Tyaethe split off from the knights as a whole shortly after entering the city, taking a few others with her. Whilst the majority had the heroic business of handing over their prisoners to face their fates, not all of them could take part. After all, the dead had to be transferred to a more suitable place whilst their families were informed than the knights' basement. 

After the detour to the clergy, the considerably more sombre trio reunited to return... well, for want of a better word, home. Especially in Tyaethe's case, where any other place she'd lived in the past had been either destroyed in the regular conflicts or simply been rebuilt over the past two centuries--sometimes both.

The blood and grime long since washed off, Tyaethe felt no reason to return to the dusty room that was nominally hers and instead repeated a ritual unchanged since before even the old man had been a knight: inspect the paintings from newest to oldest for damage or the possibility of theft, before moving on to the sword. Unsurprisingly, nothing had changed in their brief trip out of Aimlenn and she moved on to part two of her plans for the day: watch over it until nightfall, then use the quiet as a time to practice.

The paladin was barely in position when the door was knocked, but made no move to open it. Someone else could answer whoever was there.