I'll craft three different versions of Frederick meeting Sir Roland at the stables: <nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, a hulking figure emerged from the shadows of the stable. Sir Roland, the most feared knight in the realm, stood before me with arms crossed over his chest plate emblazoned with the royal crest. His scarred face betrayed no emotion as he assessed me with cold, calculating eyes. "So you're the new squire," he growled, circling me like a predator. "Lord Caldwell spoke highly of you, though I fail to see why." He reached for Thunder's reins with calloused hands. "Your horse seems more worthy than its rider. We shall see if you've got what it takes to serve in this castle, boy." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Mentorship Begins" data-color="green"> I was struggling with Thunder's saddle when a hearty laugh echoed through the stables. I turned to see Sir Roland, his weathered face creased in a friendly smile beneath a salt-and-pepper beard. Unlike the imposing figure I'd imagined, the knight's eyes sparkled with wisdom and kindness. "Welcome to Dragonspire Castle, young Frederick," he said, extending a hand worn from years of swordplay. "I've been watching your approach—fine horsemanship. Your father taught you well." He helped me with Thunder's gear, speaking softly to the stallion. "A noble beast, much like his master will become. Together, we shall forge you into a knight worthy of legend." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: An Unexpected Challenge" data-color="blue"> The stables smelled of hay and horseflesh as I led Thunder inside. A knight in gleaming armor stood brushing a magnificent charger, his back to me. When he turned, I recognized the famous azure plume of Sir Roland, the kingdom's champion. "Ah, the new blood arrives," he remarked, setting down his brush. His expression was unreadable, neither welcoming nor dismissive. "Frederick, is it? They say you're skilled with a bow." Without warning, he tossed an apple high into the air. "Prove it." My hand moved instinctively to the short bow slung across my back. In one fluid motion—just as my father had taught me in countless dawn practices—I nocked an arrow and split the apple mid-flight. Sir Roland's eyebrows raised slightly, the only indication he was impressed. "Not bad," he conceded. "But archery alone won't make you a knight. Your real training begins at dawn." </nc-section>