"Beor!" He heard his name over the roar of the smith's fire. Her voice reminded him of soft windchimes in a slight breeze. Casting his tools aside, Beor ran outside, looking for her. Her slight form ran toward him and he swept her up, spinning her around in gleeful circles. She shrieked with laughter.

"Beor, put me down, 'tis indecent to hold me such." Beor set her gently down but still cradled her close.

"I thought today would never come," he mumbled into her silvery hair.

"I have been gone less than a month, Beor."

"It felt like decades."

"I shan't be leaving you again," Marien said with a soft kiss on his cheek. She had to stand on the tips of her toes and reach up as far as her slight form would allow. Beor picked her up again. For a moment he thought she felt thinner than before she had left, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Beor was simply glad to be with her again.

They parted ways, Beor taking his tools made by the smith, and Marien making her way to her father's house where Beor knew her father waited to give her news he had been waiting to give for many years. From the day Beor saw her walk through the gates into Dale shrouded in a shimmery blue dress, he knew that she would be his bride.

...

A small body slammed into his broad side, nearly upsetting the carefully placed medicine vials. It was early the morning after Marien's arrival back in Dale.

"Oh, Beor," she cried clutching at his arms. He held her firmly to keep her from upsetting his medical instruments. She hiccupped, laughed, and cried all at once. "I will, I will." Her pretty face was a mess of tears, strands of hair stuck to her cheeks which flamed red from the run across Dale. She threw herself at him again. Beor laughed loudly; his laugh rang through the hall, lifting the spirits of all who lay sick within.

"You will have me?"

Marien squeezed him as best she could, for her small arms could not wrap around his body.

"There is no one else I would rather marry, Beor. You are my brightest dream."

"You are my only dream," Beor whispered. Marien leaned into him and sighed happily. Her sigh turned into a soft cough. Beor held her at arm's length with a worried gleam in his soft eyes.

"When did that begin?"

She waved his concern aside. "I must have strained myself running so far. It is nothing." Beor listened to her breathing, there was a slight raspy, heavy quality, but he attributed it to her having run nearly a mile across town.

"All right," he said still doubtful. Beor pushed aside his worry. "When would you like the ceremony to happen?"

Marien clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. "After the planting season, so my father can come." Her father lived in the country, working the fields to help keep Marien's mother, who fell ill years ago, in a home where proper care would be given. He spent the winter months in Dale and returned before the spring planting began. He would leave again in two days.

"After planting it is."

...

A week passed and Beor had never been happier. Each time he saw Marien a small spot within filled with warmth and spread to the tips of his fingers and toes and made his skin tingle. She was a bright spot in the grey and dismal work of a town healer during a deadly outbreak of some infection. More people died each day than he cared to count. Counting made it worse, numbers; those numbers were lives claimed. He gave up counting years ago. As long as he had Marien, those that died under his care could not overshadow his life.

He was walking with her through the streets underneath the silvery starlight, breathing in the smell of sweet woodsmoke Marien's hand rested in his and she leaned her head against his arm as they walked.

"The stars are bright."

"They are."

"I wonder what they would say if they could talk."

"They would say you are the most beautiful woman in all the land."

"Beor," Marien gasped.

"It is true, there is no one more beautiful."

Marien let out a laugh that turned into a wracking couch, making her whole body shudder. She gripped his hand for support and stumbled a step.

"Marien?"

"I'm all right, just a little cough. It will be gone soon."

"Are you sure?"

"I am, Beor, do not worry about me. You have enough sick patients without worrying about my silly little cough." She hugged him.

"I can't help worrying."

"I know. That's why I love you."

...

Beor worried about Marien constantly over the following two weeks. Every day it seemed she grew thinner and more tired. They abandoned their midnight walks after she collapsed while walking. She insisted that it was merely stress from planning their wedding, but still her cough persisted and became worse as the days dragged on. Beor longed to tend to her, but she would only take tea to soothe her aching throat, and his dozens of patients demanded his full attention every day. At last, after four days of not being able to get away, he saw Marien.

Seeing her, he froze in shock. She was so thin and pale, her silvery hair hung down her back in limp strands. Her whole body shuddered with the effort to cut up a small onion.

"Marien," he gasped. She smiled at him.

"You made it." Her voice came out a soft rasp and she leaned against him for a moment.

"Marien, you are ill."

"It's just a cough." She fell into a fit that would have sent her to the floor if Beor hadn't caught her.

"No, it is not. Look at you, you're wasting away." Marien tried to pull out of his grasp. "No, Marien, I am taking you to the hospice."

"But the wedding," she cried pitifully.

"We'll put if off until you are well again. We have waited this long, we can wait some more."

"But-"

"No. I am taking you there now." He took her shoulders and steered her to the door. Marien pushed back against him, but in her frail state she was no match for Beor, strong from years of hard toil. He led her, eventually carrying her toward the hospice where he worked. Nearly an hour passed before a quiet room was found and he could lay her down. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

"We'll get you better, I promise," Beor said brushing her hair from her face.

...

"Beor?" Marien's weak voice came from the pillow. Beor set down his book and took up her hand. It was cold.

"Hello, Marien." Her smile seemed to light up the room. "How do you feel today?"

"A little tired." Three weeks had passed since he brought her to the hospice. Three weeks he had searched for a cure to whatever ailed her. He knew it was some sort of wasting disease, but what one it was, he did not know nor did any other doctor in the city. Many suggested taking her elsewhere to find a more knowledgeable doctor, but there were no cities nearby that could boast more than a simple healer. Beor also feared moving her and agitating her cough. The more she moved around, the more violent her coughs became and rattling around in a cart would certainly make things worse.

Marien ate everything that was given to her while she was awake but still continued to lose weight. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes sunken until she looked more like a skeleton barely covered by pale, bloodless skin. Her breath barely stirred the light covers

"Your father is here."

"Is he? I thought he wouldn't come for two weeks yet."

"It has been three weeks since I sent for him. He arrived three days ago."

"Oh," she sighed. "I am tired."

"I know, Marien. Are you hungry?"

"No." She closed her eyes again. "Will you wake me when Father comes?"

"I will." It wasn't until she fell asleep that Beor realized tears were running down his face and wetting the bed. Still holding her hand, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"I love you, my brightest dream."

*****************************

So... not my best work, but between restarting this three days before it was due, a sudden development in my personal life, and four exams within the past week and a half, I was a little rushed for time. I think it went reasonably well though. 

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