Michel was sitting beside one of the braziers scattered about the camp, his sword laying across his lap as he slowly moved a whetstone along the blade. His armour was on the ground beside him, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders for warmth. Some of the items that lay beside him seemed to have been cleaned already, but others still had signs of battle on them. All things considered, he seemed rather at ease with his new situation. He looked up as Jacquelyn made her way over to him, smiling at her warmly.

"Inquisitor," he greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping you would be free for a… discussion." Jacquelyn looked around them. No one seemed to be paying them much, if any, attention, but it didn't do anything to put her more at ease. This was a conversation she would prefer no one to overhear. The only reason she was opening up to Michel about it was because he had alluded to falling victim to Imshael himself.

Michel placed the whetstone off to the side before giving his sword a wipe down with a rag, inspecting the edge. Only once he had deemed it satisfactory did he return it to its sheath, now turning his full attention on Jacquelyn.

"How can I be of assistance?"

Jacquelyn felt herself shifting uneasily under his gaze, Michel's ice blue eyes not leaving her once.

"Not here," she told him. "I would prefer this conversation to be held in private."

For a second it looked like Michel was going to object, glancing around at the Inquisition soldiers milling around the place. It was clear that none of them were paying them any attention, but Jacquelyn didn't care. She didn't trust that they wouldn't be heard. Growing up as a nobleman's daughter had taught her many things, one of those things being that people talk. Even when it didn't seem like anyone was listening, information had a way of getting out. Especially information that was undesirable for the public to know of. Jacquelyn half turned to start heading back to her tent, half raising an eyebrow at Michel. She couldn't take no for an answer, not about this. There was too much at stake. Michel inclined his head slightly, getting to his feet.

"Lead the way," he said, motioning with his hand. Jacquelyn smiled at him, turning and striding back towards her tent. She doubted anyone would bat an eye at her bringing Michel back to her tent. She often had people entering her study back at Skyhold when she had important matters to discuss with them, and this would not be seen as any different.

"Are you able to tell me what this is about?" Michel asked from behind her, and Jacquelyn slowed her steps so they were walking side by side.

"It is about Imshael," she said. "There were… things… that the demon said to me that I wish to discuss with you in further detail."

"I see." There was a frown on Michel's face, displaying all the hatred that he felt towards the demon. Jacquelyn wasn't sure if it made her feel better or worse about her decision to talk to him about this, but she needed someone to talk to, and Cullen wasn't there to lend her a sympathetic ear. She didn't know that he would have been able to understand what she had gone through, anyway. And he was significantly more sympathetic to the Blade. Michel had never met Siara, as far as Jacquelyn knew.

Jacquelyn pushed the flap to her tent open, stepping aside to let Michel enter before her. Someone had been in while she was gone to make sure that the brazier in the centre of the tent was lit, a golden glow filling the space. Thankfully, it also warmed the area. Jacquelyn suppressed a relieved sigh, allowing the tent flap to fall back into place as Michel strode over to the brazier. He stretched his hands out to it, warming them by the flames while he waited for Jacquelyn to say what she wanted to. It took her a few seconds to step away from the entrance, contemplating her next moves carefully. She wanted to join Michel beside the brazier to warm her fingers, but she didn't want to show that weakness in front of someone she hardly knew. And yet, here she was, about to talk to him about almost falling victim to Imshael's silver tongue. There weren't many greater weaknesses that she could think of, than failing to stand up to a demon.

"What did Imshael try to lure you in with?" Michel asked, and Jacquelyn was glad that he had taken the lead on this.

"The demon offered me many things," she admitted, only now stepping away from the tent flap, making her way over to the chair at her desk. "Power, riches… for some strange reason, the demon even thought I might be interested in virgins," she scoffed, shaking her head. Michel shook his head, lowering his hands and stepping around the brazier so there was nothing blocking their line of sight of each other. Jacquelyn found that she couldn't quite look him in the eye, instead making a show of reorganising the papers on her desk.

"You were tempted by one of these?"

"No. I was not. But it did make me… ponder, I suppose, if there was something that the demon could, indeed, do for me. I realise how foolish that is, but there was something about the way it spoke. It truly did feel as though I had a choice."

"That is how Imshael works," Michel growled out before taking a moment. "Well, worked. Thanks to you, the demon cannot harm anyone else."

"I am ashamed to say, I almost accepted his offer."

"You would not have been the first."

Silence fell between them, Jacquelyn still shuffling some of the papers around on her desk while she waited for Michel to work through his thoughts. She was curious about his experience with Imshael, but she wasn't about to ask him outright. That was simply not how the Game was played, even if Michel wasn't a part of it anymore. Jacquelyn was nobility, and she was used to figuring out how to get people to talk to her. Michel was just another person.

"The demon once made me an offer, too," he eventually said. "I refused. But the demon had something that we needed, and we thought… we thought we could trick it. We were wrong."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Celene, Briala, and me. It was an interesting situation."

"I would be interested to hear the story, should you feel comfortable."

"Another time, perhaps," Michel smiled at her before continuing his story. "Anyway, Imshael gave us what we required. But in order to collect the item, the barrier keeping the demon locked away had to be destroyed. We were led to believe that the barrier was the only thing keeping it locked away. When I destroyed it, however…"

"You released Imshael," Jacquelyn finished when Michel's voice trailed off. The chevalier nodded, his eyes locking with Jacquelyn's.

"Yes."

There was a part of Jacquelyn that wanted to reassure him that it wasn't his fault, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. She didn't know the whole story. Michel said that he had somehow been led to believe that the barrier was all that was keeping Imshael in this world, but she didn't know for sure what had been said to bring him to that conclusion. Michel took in a deep breath, straightening slightly as he cast his eyes around the tent, looking anywhere except at Jacquelyn.

"You didn't fall for Imshael's tricks, Inquisitor," he said eventually, only now looking around at Jacquelyn again. "You may have almost believed its words, but you didn't. Listening and acting are different things."

"Thank you. Your words ease my conscience more than you realise."

Michel smiled at her, shaking his head slightly.

"No," he told her. "I believe I know how much they help."

Jacquelyn smiled back at him, inclining her head slightly. A pang of guilt shot through her inability to offer him the same comfort he offered her, but she didn't say anything.

"If that is all, Inquisitor, I shall take my leave."

"Of course," she nodded to him. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

"Should you need anything else, send for me. I'm always willing to converse with you."

"Thank you."

Michel turned to her and bowed before turning and striding from the tent, leaving Jacquelyn alone with her thoughts. She didn't move for a moment longer, then looked back at her desk. She took a moment more, then sat down in the seat, picked up her pen, and started to write up her report.