She looks at you for a long time, and you look back. There is a possible version of this conversation where you actually speak up here, and you have a very long and awkward conversation about what her father actually did mean to you, and what he might have meant to you if things had not gone so terribly wrong at Drakenhof, and, let's be honest here, if he also had a hitherto unsuggested predilection for insecure young Wizards who had only just begun to come into their own. But not only would that be an agonizingly awkward conversation to have, it would also be one that would expose the person you used to be. You quite like being the highly-skilled Wizard with the ear of many of the continent's movers and shakers, the shadowy figure only glimpsed out of the corner of one's eye as she watches events unfold with a knowing smile. You know that whatever it is that Roswita is imagining, it stars a slightly younger version of that take on yourself, rather than the fumbling, coltish young woman that Abelhelm was much more of a mentor to than anything else.
Part of you still flinches at the memory of Roswita so summarily banishing you from what had become your home, and that part of you quite likes that part of Roswita is still intimidated by what she imagines you to be and to have been. You don't want to give Roswita the ability to treat the younger version of yourself with the same contempt that part of you does.
So you remain silent, and let Roswita imagine whatever it is she imagines.
"Thank you," she finally says to you, and you just smile and nod.
