Run: 2026-09-23-01M36S8KC3Z8J5WWPZ0F5GQV51

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland was already waiting by the stable doors, arms crossed over his scarred breastplate. He was a broad-shouldered man with a thick grey beard and eyes that seemed to catalogue every flaw at a glance. "So you're the boy they sent," he said, his voice like gravel grinding together. He circled Thunder slowly, examining the horse with more care than he'd given Frederick. "Your mount's serviceable. Your posture is not." Frederick swung down from the saddle, wincing as his stiff legs hit the ground. "I've ridden all day from—" "I know where you've come from, lad." Sir Roland cut him off, tossing a rough wool cloak at Frederick's chest. "And I know what you don't know. Which is nearly everything." He turned on his heel, his spurs biting into the packed earth. "Keep up. Dawn comes early, and I don't carry lanterns for stragglers." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> A lantern swung from the stable beam, and beneath it stood a knight whose smile arrived before his words. Sir Roland had the weathered face of a man who laughed often and slept little, with laugh-lines carved deep around kind brown eyes. "Frederick! You must be Frederick." He strode forward and clasped the young squire's hand in both of his, gripping it firmly. "We've been expecting you. The roads from the west have been foul with rain — I told the steward you'd be weary." Frederick managed a tired grin. "You'd be right about that, sir." "Sir Roland, please, or Old Roland if you're feeling impertinent." The knight took Thunder's reins almost reverently, running a hand along the stallion's neck. "Fine animal. He'll be well-fed here, I promise you that." He glanced back over his shoulder as he led the horse into the warm, hay-scented stable. "There's hot stew waiting in the kitchen, and I've been told it's my job to make sure you eat before you collapse. So — after you, young squire." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Wary Welcome" data-color="blue"> The stable boy had barely taken Thunder's reins when a figure stepped from the shadows between the stalls. Sir Roland moved quietly for a man so tall, and his hand rested — casually, Frederick noted — on the pommel of his sword. "Late," the knight said. It was not a question. "The road took longer than I expected," Frederick answered carefully, noting the way Roland's gaze lingered on him a beat too long, as though searching for something hidden beneath his cloak. Roland said nothing for a long moment. Somewhere in the stalls, a horse snorted. Finally, the knight exhaled through his nose and released his grip on the sword. "The steward will show you to the barracks," he said, his tone flat and measured. "Stay out of the north wing. The Lord Commander doesn't tolerate wandering." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought: "Welcome to Blackstone Keep, squire. Try to earn that welcome." </nc-section>