The worst of the fire ebbs in time. Alistair reaches for the fallen chair, unsure until the moment he touches it whether he'll set it upright or hurl it against the wall.

The rage stays low: he sets it on its legs and pushes it in.

All right. Now what? Weapons, he decides, and heads for their bedroom. Even if he's stabbing nothing but air, going through the motions might direct the anger somewhere safe. Can't disappoint Bull by letting all that berserker training go to waste.

He pulls on a loose-fitting shirt and starts to rummage for some daggers.