*looks right back at you, all urge to giggle or fidget fading quickly* *hears your words (I lie to... most people) and somehow knows, beyond any doubt, that he is not "most people"* *without a trace of accusation* I try not to lie to mine if I can help it. My dad's an honest guy, and my mom's kind of a mind-reader. *raises his brows* Like. Almost literally.
*is too distracted by your nearness, at first, to do more than glance at the photo in passing, but his eyes are drawn to your hand, your finger, and finally the smiling faces*
*—and then you're saying words like Celegorm and Fëanorian, and the bottom drops out of his stomach* *stares and stares at the picture, his cheeks prickling as the blood drains from his face* O-oh. Oh God. Lily, he's... you're...? *his eyes pinching with sudden realization* My granddad—he hates them all. (You all?) Hates. There're orders... *swallows hard, unable to look at you, unable to tear his eyes from the picture* The marchwardens have standing orders. Shoot on sight. Any F—Fëanorian.