Eldarion smiled to read this letter. So his father was beloved? That was unsurprising, given how he inspired the people of the now-united realm. Outings had to be specially planned, with extra time available; inevitably, the King would find himself extricated in situations that required his personal attentions. There was the wintry day he played with the children as they ran through the streets, with two catching pneumonia (he felt personally responsible; Eldarion remembered his mother having to prevent his father from overtaxing his own health in aid of the young ones). There was also the adventure (not long after his coronation) where, managing to get lost within his own city, the King made friends with some local bandits.
If his father could alter even bandits, then an encampment of his people was no trouble.
He smiled to see the portrait. It showed a little version of his father precisely as described: a toddler perched on a man's lap, tiny hand on the bristly beard. It was obvious they were father-and-son, aside from the intimacy of the pose; both had dark hair and shimmering grey eyes. Eldarion smoothed the parchment and resolved to have it professionally redone, in a larger frame, to hang in his own personal chambers.
He continued to the next letter, unaware of its painful contents.
-to be continued-