I was just telling a friend about Jeffrey Hudson, Lord Minimus, whose story is far too strange for fiction.
You see, Jeffrey Hudson was born in 1619, and seven years later he was presented to the Duchess of Buckingham as a fine rarity of nature — because he was perfectly proportioned but just 18 inches tall:
Only a few months after joining the household, the Duke and Duchess entertained King Charles and Queen Henrietta in London. At the climax of the celebration, during an opulent banquet, a pie was placed before the Queen. Jeffrey arose from the crust of the pie dressed in tiny suit of armour to the shock of all in attendance. The Queen was known as a collector of rarities and simply had to add Jeffrey to her collection. Jeffrey was invited into the Queen’s royal household and, in 1626, he accepted by moving into Denmark House in London.
From there he receives an education, learns to ride and shoot, and begins to serve in diplomatic affairs. When war breaks out, he finds himself as a Captain of Horse in the Royalist army — where he ends up winning a pistol duel from horseback, which gets him expelled from court.
How much stranger can his life get? Much stranger. He ends up aboard a ship captured by Barbary pirates and disappears for 25 years of hard labor. When he returns, he has grown to 45 inches — which makes him merely a short man rather than a tiny marvel. He dies a pauper.
(Incidentally, most of us don’t get those kind of results from additional exercise-induced growth hormone release. Of course, our growth plates have closed.)