Shield Maiden

Shield Maiden.

	Whenever someone asked him the difficult question of “How did you discover you had magical powers?” Cid always had the choice between two answers: the cool answer, or the true one. In truth, given those two options, it could hardly be considered a difficult question at all. Lying – telling a polished version of the truth, Cid always preferred to say – had become second nature to the boy.
	As he described it, there had been a pair of older boys – old enough for the first sparse growth of hair to have appeared on their faces – picking on a defenceless youngster. Cid, his head filled with stories of heroism and justice, had rushed in to defend the victim, all the while praying for strength. At the time, he hadn't known who to pray to, but Father Xanth – the village priest – had always told him that a heartfelt prayer always found its way to the right place.
	Seconds before the first fist crashed into his face, a new found strength had rushed into his limbs whilst his skin had grown as hard as steel. Emboldened by this new power, of which he had only the barest understanding, Cid had quickly beaten the bullies, sending them away with split lips and bloodied noses. From that day forth, he had decided to use his powers to defend the people of his village.
	At least, that was what he told people.

	In truth, that was the second time he had called upon his powers, and he had very well known what would happen. The first time had been an accident, born from the raw trauma of a child denied their parents. He had been little more than five years old when his mother – a retired adventurer, or so he had been told – had died in the famine that had ravaged their village. At such a young age, he had few memories of her. In fact, the only reminder he had of her existence was an old portrait.
	Faded and framed, the portrait displayed the image of a tall woman in full plate armour, whatever womanly curves she might have possessed hidden beneath a layer of steel. Even her face was concealed by an imposing full face helmet. The only link that tied the portrait to the woman that it depicted was a small brass plaque at the bottom that carried her name. Even the armour itself was long gone, long since sold off to pay for bed and board.
	As an orphan – he had never known his father – Cid had fallen upon the mercy and charity of his neighbours and the clergy. It wasn't a terrible life, but it was a lonely one. Not only had the ravishes of the famine left him frail and slight, but they had also robbed him of any hope for a happy life. Through all his twelve years, Cid had yearned for nothing more than the loving warmth of his departed mother.
	It all started one night when the boy was crouched at the bottom of his bed, face wet with tears as he murmured the words of his familiar prayers. At the moment of darkest midnight, and the instant at which his spirits had reached their nadir, a calming warmth had washed through him. Like the embrace of an angel, he felt himself crowned with serenity and cloaked in a sheen of golden light. Even as the boy's face had grown blank with dazed wonder, a rich female voice began to recite words within his mind.
	Taking his mother's name, the voice had introduced itself as Lucia, and it swore that no harm or sorrow would ever assail him again. Swept up in the ethereal dream-logic of the unreal, Cid had risen to his feet and stripped naked, casting his torn and patched vestments aside and staring into the dimly reflective surface of his window. As Lucia whispered meaningless, yet somehow reassuring, noises in his ears, the golden light surrounding him began to coalesce, solidifying into smooth armour plates that locked into place around his body. New vitality rushed into his weary frame as Lucia's strength merged with his own, soothing his wounded mind like a heaven-sent balm.
	That wondrous experience, born of a heartfelt cry, had been the true moment at which he had discovered his powers.

	Over time, he had learned more about Lucia, and the nature of her strange existence. She was an Eidolon, a spirit drawn to his yearning spirit and shaped by his desires. At first, she had been confined to taking form solely around his body, but as their connection grew she began to learn new tricks. The task of manifesting separately was the peak of her powers, the final art that Lucia had revealed from within herself.
	The priests and village elders knew nothing of Lucia's true nature, merely assuming her to be Cid's imaginary friend. The boy himself was widely considered to be gifted with a magical bloodline, capable of calling upon wondrous powers with a natural prowess. Not a common birth, but not an unheard of one either. Of course, wild rumours swirled about the true nature of the boy's absent father, but Cid ignored the few murmurs that reached his ears. In fact, he began to ignore more and more of the outside world as time went on, focussing more on spending time with his otherworldly companion.

