Once, there was a Dwarf prince who managed to have BOTH parents die in childbirth. This led to a problem.
The Kingdom didn’t HATE bastards. But neither of these gents wanted the thrown, both having well-deserved and famous reputations as dandies, drinkers, and great consumers of strange elixirs and strange women. They didn’t want to STOP doing that, and they’d have to if they became rulers. They’d be under far closer guard, er, watch, and even their evening habits would need some relative discretion. And there were other considerations…
…on the other hand, there was the child.
The old Dwarven King had been great. He had also, indeed, been old, such that his heart attack saddened everyone but shocked no-one. It was well-known that these two men had been her lovers. Each was of the palace guard. Each had many men who would follow him. Each eyed the other. Then they looked at the swaddling infant, in its cradle.
“One would hope so. He’d have excellent tutors, at least.”
“And a great mother figure. Well, six.”
“Whichever of us controls this child controls the Realm.”
The Dwarven Royals looked t each other.
“We could cut the child in half,” said one.
The other burst out laughing uncontrollably. “Ew, stop, that’s gross!”
The first sobered. “Dammit. It’s easy to fight a civil war which will kill thousands, but to kill one infant….”
The second looked at him. They both paused. They both sighed.
They sat down and, as Dwarves do, began writing a massive legal document which would serve as a treaty, tool of governance, guide to the seasons, collection of useful wisdom, and a glowing description of the new babe.
“I guess we’re saving thousands,” grumbled one.
“Koocheekoooooooooooooooooo,” said the other. The baby smiled and spat up all over him.
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