predawn light – the swarm of soldiers standing in a blockade formation – the waves of the ocean crashing behind them in droves.

Derek was one of the last men to exit the wagon, the cool ocean breeze a relief to his lungs as he was prodded along the beach, his eyes sweeping over the unfamiliar terrain as he seared their location in his mind, already depicting a drawing of it, committing to memory – knowing that he was imprisoned and that surely the only way he would ever leave this place would be of his own making – he sighed, breathing, in, out, in, out as he walked along the shoreline, relishing in every breath of freedom he took as the group of disheveled men inched closer and closer to a large, foreboding set of hidden caves just off the shore.

###

Once inside, the men in Derek's group were quickly divided by apparent age – the younger men, Derek included were ordered into a makeshift camp of sorts – it was empty, barren … devoid of life and yet there were echoes of the whole world, sight unseen … that surrounded them. He let his eyes adjust to his new surroundings, the walls of the cave damp with trickling seawater, the odor somewhere between the salt of the sea and sweat.

It was not long before the priestess appeared again – and though Derek was sure of her beauty – it was now marred by the shape of her heart, that of a fiery woman scorned, for she was angry and so began her tirade. And as she spoke and informed them of her plans, Derek silently made his – standing now shoulder to shoulder with a new 'army' made of his brothers – his eyes wide, the strategist in him already fine tuning his plan upon hearing her order that those men with a trade should huddle together whilst those who have not and ultimately cannot produce wares to sell in the surrounding marketplaces, would be put to death. Upon hearing this, Derek did not hesitate to step forward and speak on behalf of all the men who stood alongside him, smiling, he engaged the priestess with his bright blue eyes and a small tilt to his head.

"We are all skilled laborers and as a team will be able to make the finest earthenware pots and plates and bowls, you will see, these pieces will be fit for royalty and you will be able to fetch a good price for our work," he deemed, hearing behind him the collective sigh of relief.

"You have bought yourself some time, but know this – if you cannot deliver on your promise – you have sentenced the entire lot of you to death," she threatened before turning out of the confined space.

And once alone, Derek finally communicated with the men, informing them that they needn't worry, that he would teach them the skill of the pottery wheel and that his prophecy would ring true, that they would indeed create beautiful pieces of clay pottery fit for royalty and that while they did, they would plan their escape. And this is what happened over the next amount of unmarked time – they created piece after piece of pottery, pieces adorned with their fingerprints, hand painted with their hopes and dreams – each piece memorable, the shapes of their hearts, each piece gorgeous and surely marketable.

And though the men were tired in mind, body and spirit, they worked with tenacity and hope and came to learn of the meaning behind their captivation – the meaning behind the selling of their wares at the market – for they were financing a massive coo headed up by the priest and priestess, their ultimate goal to ambush the monarchies of the surrounding nations and gain control of the entire region. And though caught somewhere between fear and anger, Derek pressed on with his plan, forging the design for a very large pot, a planter that would carry a message to his wife.

Working into the wee hours of the night, night after night, the pot began to take shape and as it did, it caught the attention of the priestess who admired its beauty. Derek's imagination went wild with fresh dreams of his lover and their babies as he worked now, for they were his light whilst he had none, they were his reason to sustain himself and those restless souls he lived amongst.

And so as they left the handsome piece to dry – Derek began to think about the panels of this story he would paint along the side of the pot – the panels that would depict the story of his captivation, so sure that should Meri see the piece she would recognize his work and strategize her own plan.

And he painted, he told her what she needed to know, he painted the men and their disappearance, the blind man with his horse, a landmark of the mill and of course the beach and the distinctive caves he found himself trapped within. And he painted these panels with a whimsical air, a disguise for this ugly story told with gold and silver paints he felt sure would appeal the priestess – planting that seed that this piece above all others should be taken to Princess Meri – for he had heard that she was a promoter of the arts and would appreciate a piece of this magnitude where he was certain it would fetch the highest of prices.

And with that seed planted, the priest and the priestess hastily took the handsome pot to the palace – gold coins in their eyes as they departed – the men breathing a collective sigh of relief as soon as they were alone … and safe for now.

###

The priest and priestess humbly approached the palace, negotiating an audience with the Queen under the pretense that they had an art piece of great value they would like to sell to the family so that they may continue to do the 'lord's work'. Genuinely thankful when they were granted their wish and presented with great grandeur, the pot to the Queen, who gave nothing away but called for her daughter instead, Princess Meri.