	For her part, Lucia had never shown an interest in the outside world, or anything other than Cid. Her duty, as far as she was concerned, was to protect the young boy and ensure his happiness – nothing more, and nothing less.

	Cid woke by degrees, slowly cracking open one eyelid to peer out into his gloomy bedroom, just as he did every single morning and, just like every single morning, Lucia was waiting at the foot of his bed. She was standing sentinel, looking over him with the mute power of a great idol waiting for the faithful to bend their knees. Rather than demand worship, however, she lavished her devoted attentions on Cid the moment she noticed he was awake.
	“Good morning!” she boomed, her voice echoing in the young boy's head. Her voice was a gift, only ever shared between the two of them. Low, rich and loving, the powerful tone of her voice never failed to stir strange feelings from deep within Cid, feelings that he was too young to properly articulate. “The skies are clear, and it's another warm day. An ideal day for a leisurely walk, perhaps. The exercise would do you good.”
	Opening both eyes to their full extent, Cid let his gaze wander up Lucia's manifest form. Familiar enough that he could have pictured her in his mind without a second thought, he nevertheless took the chance to take in her beautiful features. As if seeking to mirror the prized portrait that dominated the main room of the house, Lucia's form resembled nothing less than a suit of magnificently crafted armour, fluted and engraved with delicate, flowery artwork.
	Yet, she was obviously not a suit of armour forged by mundane hands, for she possessed a fine set of curves that would make any woman in the land blush. Outside of the most outlandish of ceremonial pieces, such impracticality would never be seen on mortal armours. Even without the feminine swell of her breasts, Lucia's feet were barely recognisable as any kind of reasonable armour, instead having more in common with an elegant pair of high heeled riding boots. Any normal being, save perhaps one of the Elven races, would have stumbled in such ornamental footwear, but Lucia never failed to move with an inhuman grace.
	With such an amazonian frame, it was little wonder that Cid had immediately taken to seeing Lucia as a woman before all other categories. Not just any woman, either, as her reassuring manner and the warm love she held for the boy were nothing less than motherly. She was truly shaped from the boy's desires, strengthening his frail form and nurturing his fragile mind. Looking back, he sometimes wondered how he managed to survive without her.
	Crawling out of bed, Cid staggered over to his wardrobe and flung the heavy door open, already thinking of what he would wear today. There wasn't a lot of variation in his collection, mainly loose fitting garments of all cuts and colours but still, a choice had to be made. As he looked into the empty space of his barren wardrobe, Cid's sleep addled mind struggled to process what he was – or rather, what he wasn't – looking at.

