Barrow is fully resigned to the conversation being over, so it's a pleasant surprise when Flint speaks up again-- and it yields a touched, perhaps even flattered smile that quickly turns self-effacing.

"'s not that it doesn't come natural, Commander," he intones with a shrug and a sip from his own ale, "or-- well, not that it does, either. The trouble lies in half the company still seeming to think I'm out to lock them out, or turn them over to the Chantry."