Author's Note: I always have fun trying to figure out which fictional characters might have which medical irregularities (rosacea, allergies, bad vision, etc.), because it makes them feel more real to me. Everybody has some quirk or other, and I think characters should be no different. So while battling my most recent migraine I wondered if any of the FE7 cast would ever get them, and settled on Ninian, and now you have yourself a fic.

When the army stopped to make camp that night, gathering around the fire for dinner, Eliwood felt oddly light-hearted. It must have shown on his face, for Hector sat beside him in the grass with a questioning look and Eliwood refused to say anything.

He'd asked Ninian to show him another dance after the meal; wherever she came from, even if she refused to talk about it, he knew it had to have a beautiful culture, because of those dances. Watching her made him feel like maybe he understood her a little better, and she always seemed pleased that he wanted to watch, wanted to learn. Hector teased him incessantly about it, but he couldn't make him understand that it wasn't anything carnal—even if she did insist that they went off alone when she showed him. He liked to look at her, yes, but that was only an effect, not the overall purpose. What they really did was almost like speaking, but neither of them had to talk. She just freed herself, showed him the intimate music in her head, and he just watched and accepted and—and loved her.

Between that and all the nights they'd sat up late simply talking, and after all the battles when he'd held her to stop her from shaking or she'd pushed his hair back while he lost his breakfast, and after all the times he touched the small of her back for no reason or caught her staring at him while he sparred with Hector, he knew it had happened. He'd fallen in love despite the need to keep a clear head and he felt the tension between them constantly, warm and thick.

And while he hadn't kissed her yet, he knew that was only a matter of time. It wouldn't be a reckless or scandalous thing to show her that he loved her, he felt—it would be beautiful. It might finally put her at ease. A woman that sweet should never have cause to cringe or stammer or fear as she did; she should only know love. And he would give it to her. He was just waiting for the perfect moment. It had to be perfect, didn't it? Absurdly romantic, so she could know how purposefully he cared for her?

Despite having plans to meet her, he didn't see her at dinner, however, and couldn't push down the worry that dampened his appetite. He gave the rest of his meal to Hector, who shot him an odd look, and hurried to his tent, where she told him she'd be waiting.

He didn't expect to find her there, but there she was: sitting on the ground before his tent with her knees tucked to her chest, her pale hair nearly glowing in the dusk, her head clutched between tight hands.

It was the posture of someone in pain, he realized with a start, and was on his knees beside her before he realized it. "Ninian, are you all right? You didn't eat."

She raised her head to look at him, her eyes opening only halfway. "I'm so sorry, my lord. I promised but I…I don't think I can dance tonight."

"What's the matter?"

"It's a headache," she whispered, as if even talking made it worse, and closed her eyes again in a cringe. "I get them like this sometimes; too badly to make myself useful."

"It seems like no ordinary headache."

"I will be fine in the morning. I just wanted to tell you—"

"May I help?"

"Can you, my lord?" She opened her eyes again, surprised.

"We'll see." He had an idea—his mother used to get headaches out of the blue, so badly that she couldn't stand for hours, because muscles had seized in her neck from the tension of ruling. He took Ninian's hands and slowly helped her to her feet. "Come with me; I've something we can try."

"I-I—it's really not so bad—" she protested, wincing as he began to usher her into his tent.

When they first met he would have mistaken the worry in her voice as mistrust, the fear that he'd take advantage of her, but after all the time they'd spent together he knew better. She was worried about causing him trouble; she always worried about that. "Would it be better if I said I'd like to do this for you?"

"Yes," she whispered, and there was the smile he so loved, pain-tainted but true. The tent was very dark, which he hoped would help her as he guided her into his chair.

Standing behind her, he brushed her long hair over a shoulder and put his fingers against her neck, pressing lightly down to her back. "I was right. No wonder you're in such pain; you're so tense."

"It's nothing, Lord—" She cut herself off as he began to push the balls of his thumbs into where her neck met her shoulders, rubbing the stiffness out of her. He felt her shiver beneath his hands. "L-Lord Eliwood, what are you doing?"

"This will help," he promised. "My mother used to get headaches like yours all the time, and this was how my father cured them for her."

He flushed a little even as he said it, comparing them to such a happily-married couple. Could he dream for the same with her, he wondered, as his hands pushed up her neck. He hoped so.

A moan from her broke his thoughts, and she clapped a hand over her mouth right afterward. "I-I'm so sorry. It's just, that spot—"

"Don't be sorry," he whispered, keeping his fingers there. "Just relax."

