Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7ZNYRWRTZWG8MFBSQQ75W

<nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Version 1" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted from Thunder when a broad shadow fell over him. Near the stables, a knight in dented but well-kept plate armor was leaning against a post, arms crossed. "You must be the squire from Brennor's Mill," the knight said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I am Sir Roland, master of horse and keeper of bruised apprentices." Frederick fumbled into a hasty bow, nearly dropping Thunder's reins. "Yes, my lord! Frederick, son of—" "Son of no one important until you prove otherwise, lad. That's how it works here." Sir Roland pushed off the post and took Thunder's reins from him, inspecting the stallion with a practiced eye. "Fine beast. Better bred than you, I'd wager. You know how to curry him, or did you have servants do that back home?" "I know how, Sir Roland." "Good. Then you'll do him, and my mare, and loose that pile of straw that someone calls a bed for you. Welcome to Castle Alden, Frederick. Training starts before dawn. Don't be late, or I'll mistake you for a pell and hit you harder." Despite the harsh words, Roland clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, a glint of amusement in his weathered face. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Version 2" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of hay, leather, and horse sweat — a smell Frederick found strangely comforting after three days on the road. He was leading Thunder toward an empty stall when a voice called out. "Ho there! Careful, that last stall has a loose board. Kicked near through by Sir Kael's warhorse last week." An older knight emerged from the tack room, wiping his hands on a cloth. His hair was more grey than brown, his beard neatly trimmed, and though he wore no armor but a simple padded gambeson, he carried himself with effortless authority. "Sir Roland?" Frederick asked, remembering the steward's instructions at the gate. The knight smiled warmly. "The very same. And you must be Frederick. We've been expecting you." He extended a hand, which Frederick shook eagerly. "I heard you rode all the way from Highford in one go. That's good spirit." "Thunder is strong, my lord." "And loyal, to have carried you so far." Roland ran a gentle hand along Thunder's neck, and the stallion nickered softly, leaning into the touch. "You have a good heart for animals. That's rarer than sword skill, you know. Come, let's get him watered and settled. I'll show you where to stow your kit, and then we'll get some supper in you. The knights are eager to meet you." Frederick felt the knot of nervousness in his chest loosen for the first time since seeing the castle walls. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Version 3" data-color="blue"> Frederick did not see the knight at first. He was too busy struggling with Thunder, who had decided, quite suddenly, that he did not like the look of the castle stables and was planting his hooves firmly in the mud. "Come on! Come on, boy—" "He won't go in if you pull like that." Frederick turned, flushed. A tall knight with a spear propped against his shoulder was watching him from the stable doorway. His surcoat was blue and silver, faded from many washes, with the sigil of a hawk. "You're choking him. Loosen the rein. Let him see you're not afraid." Frederick did as he was told. He loosened his grip, took a breath, and gently clicked his tongue. Thunder snorted, then stepped forward. "Better," the knight said, nodding. He stepped forward and offered his gauntleted hand. "Sir Roland. I oversee the squires." "Frederick, sir." "I know. Your father's letter said you were stubborn. I see you are. That's not always a bad thing." Roland's eyes, a pale, stormy grey, studied him carefully. "The other squires arrived a week ago. You're late. The castle does not wait, and neither do dragons, as the old stories say. Are you prepared to catch up?" Frederick stood a little straighter, his hand still on Thunder's mane. "Yes, Sir Roland. I am." Roland stared at him for a second longer, then a small, approving smile broke through. "We shall see. Stall your horse, squire. Then report to the yard." </nc-section>