As Einar came upon the bedchambers of his Queen, Reinne opened and nearly ran into the large warrior - Fenrir in one hand, the other reached out to take the Queen's shoulder and stop her for but a moment. Words were not neccessary between Wolf and Queen, as grey hues found the eyes of his liege - found and saw the valiant bravery within. Einar would stand at his Queen's side, and he would die in her service. They both knew this. Gaze then turned to the people rushing about in the hall, beginning to slow upon the sight of their Queen. The faintest of smiles was afforded the situation, as the brave young Queen soothed the worries of her people, calmed them and warned them of the perils they faced. She was a natural-born leader. However, that smile faded just as quickly as it had come as Reinne turned to Einar.
" We need to get to my son. I will not have him with anyone else but you or Analisa for protection at ths time. I would not put it past them to try and use him against me."
The Knight nodded, and then began to stalk down the hallway at his Queen's side. There was danger in roaming the castle, in trying to get to a child whom the enemy was sure to know about - Einar knew this, yet he would follow his Queen nonetheless. She would go whether Einar stood at her side or not, such was a Mother's Love. However, before the two had gone farther than a few dozen feet, a feeling of darkness and malice began to grow within the warrior, causing the man to slow, and then stop, and then turn. Grey hues fell upon the sight of a Lycal, summoning forth a smirk upon the features of Einar Blackthorne.
Even as the Lycal began to shift it's form into that of the Wolf, Einar was summoning forth those Half-Blood powers that lay within his breast. While Einar had forsaken the ways of Darkthorne, their powers were not lost upon the warrior once known as the White Wolf. Digits began to elongate, the steel of his gauntlets moaning as they strained. Einar's body began to grow large, as if his muscles themselves were expanding. Claws and mandibles began to extend from Einar's fingers and mouth, blood dripping to the ground as his flesh stretched and tore. The White Wolf then threw his head back, pale blonde hair cascading against his armored back to reveal hair protruding from his face - lengthy locks of pale blonde growing from his face in the form of mutton-chops. Yet, nothing was so haunting about the White Wolf's appearance as his eyes. From pale grey, they turned to pale silver - glossy and ethereal.
And then, low and forboding, Einar let out a bestial laugh. The Half-Blood, always bordering between light and dark, was ready for this monstrosity - the avatar of his hatred. Gazing upon this Lycal, Einar could think only of Magnus. Only of Magnus, and the hatred Einar harbored for that beast. The White Wolf stepped forwards, eyes narrowing upon his prey as Fenrir was brought up before him, brandished and ready to taste to blood of Darkthorne once more. The sword was pulsating, begging to spill blood. The savage nature of the blade wanted only to kill, to slice and cut, to end life itself. It filled Einar's breast with an unending desire to kill this beast; and the White Wolf accepted such desire, and used it to strengthen himself.
As the Lycal began to charge down the hall towards Reinne and Einar, the White Wolf surged forwards, a primal and malicious battlecry roaring from his lips as he ran to meet his foe. And then, with savage brutality, Fenrir was swung in a great slash - from top right to bottom left - the massive warrior's reach encompassing nearly the entire hallway. Unless the Lycal had percieved the White Wolf's attack and slowed his charge, there was little else that would stop the White Wolf was slicing this mangy cur in two.
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