<nc-section data-title="The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> I slowed Thunder to a trot as we neared the stable archway, the stone cool and shadowing us from the dying light. A figure detached itself from the gloom, towering and clad in chainmail that clinked softly with every breath. It was Sir Roland, the kingdom's most feared lance. He didn't smile. "You ride with your heels too high, boy," Roland grunted, his voice like grinding stones. He stepped forward, grabbing Thunder's bridle with a gauntleted hand before I could even dismount. "And you are an hour behind the vanguard. Do you think war waits for the sun to set?" I slid from the saddle, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a nervous clatter. "The road was washed out near the river, Sir Roland. I had to—" "Excuses are for courtiers, Frederick," he snapped, inspecting the stallion’s flank for sweat. "Knights deal in results. Stable your beast. If you are not in the training yard before the moon rises, do not bother returning." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Mentor's Embrace" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder toward the scent of fresh hay and oats, the heavy oak doors of the stable creaked open. A broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag. Sir Roland’s face, usually etched with the seriousness of his station, broke into a genuine grin as he recognized me. "Well now, if it isn't little Frederick," Roland boomed, his laughter echoing off the wooden beams. He walked over and patted Thunder’s neck affectionately. "Though I suppose 'little' hardly applies anymore. You’ve grown a head taller since the harvest festival." I dismounted, feeling the stiffness surrounding my journey melt away under his welcoming gaze. "It is good to see you, Sir Roland. I hope I haven't arrived at a bad time." "Nonsense," he said, clasping a strong hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "There is always time for the future of our order. Come, let the grooms handle your stallion. There’s a hot stew waiting in the mess, and you look like you’ve ridden halfway across the world." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Business of the Realm" data-color="blue"> The area around the stables was a hive of activity, with squires running fresh straw and armorers hammering out dents in nearby stalls. Amidst the chaos stood Sir Roland, reviewing a scroll by the flickering light of a wall torch. He looked up sharply as Thunder’s hooves clattered on the pavement, his eyes scanning me with efficient precision. "Frederick," he said, his tone clipped and urgent. He didn't wait for a greeting. "Good. You made it before the gates were barred." He rolled up the parchment and shoved it into his belt. I hopped down, handing the reins to a passing stable boy. "I rode hard, Sir. Is there trouble?" "There is always trouble," Roland replied, gesturing for me to walk with him. "The King has called a council for the morning, and the border patrols are reporting strange movements in the east. I need a squire who can think as well as he can ride. Get your gear stowed immediately. We review the perimeter in ten minutes." </nc-section>