	“My clothes...” he was finally able to murmur, looking again into the empty wardrobe as if a second glance would make his clothing reappear. Gradually, his sensibilities began to creep back and he was able to impose some order on his scattered thoughts. “Lucia, what did you do with them this time?”
	“I don't know what you're talking about, dear,” Lucia cooed, her echoing voice alive with a deliberate mixture of innocence and ignorance, “Now what about breakfast? I think the last of that rye loaf should still be edible.”
	“Lucia...” Cid sighed, glancing down to see if his nightclothes were suitable for going outside in. Hardly, considering the fact that they were more hole than fabric at this point. Even with a passing glance, he could see more of his deeply tanned skin than any of the drab cloth. The only reason he still kept such rags to sleep in was habit, and the lack of a need for anything warmer. “Did you hide my clothes?” the boy folded his arms in a pitiful attempt at defiance, but even he knew how ridiculous he must have looked, trying to scold a tower suit of living armour, “Again?”
	“I don't know why you'd want to wear those silly little things anyway,” Lucia answered breezily, “They need washing, they get damaged, and they offer no protection at all! What if someone tried to start a fight? You'd be defenceless!” Feather light metal clanked as she planted her hands – gauntlets really, although her articulated fingers were as dexterous as any living thing – on her hips. It wasn't hard to imagine her pouting, especially with her familiar body language. “Why don't you wear me instead?” the Eidolon offered.
	“I don't...” Cid paused, trying to wrap his mind around the otherworldly being's odd behaviour. She had been faultlessly obedient until recently, when she had started to act moody, sulking whenever he pulled on some more mundane clothing. Something had changed her mindset, and the boy had no idea what. Then again, something had started to nag at his own mind recently, drawing his attention back to her womanly curves whenever his mind wasn't occupied. Whatever it was, it sent a curious feeling right through his body. “I'm just going out for a stroll!” he protested, forcing all thought of her inexplicable attraction from his mind, “A stroll! Nothing more!”
	“It's a dangerous world, dear,” Lucia soothed, “The forests are teeming with all manner of beasts and villains.”
	“The forest?” Cid frowned as he tried to think how far away the closest forest was. Outside his village, there was nothing but fields as far as the eye could see, with some clusters of trees lurking on the horizon. “I could walk for days before seeing more than one tree at a time!”
	“You see?” the Eidolon's voice grew louder, as if she was making some kind of insightful comment, “They could have started walking days ago! They could be here already!”
	“What “they”? What are you talking about?” Cid wailed, the last lingering remnants of his sleep rushing out in a burst of energy. All he had wanted to do was get dressed.
	“Shh, shh,” Lucia hushed him, clanking across the room to sweep the boy up in a tight embrace. As always, her armoured form was warmer than any metal had a right to be. “I know, I wish it didn't have to be this way as well, but we can't let our guard down. I just don't want you to get hurt, you understand that, don't you?” holding him a little tighter, Lucia plunged one hand into the dense nest of dark curls that was Cid's hair, “I love you very much, Cid, I hope you know that.”
	Despite himself, Cid felt his confused anger wash away in Lucia's maternal embrace, her kind words cutting through the boy's defences to touch his heart. “I know, but... Can't I wear something underneath? It never bothered you before.”
	“I just want to be close to you,” Lucia's voice was bright with a wide-eyed – figuratively speaking, at least – innocence, “Don't you want to be close to me?”
	“Well, yes,” Cid admitted. True enough, there was something incredibly soothing about basking in her inner warmth, but there were limits. He couldn't spend his entire life within her calming embrace. “But...” he began, before the Eidolon cut him off.
	“Now listen here young man!” she cried, her voice growing stern as she changed tact, “I've had about enough of your games, so stop wasting time and get inside me!”
	“You're being weird!” Cid stammered, wriggling out of her grip as he felt his stomach lurch with a senseless excitement, “Why can't I just go out alone, just for a little bit?”
	“I won't have you going outside in those rags,” Lucia tutted, “You'll wear me, or you'll wear nothing at all.”
	“Fine!” Cid snapped, the worn fabric of his nightshirt tearing as he savagely pulled it over his head and threw it into the corner. His bottoms followed, leaving him naked in the darkened room. Taking advantage of Lucia's stunned pause, he spun on his heel and rushed out of the room,  the strangely heavy weight of his manhood slapping against his thigh as he threw open the front door and leapt out into the morning light.

