Gwyndolin’s Solace (Patreon)

The Halls of the Anor Londo shone with the light of Gwyndolin’s false sun, its rays streaming through the windows of his private chambers. The hallways remained mostly silent with the knights all standing guard against… well, no one really, for who remained in this realm that would dare assault the land of the gods?

The various accouterments of Gywndolin’s room surprise you, one of the nameless Blades of the Darkmoon. The intricate craftsmanship of the crib in the corner, the high table topped with treated leather and the toys scattered across the floor were normally meant more for a babe than the dark sun lord of this land.

You wonder why you’d been asked here, what possessed your patron to request your presence in his private quarters. He looked bashful behind his mask, sporting a tight-lipped frown and a splash of rosy color spreading across his pale skin. You’re certain that if you were to see underneath the helmet, then his eyes would avoid yours immediately.

You want to ask what Gwyndolin requires, but before the words escape your lips he grips the sides of his skirt, lifting it slowly. The fabric rustles due to Gywndolin’s slow pace, fluttering against his pale thighs as they’re slowly revealed.

Now it’s your turn to blush, giving a soft call of “My Lord!?” to express your confusion. When Gwyndolin stops, you can see that underneath his skirt and squished between his thighs is an undergarment far cushier than you’d expected. Its exterior is decorated with full and half moons on a solid blue expanse, no doubt made specially for Anor Londo’s youngest "princess". The interior has to be two to three stacked squares of fluffy flannel and, based on the sag they have, you can see they’ve been soiled.

“Have no qualms of modesty, dear blade. I require of you an… unusual service. Mine Nursemaid is absent and I cannot seem to find her. I fear failure of the nappy I’m wearing and sought to ask thee for help. Would thou be willing to set aside your blade for just a moment and change me?”

The pieces are starting to fall into place regarding the odd state of the room. Gywndolin lived not only as a princess but also as a babe among the gods. You don’t even hesitate upon hearing his request, taking a knee before your godly patron and bowing to show your fealty.

“Of course my lord, please guide me so that I may assist you in your time of need.”

You look up to Gwyndolin, who is pulling off the skirt of his outfit. “I thank thee dear blade, please follow me to the changing table.”

You realize what Gwyndolin is calling a changing table is the ornately carved piece of furniture topped with leather. The god pulled himself onto it with a practiced motion, waiting expectantly for you to approach.

It’s easier than you remember to change a soiled nappy, the babified god behaving without squirming as much as you expected and cooperating with your movements as you wipe his nether regions. Once laying upon an opened clean diaper he instructs you to reach for a tincture bottle.

“Such a solution prevents me from getting a rash. I require it for times such as this when mine nursemaid disappears. Please apply it liberally.”

You oblige your patron’s request, working the lotion into his sensitive skin. Gwyndolin gasps at this treatment, twitching his head back and forth in response to the sensations. The pleasure your lord is receiving from it is obvious, and you’re not inclined to stop what you’re doing. It’s near impossible for you to stifle a chuckle when the words: “Such soft hands thou has…” escape in a breathy whisper.

Wrapping Gwyndolin in a diaper a strange still silence falls upon the two of you. It is only broken when the freshly changed royalty pushes himself from the table, toddling across the room without so much as a thank you.

It does not offend you that you were not offered gratitude for your service, having dedicated your existence to serving your lord. Having finished your unusual duty, you look back to Gwyndolin only to see he is approaching you again. The top of his regal outfit has disappeared, exposing his smooth alabaster skin for you to gawk at and only his diaper remaining to cover his privates. He holds in his hands a deep blue garment embroidered with silver stars.

The dark moon god’s mask has gone too, laying discarded among the rest of his outfit in a pile in the corner of the room. His silver hair shimmers and his eyes look at you pleadingly.

“Proceed…” he says, pushing it out to you.

Understanding despite a lack of any real instruction, you pull the clothing over Gwyndolin’s head, finding that it ends in a set of buttons and buttonholes that secure his diaper underneath the garment. It was all-in-one, giving Gwyndolin just enough clothing so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

He looked down at the onesie, seeming pleased. Never before did you realize how short the Dark Sun was until he stood before you without his serpents holding him up. You practically tower above him in comparison. When he brings one hand up to his mouth and begins to suckle his thumb the effect only becomes more apparent. Never has your patron seemed so small until now.

“I thank thee…” he says quietly, sitting in the middle of the floor afterward and fiddling with the toys on the ground. You can think of little more to do with this situation and move toward the door to leave. Many feelings flutter in your chest and you think it best to rest and consider them.

You’re stopped by a soft vocalization behind you.

“Mine blade, wait.”

You stopped in your tracks turning to look back at the infantilized god.

“Would thou… Would thou stay? I will remain in need should my nursemaid disappear again, and I wish for it to be thee, my blade. None have been so kind as thee…”

A million thoughts travel through your head as you consider the request. Considerations such as your pride as a warrior, the fealty you swore to this deity, how much you enjoyed changing him. A long moment passed before you nodded, agreeing to stay.

"I thank thee, mine blade. Now partner with me in cuddling—your lord wishes to be held to thine breast."