Anna was here. The knowlege wore at Tyrith's patience. The damned Sea Lord was playing his own game to send her here. Oh, she might very well be concerned at long last for her sons, but not enough to return here of her own accord. She was sent. The question was why? He paid little heed to his surroundings, looking around out of habit more than conscious decision, though his men-at-arms were warily keeping a distance just out of their lord's range.
His steps had taken them on a little used and circuitous route to his chambers, but there wasn't anything to remark upon until a strange echo brought him out of his thoughts. He held up a hand and signaled his men. Probably some children or foolish lovers caught in a tryst but he would not take that chance. Not in the Red Keep. Tyrith loosened his sword in its scabbard and made his way toward the disturbance, his soldiers drawing closer and their own swords bared.
A set of stairs swept down from the story above. The echoes were from-- Tyrith froze. At the foot of the staircase, a puddle of crimson and gold. Lannister crimson, and bright gold hair. Motionless.
He ran the few steps to where his daughter lay. "MAESTER." The word wasn't shouted but the tone was enough. The youngest of his knights took off in a run. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead.
He'd light his goodbrother on fire if she was dead.
"Toria? Sweetling?" He pushed her hair aside and let himself breathe as he saw her head was not in a strange angle, her breath coming if only shallow... "Can you hear me?"