It most certainly would. He had spent the past five years believing Samouel was dead, knowing it, somehow, in his heart. If not dead, then lost. It felt like an impossibility, luck to good to be true, to have him suddenly appear here in front of him, safe and whole. He couldn't accept it, because he had done his grieving. What cruel world would tear open those wounds again? Would taunt him like this?

"That's a lie," he hissed. "How could you possibly do that? There's no time-travel in Thedas!" he snarled. Even so, his grip loosened a fraction, his heart reaching out and grasping to that thin thread of hope despite himself. "So who are you, really? Who sent you? What do you think you'll accomplish using him?"