	This hadn't been the first time Lucia had threatened him with a little public nudity, but this time he'd come prepared. A small sack, filled with a spare change of clothes, hidden beneath one of the overgrown bushes that surrounded his house. Wasting no time at all, Cid hurled himself into the bush and rummaged for the sack. It was exactly where he had left it, but it felt strangely light.
	When Cid first tugged the sack open, he thought that it was completely empty. It was only when he turned it out and gave it a hard shake that he found the lone contents, a scrap of vellum with the words “Nice try” penned onto it in an amateurish hand. Somehow, Lucia had seen through his cunning ruse. Before he could think of a counter strategy, the dolorous chime of a great bell rang out, signalling the end of morning worship.
	Had he been in any kind of rational state of mind, Cid would have just hurried back into the house and admitted defeat, but at that moment his mind was nowhere near rational. Invigorated by a mad defiance he lunged out of the bush and began to sprint, running in a random direction without even a pause to see where he was going. Too late, he realised that his foolish choice had been the worst possible decision to make, as his route would carry him straight past the town chapel.
	Turning back would only make things worse at this stage, slowing him down and favouring the departing worshippers with a magnificent view of his tanned backside. His only hope now was to sprint past the looming stone building and pray that he could get out of sight before anyone had realised what they were looking at. Throwing caution to the wind, the boy urged a new, desperate strength into his legs and took off, the wind caressing his skin as he ran.
	Too late, Cid realised that even at the fullest speed he could muster, there was no chance of escaping notice. If anything, his frantic pace only seemed to attract more attention, the manic rhythm of his bare feet slapping against the stone path sounding out every step of his ridiculous journey. Heads turned to watch him, eyes growing wide and scandalised hands flying up to cover slackened jaws.
	The horrific moment seemed to last forever, every fraction of a second drawing out to agonising lengths. With each face in the crowd he recognised, Cid felt his social standing in the village take a blow, each indignity chipping away at whatever good favour he might have once had. To make things worse – not that Cid could have imagined anything worse, before now – most of the worshippers had been old, with little to occupy their time but gossiping and spreading news of the latest scandal. Even if just one of them had seen him, half of the village would have known about it by the next day.
	With a brief, yet ill-advised glance to the side, Cid's eyes met those of old Father Xanth, who had been leaning on his cane whilst saying his goodbyes to the last few parishioners. Like the rest of the entire sorry encounter, the instant of contact stretched out to near infinite lengths, drawing a split second of embarrassment out into what seemed like a lifetime of shame. Xanth's beady eyes narrowed, focussing on the quickened boy with an undue intensity as though he was seeking to tell whether the boy was possessed by looks alone.
	Whatever conclusions his deliberations had led him to, they would remain unknown. The humiliating moment ended abruptly, time seeming to snap back into regular order as Cid hurtled past the chapel, leaving the crowd behind him in a furious storm of outraged whispers. No doubt there would be a few new rumours about his mysterious father flitting about the town come tomorrow morning, although Cid couldn't imagine what they might be. What manner of being might gift their progeny with a taste for public nudity?

	Cheeks burning with shame, and mind filled with wild panic, Cid was barely aware of where he was going. Only when the streets widened out into a grand expanse did Cid realise that he had strayed into the marketplace, a bustling mixture of stalls and ambling shoppers blocking the way. It would have been the perfect place to stop, to turn around and head quickly back home before anyone else noticed him, but the thought of having to pass by the chapel again gave Cid pause. That pause, as brief as it was, seemed to signal the next chapter in his ordeal, as some of the curious faces in the crowd began to turn his way.
	What a sight he must have made! His naked body browned by the sun – although that was a common sight in such a warm region of the world – and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Driven to the borders of agony by his frantic pace, his thin chest rose and fell like a pair of desperate bellows as he struggled to suck down great mouthfuls of the fresh village air. Even without the warm air and exertion of so much running, his face would have been a deep red colour from embarrassment alone.
	After barely enough time for the burning pain in his overworked legs to subside to a background ache, Cid took off again, the first of what would certainly be many curious glances lending him extra haste. For all his weakness and frailty, the boy had always been light on his feet, and that skill was a blessing here, in the crowded marketplace. He bobbed and weaved between static crowds, winding his way through the scrum so that only a very few could lay eyes on him for long. Even so, every single laugh or giggle that rose up from the masses send a fresh rush of blood to his cheeks.
	These were the farmers' wives he was dodging his way through now, tough looking women who sold the goods their husbands grew and reared. The very same women that he would need to get his supplies from, come the next time his cupboards were empty. It was one thing, so share a village with a gaggle of old women who had seen him naked, but having to make small talk and do business with them was a different matter entirely. The faces he glimpsed as he raced past were split between gawking and giggling, with neither option seeming to be any kinder than the other.
	Slipping in between a pair of stalls, Cid was able to make a desperate rush for an alleyway, hoping to hide amongst the shadows for a moment and catch his breath. He was so busy looking over his shoulder that he didn't notice the shape looming up out of the darkness in front of him. The only warning he received was a harsh intake of breath, before he crashed headlong into the unknown figure. What little breath he had managed to salvage escaped him in a rush, almost knocking his weakened legs out from under him. Fearfully, he looked up, knowing that there was little point in hoping to hide himself.

