It's only midday, and Dasharathi is already exhausted. The morning was a whirlwind of meetings and debates, followed by a spate of extremely Important visitors who demanded (literally, sometimes with subtle death threats) his attention, followed by a sad attempt at lunch. He'd barely broken the bread when a messenger flew at him with crucial reports from Leliana's people, and he'd barely started to read those when yet another Orlesian noble rode in on a white horse with an ostentatious retinue, bellowing about being shown the respect due his house and so on.

Thus, when this perfectly unassuming and nondescript woman catches him wandering, slightly dazed, down the front hall, his first inclination is to lie wildly. But he discards that; it's not in accordance with his nature, and he is a terrible liar even when rested and properly fed.

"Ah," he says. "Me. Because--I'm him."

He smiles tiredly.

"What can I help you with?"