"I'm fairly certain I'll know what I'm looking for when I see it," Theodore said. He was envisioning a safe, a hidden compartment in a wall or the floor, with a lock of a similar metal to the key. Where to look was the big question, of course - but the portrait would be a good way for his father to communicate with him after death. After all, he could ask Theodore a question that would confirm it was truly him, and the information could not be tortured or bargained out of a painting.
When he arrived in the portrait wing, he ignored the usual bickering between his older relatives - many of whom had murdered each other - and headed for his father's portrait. It made a little lump rise in his throat to see him in his chair, a bottle of wine on the little table beside him. Unfortunately, the image of his father was fast asleep.
"Father?" Theodore asked quietly, and then repeated it somewhat louder, but he didn't wake. He deflated slightly, losing the energy he'd gained when he had thought of this idea. "I don't think he's going to wake up."
And wasn't that a loaded sentence, he realized after saying it. He shoved his hands in his pockets and examined the picture for clues. Had the wine been there the last time he'd seen it? He honestly couldn't remember. Maybe he was just grasping at straws.