Thanks to dear Daddy’s martial exploits, the treasury is empty, the armies are dead, and family authority shaky. Your new character is a 2-year-old with the ‘drooling moron’ trait. Back to square 1 say hello to fraternal in-fighting, and freshly predatory neighbours.
Where before you were the King of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, you are now the King of England, with neighbourly Kings of Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. All “duplicates” at that level will be handed out to the younger heirs. Suddenly your realm fractures – and you discover that under gavelkind law, the eldest heir only receives a single “copy” of the highest level title. Heirs pose no problem: you’ve got sons and to spare. Title after title falls into your sweaty little hands. Then the plague/Mongols/assassins/tournament come to town, and before you know it, people are dropping dead left, right and centre due to freak bad luck. So you’ve done your duty and provided for the succession. Marry your little princess off in a standard marriage – in which she joins her husband’s family – and it’s the end of your line, no matter how many bratlings she produces. It means that her offspring will inherit her dynasty name, i.e. If your heir is female, it’s the single most important word in the English language after “tea”. No sons, no other applicable males, and no time to rush through that female inheritance law.
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