A/N: WELL, HEY THERE, YOU GUYS. I've been wanting to write this story for a long time, and I figure it's about time I started fanfic-ing again. Lowen is one of my favorite FE7 characters, and RebeccaLowen one of my favorite FE7 couples. I hate how people always say that Rebecca should be with Wil or Raven or whoever. Perhaps because he's not as "omfghawt!" as them. OR SO THEY THINK! Who knows what Lowen looks like under that moptop? This is fic is about just that, and it will be excessive amounts of crack, stupid, and silly. I hope. So enjoy!

Oh, and there will be shounen ai hints in this in later chapters, but the main pairing will indeed be RebeccaLowen.

Moptop

Chapter 1: Hello there, handsome!

Blood-curdling screams and the sound of clashing metal rang in Lowen's ears as he galloped through the fray at full speed. His breathing was heavy, and dirt, sweat and blood covered his body. He gripped his lance as firmly as he could; the adrenaline pulsing through him put him on edge and prevented him from keeping a steady hold. His lance was worn and battered, and his horse was exhausted, but he pressed on, drowning out the brutal sounds of battle and concentrating on the clatter of hoof beats on the beaten earth below.

His target came into sight; he raised his lance, ready to strike, aiming for the gap in his opponent's armor. The enemy general parried his thrust just in time and deflected the blow as Lowen rode past. He reined his horse around and moved in for another attack. This time he hit, and felt the sickening feeling of flesh instead of armor under his lance. He jerked his arm back in an attempt to tug the lance free, but when it didn't come out first try, he looked up just in time to see the man pull back and thrust his lance forward, before his vision blurred and an explosion of pain erupted in his head. The last thing he saw was the ground coming up to meet him.

x x x

"Priscilla! I need that salve! Now!" Serra ordered. "Since I'm your senior cleric, you have to do as I say when I say, and now means now!"

Priscilla passively handed the salve she'd finished making to the bossy pink-haired girl.

"Senior?" she asked quietly, as Serra snatched the salve away and started applying it to their patient. "Serra, we are of the same age, and if anything, I would be your elder—"

"I've been here the longest, so I'm the senior cleric, end of story," Serra replied haughtily. "Now, bandages!" She held out her hand expectantly, and Priscilla passed them to her with an inward sigh.

"Ugh! Why does he always have his hair in his eyes? How dreadful. Once he recovers, I'll be sure to give him some advice on what a knight should look like. Priscilla, help me tie these bandages before the wound starts bleeding again!"

The redhead troubadour lifted the young knight's head and held the end of the bandage in place as Serra wrapped the cloth around the wound on his head.

"You know, a lady such as I should not have to see so much blood! If I wasn't so dedicated and virtuous, I just might have passed out from all this barbarity!" Serra continued on, not bothering to keep her voice in check for the groaning patients of the medical tent. Just as she finished tying the bandage, Lowen stirred and groaned, bringing a hand up to his aching head.

"How do you feel, Sir Lowen?" Priscilla asked, keeping her tone soft and quiet.

"Is milord safe?" he asked, pain evident in his voice as he struggled to sit up.

"Lord Eliwood is unharmed," Priscilla answered. "Please do not strain yourself – if you are in pain, then rest."

Lowen removed his hand from his head and looked up at the two healers. The bandage around his head had lifted his hair out of his eyes, and he felt strangely exposed without it there. He started to ask about another person – someone he had been hard-pressed to save, someone who'd been in the thick of battle when she should've been behind lines – when he saw the two girls' faces visibly color. A pang of panic struck him as he wondered if he wasn't properly covered; a quick check with his hands told him that wasn't the case.

"What is it?" he asked, urgency in his voice.

The two girls looked at each other, then turned and marched out of the medical tent, leaving Lowen in a state of pure confusion.

Outside, a number of the army had gathered, waiting to hear news of one ally or another. Many were concerned about Lowen – suffering a head injury was quite serious.

"Serra? Lady Priscilla? How is Lowen?" Marcus asked. Tough and experienced as he was, Marcus had a soft spot for his pupil – one that he'd only allow to show when said pupil wasn't there.

"S-Sir Lowen is… well," Priscilla stammered out after a moment. Her cheeks, as well as Serra's, were still flushed. "His injury isn't serious, though it'd be best if he stayed out of direct conflict for a few days… Other than that, he's… that is to say, he's…"

"He's gorgeous!" Serra practically shrieked the words, and all eyes turned to her. Priscilla's face turned a deeper shade of pink.

"Excuse me?" Eliwood asked after a moment of silence that lasted too long.

"I had never expected him to be so handsome under that mess of hair! He might even be my equal in looks! He nearly took my breath away!" Serra exclaimed, dramatically pressing the back of hand to her forehead. Priscilla let a soft, melancholy sigh escape from next to, her hand pressed to her heart.

"To think such a stunning, brave man was in our midst this entire time…" she said, wistfully. The entire company looked on at this display in utter and complete disbelief.

"Stop messing around," Matthew finally said. "We all know Lowen's just a high-strung goof."

"Don't be so mean, Matthew!" Nino said, and stomped on the thief's foot. Matthew winced and growled at the little mage, but she ran for cover behind Jaffar.

The tent flap of the medical tent rustled, and all eyes turned to it – Serra's and Priscilla's filled with anticipation. Lowen lifted the tent flap and stepped out, looking around at all the people staring at him. His back went rigid as panic struck.

"I-I apologize for my incompetence in the last battle!" he stammered out. "I plan on doubling – no, tripling! – my amount of lance thrusts per day, and I will begin training more rigorously with the sword! In addition, I will— "

"St. Elimine, he is hot!"

Lowen stopped his monologue, thinking he'd heard wrong. When he heard a wolf whistle, a feeling like his usual anxiety crept up his spine. But worse.

A/N: I know that characters have been/will be OOC in this, but keep in mind this is just for fun and if you don't like it then… well… don't read it. Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical errors – I tried to proofread it but… I get bored really easily. I hope you liked reading this more than I liked trying to reread it. I guess I just – ooh, look, a penny! … Yeah, so, the more people bug me, the faster I'll update this. I'm bad with multichapter fics, but I'm going to try on this one! For Lowen's sake!