And this is where the story takes a turn, for once the astute Princess came face to face with the couple and saw their offering – looking down, her heart beating wildly as she carefully surveyed the beautifully handcrafted bowl – the panels so richly illustrated that they could have only been painted by her dear husband, spotting with ease now his capable brand of storytelling and the intimate way in which he told her of the shape of his heart.

Her eyes burning with unshed tears as she came to learn of his struggle and captivity – turning the pot again seeing those same shadowy figures of those disappearing men and then another with the old man – the man who had turned up here on her husband's horse, the blind man who was so shocked to learn that he ended up here – at the palace … the man who now was safe and sound and working in their stables. She smiled weakly and then she froze – her eyes falling on yet another panel, one illustrating a priest and priestess – two figures who bore the very likeness of the man and woman who stood before her presently.

And with that knowledge, she moved swiftly, her cunning and survival instincts on high alert now as he ordered the guards to seize the couple wherein she held them hostage – gagging their protests, alerting them to the offense of kidnapping a Prince – their eyes wide, the filth from their mouths stifled as she vowed to cut out their tongues should another charade be concocted … and then she securely jailed them, arming their cells with plenty of guards.

For Princess Meri was a woman of action if nothing else and she had more important planning on her mind wherein she wasted no time before she banned her husband's army together in an effort to save those who were held against their will in a large cave off the coast of the sea – preparing at once for her journey – her mind wild with fear and hope as she bade her children and her family farewell, setting off on her own journey now, one that would surely reshape her heart.

###

Days turned into nights and nights into days as the strong army followed their brave Princess en route to the sea, intent on bringing their Prince home with them – on a mission to find and save so many of their missing brothers and fathers and cousins and nephews – and they were united in their front, strong and powerful in mind, body and collective spirit. And this is where the legend becomes fact, where the fiction is set aside for one very real and very true and very meaningful rescue.

For it was not long after the soldiers invaded the caves that the battle had been won and the Princess was reunited with her Prince. And as they embraced, many of the captured men began to hail their praises upon their valiant army wherein the soldiers pointed to the Princess and deemed her the true hero – their fearless leader – whereby the newly liberated men pointed to her husband and said the same of him.

And on that day it became apparent to all that this match was one made by the Gods, proof that trust and logic and strategy and even art … can shape the heart.

###

Days later, after a quiet reflective dinner with the family – the reunited couple retreated – walking along the drafty hallway of the palace, a babe in each of their arms, Derek stopping only briefly to look over the large pot he had painted whilst imprisoned – a relic they would come to keep there on display for all the rest of their days – a reminder of their peril and plight and perseverance and love and connectivity to one another and their country.

Smiling, he ran his fingertips along the rim of pot – feeling the grooves of the fingertips of every man who worked on the masterpiece – a small sigh of relief falling from his lips as he cradled his baby girl and turned his back on the pot, focusing on the future as he and Meri swiftly moved down to their quarters.

Whispering to one another as they came to lay the babes down under the flicker of candle lights, the couple tapering those candles out before they wrapped themselves around one another inside the darkness and safety of the sanctuary if only for a moment – cherishing one another and blessing their children – before they slipped out and into their own enclave, Meri's maiden making her swift exit, having just prepared their hot, ritual bath.

Soft candle lights flickered, casting familiar shadows along the walls of their quarters, the essence of lavender wafting up and into the warm, humid air as they stood together, staring at one another for a long private moment, eyes shining, breathing hitched as they relished in the blessing of their proximity – having never spent a single night away from one another since their marriage – their separation from their nightly rituals were an anomaly. Sighing with soft chuckles, the lovers slowly undressed one another, their mouths mating as if no time had passed at all, their hands busy … caressing … massaging … arousing as they worked.

And as Derek dropped the last of Meri's clothing to the floor, he thought to himself that he had never before seen her radiate her beauty as she seemed to do since their reunion – for something solidifying happened to her – for the events of their separation allowed him to see her with fresh eyes and seeing her this way had accentuated everything he had already loved so much about her and the glorious shape of her heart he could not possibly live without … for she was his true love had become his Queen … his lifeline … his true bloodline.

Meri moaned, her heart and core smoldering as she moved her lips down to Derek's chest and pulsed, once, twice over his beating heart, so sure that his muscle was pounding with more purpose and tenacity than she had ever felt beneath her lips before – and then she smiled and peeked up to find his azure blue eyes – for as much as their experiences apart from one another had reshaped them and their victorious outcome, there was one element she was certain of – that her husband's heart had remained one perfect half of their shape, that when set along the groove of hers – those two halves still beat as one, perfect in every way … the shape of their hearts combined.

-END-