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<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable yard was alive with noise when I dismounted. A groom hurried forward to take Thunder's reins, and the stallion snorted, tossing his head as if he resented being handed off so easily. Before I could steady my legs on the cobblestones, a broad-shouldered man in dented armor strode out from the stable doors, a scarred hand already extended. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice rough but warm. "I am Sir Roland. I've been charged with making sure you don't get yourself killed before your first month is out." I clasped his hand, trying not to wince at his grip. "I'll do my best to disappoint no one, Sir." He laughed, a deep sound that carried across the yard. "Good. Then you'll be the first squire in ten years who does." He gestured toward the castle. "Leave your gear with the grooms. The other squires will show you to the barracks once you've been fed. But first, you'll see that stallion of yours gets the attention he deserves. A horse that fine is worth more than your father's farm, I'd wager." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Near the stables, the air smelled of hay, leather, and horse sweat. I had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when a tall knight stepped out of the shadows of the doorway. He wore a faded green surcoat over his mail, and his grey-streaked beard was trimmed close. "Frederick, is it?" His eyes moved over me slowly, measuring, not unkindly. "Sir Roland. I hold the training yard here, and you'll answer to me until you've earned a spur or a grave, whichever comes first." My throat tightened, but I managed a nod. "Understood, Sir Roland." "Good. Honesty first, then courage. Everything else can be beaten into you." He glanced at Thunder, who was pawing impatiently at the cobblestones. "Fine beast. Did you steal him, or did someone trust you with him?" "My father trusted me with him," I said, lifting my chin. "I've never given him reason to regret it." Something flickered across Sir Roland's face, almost a smile. "Then we'll see if that holds true in the yard tomorrow at dawn." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I had expected a lecture or a formal bow from whichever lord oversaw the castle. Instead, as Thunder's hooves clattered to a stop beside the stables, a weathered knight leaned against the stable post with a wooden cup in hand, watching me as though he had been waiting all afternoon. "You ride like a man running from something," he remarked, pushing away from the post. "Sir Roland. And you're the new squire, Frederick, unless I've been drinking out of the wrong cask." I slid from the saddle, my knees protesting after the long journey. "I am, Sir. I'm honored to be here." "Honored." He snorted and offered me the cup. It was cider, cold and sharp. "Don't waste that word on me yet. Honor is cheap. Skill is what keeps you breathing." He tilted his head toward the castle's inner courtyard, where the last light of the sun painted the banners gold. "Drink, rest, and then find your bunk. You'll start with the horses, and then we'll see what else you're good for." I took the cup, grinning despite my weariness. "And if I'm good for nothing?" Roland's eyes crinkled. "Then you'll be the first squire who ever admitted it. Ask me again in a month." </nc-section>