	“Good morning Cid,” the polite greeting drifted down to the worried boy, carried on a voice that was firm, but not without a note of kindness. It was a familiar voice, one that he knew quite well, in fact. Lady de Santos – one of the many women from which he got food and other sundries – was quite a well known member of the community, largely for various rumours regarding her eccentricities. She had been good to Cid over the years, often giving him free eggs whenever her chicken farm was running at a surplus.
	“Ah, uh...” Cid stammered, immediately dropping his gaze back to the ground and bringing one hand around to cover his exposed manhood. Lady de Santos was getting on the years – past middle age, if the rumours were to be believed – but her looks, and figure, were the envy of women half her age. Tall, slender and well-proportioned, she had always held some fascinated Cid, in some strange, undefinable way. In recent months, that fascination had blossomed into lurid dreams, the details of which never failed to slip away come daytime. “Good mo-”
	“Stand up straight, boy!” the older lady snapped. A startled yelp escaped Cid as he pulled his posture upright, holding his hands behind his back in the traditional display of deference. Of course, de Santos was part of an older generation, where such formalities were to be observed and respected. As much as he cared for the idea of formality, Cid was hardly comfortable with keeping his manhood on such prominent display.
	“Good morning, Lady de Santos,” he finished, finally daring to look up at the older woman. Her skin was the colour of caramel, smooth but for delicate wrinkles at the corner of each eye. Her wavy hair – dark enough to be near invisible in the shadowy alleyway – was piled atop her head in a tight bun, save for a few errant strands framing her face. Though straight faced, the corners of de Santos' lips were constant tugged upwards, as if to imply a smile she was too polite to properly articulate. As if to twist the knife of his indignity, her dark eyes kept flicking downwards before returning to his face, making quite sure he knew what she was looking at.
	“It's a very nice day to work on your suntan,” she said slowly, choosing every single word with an even mix of care and sensuality. One fine boned hand slipped up to fan cool air towards her face, before she lowered it and tugged at the neckline of her dress. His attention was immediately captured by the deliberate display, chest tightening at the slightest hint of bosom she was taunting him with. “Hot, wouldn't you say?” de Santos added, as Cid felt his shaft growing heavier between his legs.
	“You will be careful, won't you?” the older woman asked, sweeping her gaze up the length of Cid's sweat-slick body, pausing briefly to watch as his penis throbbed and grew, “I hear sunburn can be very painful, especially in certain... sensitive areas.”
	“Yes Ma'am,” Cid croaked, the words tripping out of his suddenly dry throat. He didn't dare drop his gaze from the older woman's face, but he didn't need to look down to know that his manhood wasn't pointing at the ground any more. Finally, as if deigning to notice that he was standing at full mast, Lady de Santos allowed a slow smile. “I'll... I'll be careful, Ma'am.”
	“Weather like this calls for a sun hat,” she mused. While still fanning her bust with one hand, the other had slipped down to toy with the hem of her dress, gradually lifting it higher and higher as she twisted the fabric between her fingers. Seemingly for the first time, Cid noticed that she was blocking the exit to the alleyway, barring the boy from escaping until she was quite done with him. The thought, being trapped and held at the older woman's tender mercies, send a shiver running through Cid, even with all the heat of the day fighting against it.
	A low chuckle, deepened with the filthiest tones Cid had ever heard in a woman's voice, escaped Lady de Santos as his shudder set his manhood rocking from side to side. The sound of that laugh - though he was too young to understand the full implications - sent Cid's body into turmoil, his heart hammering as it tried to send fresh blood to both his cheeks and his shaft. “I, um, I must have forgotten my hat,” he eventually managed to stammer out, all too aware of how ridiculous the line sounded.
	Lady de Santos laughed again, this time with the higher tone of genuine amusement. As if he had passed some perverse test, she moved her body to the side so that the boy could slip past.  Nodding gratefully, Cid began to move through the alleyway before pausing, stopping just short of the older woman. While there was plenty of room to slip his body though – provided he turned sideways – it was a different matter to get his swollen manhood past without brushing it against her leg.
	Offering him a lascivious smile, Lady de Santos reached down and touched him, pressing the tip of one finger against his member and pushing it softly down. Cid cringed with embarrassment as his shaft, beyond all semblance of control now, twitched and thrust back against her finger as it struggled to rise. Casting his gaze down at his bare feet, he wasted no more time and hurried past.
	“Oh, Cid?” the Lady said sweetly. Cid turned back to face her, just catching the moment she lifted her gaze away from his backside, “Henrietta has been working overtime lately, so I have plenty of eggs to offer you.”
	“Ah, thank you Ma'am,” Cid replied, glad that they were back on something approaching familiar ground.
	“How about I come around to your house later?” She offered, her tone carefully ambiguous. There was a sultry note to it, but nothing that wasn't present in her normal speaking voice. Under any other circumstances, Cid wouldn't have noticed the slight roughness, but now...
	“That would be good,” Cid managed, forcing his strangled voice into action.
	“Very well then. Good day to you,”  Lady de Santos bowed gracefully, her head lowering towards Cid's crotch in a way that set him reeling, his mind flooded with images of her kissing his shaft. The thought alone was enough to distract him, so much so that it seemed like a long time before he was able to bow in reply, his member absurdly mimicking the action.

