<nc-section data-title="The Stern Reception" data-color="red"> I pulled Thunder to a halt just outside the heavy oak doors of the stables, the gravel crunching loudly under his hooves. Before I could even dismount, a towering figure in polished plate armor stepped out from the shadows of the stable entrance. It was Sir Roland, his face grim and his hand resting firmly on the pommel of his broadsword. "You're late," the knight grunted, his voice sounding like grinding stones. He didn't offer a hand to help me down. "I expected the King's new squire an hour ago. Dismount and see to your beast, boy. If you can't manage a simple arrival time, you'll never manage a sword." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder into the courtyard, a man with a thick grey beard and a contagious smile waved me over. Sir Roland, the castle's master-at-arms, was already waiting by the stable doors, holding a bucket of fresh water and an apple. "Easy there, lad! You made good time," Roland called out, slapping Thunder’s neck affectionately as I slid down from the saddle. "Welcome to Highgard. I’m Sir Roland, and I’ll be teaching you the difference between holding a sword and actually using one. Let's get your stallion settled; the cooks have made a stew in your honor." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Quiet Meeting" data-color="blue"> The stables loomed ahead, quiet except for the soft shuffling of hooves within. I slowed Thunder to a trot, noticing a lone knight standing by the entrance, staring up at the fading stars. Sir Roland turned slowly as I approached, his armor reflecting the deep purple twilight. "Frederick," he said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact. He didn't offer a hand, but his eyes, sharp and grey, seemed to measure my very soul. "The horses are restless tonight. They sense the changing winds. Come, we must stable your mount quickly; there is much to discuss before the moon rises." </nc-section>