Marc stood silently, his palm naturally resting on the pommel of his still-sheathed blade. He didn't seem worried by Isala being tensed and ready to pounce, and although he was confident he could take her on, deep down he was still terrified of her and her people; at least the hostile ones. Selim had tried to make him conquer his irrational distaste for the Qunari people by taking him on a trip to Par Vollen when he was fifteen, there he'd picked up bits of the language, so Marc was quite surprised to hear Isala refer to him as Arvaarad, though he was glad he'd earned her trust he highly doubted that Maas was overjoyed to hear the term. Marc gave a half smile and bowed his head lightly. 

"Welcome to the wardens, Isala. I'll be happy to answer your questions whenever you're ready." He stepped back a bit and looked at the awkward crew in front of him. Two Qunari outlaws and a dead dwarf. It sounded like the makings of a bad prejudice joke to him, but they were the best he'd found in the entire country. "I'm sure you're all quite ready to make a hasty departure from this place. I've sent word to the Arle of Redcliffe, he'll be expecting us. I know none of you are particularly versed in Fereldan etiquette, or surface life at all in your case, Scout. But I'll be sure to give you all a brief rundown when we arrive. If you're all ready then we can set out now." Marc explained.