He worked on her for maybe half an hour, and after a while she finally did relax, making him smile with the noises she made: little sighs, low moans when he hit a new knot. Was this what she would sound like, when he kissed her senseless?

"Lord Eliwood," she said, distracting him again. "Do you…would you…do it harder, please?"

He felt his smile broaden and pressed more firmly into her muscles, eliciting a long "Mmm" that made his blood stir. It had always looked so normal when his father did it for his mother, simply a husband pushing the pain out of his wife, but there was something very sensual about it now that he was trying it himself; something he hadn't understood when he was younger. His mother's eyes had, admittedly, always fluttered shut in a way that made him feel like maybe he shouldn't be present. He wished he could see Ninian's face.

After a while he eased off entirely, simply stroking the back of her neck as he asked, "Did that help? Should I keep going?"

"I feel so much better, my lord," she sighed. He smiled and helped her stand again, noting with satisfaction that she seemed just like her usual self. He pulled back the flap of his tent and followed her outside and—

Hector was there, arms folded, one eyebrow cocked in an expression Eliwood just knew meant trouble.

"Hector, how long have you been out here?"

"Long enough," he said carelessly. "You and I were going to go over our tactics tonight, remember?"

"Ah…" He did. He'd promised Hector the other day, and had completely forgotten over the prospect of watching Ninian dance. "That's right. Let's do that now."

"I am sorry to have delayed your plans, Lord Hector," said Ninian, sinking into a low bow first to him and then to Eliwood. "Thank you so much, my lord."

"Anytime," he told her, but he saw from her wry smile as she turned away that she wouldn't be bothering him again. She felt like she'd taken too much. That worried him—sometimes his mother's headaches came back. What would Ninian do then?

"So," said Hector deliberately, smirking when Eliwood finally looked at him. "She likes it harder, huh?"

"That's not what that was!" he insisted as he blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Sounded like it. Lord Eliwood."

"Oh, drop it! I haven't even kissed her."

"Yet." His old friend grinned and ruffled his hair, exactly like he knew he hated it. "It's only a matter of time, right?"

"…Right," he had to admit. "I've just been waiting for the right moment."

"We're in the middle of a war," said Hector, taking his hand away. "I know you're a hopeless romantic, but I don't think you have the time to wait for something like that. Not if you really care about her."

"We'll see."

"You should wait for the next time she has a headache. There's a better cure than a massage, I can tell you that much."

"Hector!"

His friend ducked into the tent, laughing at his own joke, and Eliwood paused before he followed, unable to shake his advice. Hector was right; they might not have much time. And if he wanted to show Ninian he loved her, wanted to make her happy, shouldn't he do it as soon as possible? As straightforwardly as possible? And when she wasn't in pain?

He decided he'd go to her right after he and Hector had gone over their maps, which only irritated the Ostian with how often he lost focus and started daydreaming. Eventually Hector pushed himself back from the table with a sigh and said, "Just get out of here, already. I'll be around later tonight."

Eliwood didn't need to be told twice. He made straight for her tent, and called her name when he was outside. She emerged timidly and asked him,

"Is something the matter, Lord Eliwood?"

"I forgot part of your cure."

She looked baffled. "There's more?"

"Yes. Something else my father used to do for my mother." He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a kiss, gentle but long, and she sighed a little as he pulled away, just as she had when he rubbed her neck, just as he imagined she would. He rested his forehead against hers and told her, "Now you know that if your headache returns, you can return to me. I'll help you out again."

"You help me too often, my lord," she protested, even through her smile.

"No, I botched this up terribly. I was waiting for a romantic moment, but…I just couldn't. I don't know how much time we'll have."

There was something in her eyes then, something foreign and a little afraid, and he was quick to assure her,

"But I'll find us as many moments as I can. I'll kiss you at dawn and at sunset and in the rain and anything else you want."

"I-I don't understand."

"I care for you, Ninian." The words rolled right off his tongue, too true to be difficult to say.

She put her hands on her chest but shook her head, her eyes even wider and wilder. "No, my lord, you shouldn't. Not me. I—"

"Stop," he said gently, and moved a hand to the back of her neck. "You'll tense up again." She closed her eyes at his touch, and just like before, he gradually felt her relax. "I'll take care of you, all right?"

"All right," she whispered. He kissed her again and left to finally concentrate on the war.