	Thus dismissed, Cid turned on his heel and ran, his erect shaft slapping against the side of his leg as he fled the scene. Running was awkward, his stride distorted into something ungainly by the weight between his legs. Fortunately for him, it wasn't long before he had stumbled across a great field, high ranks of some nameless crop waving in the morning breeze. Grateful for any protection he could find, Cid threw himself into the field and crouched low, waiting a long time for his penis to return to normal.
	“That woman is a harlot,” Lucia's voice, twisted into some unfamiliar note of spite, echoed in Cid's head. The boy jumped, clapping a hand over his mouth to stop a startled squeal. With all that had happened, he had quite forgotten about Lucia, about the entire reason he had been running naked through the village in the first place. “A shameless harlot,” the Eidolon decided, “Never mind her now. You're going to have to walk back like that as well, young man, I hope you realise that.”
	“Do I have to?” Cid whined. The prospect was entirely unappealing, save for the vague chance of bumping into Lady de Santos again. Just the thought of a second encounter with the older woman was enough to stir his penis from its slumber.
	“You've made your bed, young man, now lie in it,” Lucia scolded him. He could picture her in his head, crossing her metal arms in disapproval.
	“Please?” Cid pleaded. He knew that he could force her into action, but it seemed somehow like a breach of trust, as though he was stealing away any illusion of choice she might have.
	“Well...” Lucia's haunting voice hesitated, “Only if you do something for me.”
	“Do... what?” Cid frowned slightly, a new worry forming above his hope, like a bleak storm cloud spoiling the sunshine.
	“I'm going to tell you where I hid all your clothes,” Lucia whispered in Cid's mind, “And when we get back home, we're going to burn them. Together. Do we have a deal?”
	Cid opened his mouth to protest, but closed it just as quickly as he thought back to the marketplace, and sprinting past the chapel. Neither one were experiences he cared to repeat. So what if he would be confined to wearing Lucia? She was as comfortable as any garment, and far more practical besides. In the end, he decided, there was only one choice open to him.
	“Okay Lucia,” he nodded to himself, “We've got a deal.”
	“Wonderful,” the Eidolon purred, a strangely sinister note – so brief that Cid was almost sure he had imagined it – flicking through her voice, “Dear, I'm so glad you see things my way. Come now, let's get you home. We've got a lot of work to do.”