"I know him." He says reassuringly to the adorably fierce, broom wielding woman that is indeed his new wife. Though right now his attention is solely on the other drow, crimson eyes shielded behind dark glass.

It feels like ages since he'd seen Jarlaxle last, time trapped in the Abyss can hardly be a measured thing. Though if time had passed for the brigand as it had for Drizzt it may seem as long for him as well. He certainly seems older. Different in some ways but still so very much himself.

The partially unsheathed blades snap back into their scabbards and he stands up straighter to face Jarlaxle as he approaches. His heart twists sharply, feeling his regret over distancing himself from his friend a lot more sharply now that he's been free from the hell that had become his life.

He should have run, he can see that now.

"It is I, my friend. Impossible as that may be."