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<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable boys were already hurrying toward me before my boots touched the cobblestones. One of them took Thunder's reins with a respectful nod, and the stallion snorted, tossing his great head as if to remind everyone who had carried the squire-to-be all the way from the northern road. "Careful with that one," I called. "He bites strangers and sulks at anyone who doesn't bring carrots." The boy grinned and led him away toward the water trough. A tall man in a dented breastplate stepped out from the shadow of the stable doorway. His grey beard was cropped short, and a long scar ran from his left temple to his jaw. He studied me with the sharp, measuring look of someone who had sized up a great many young men and found most of them wanting. "You must be Frederick," he said. His voice was deep and unhurried. "I am Sir Roland. I have been expecting you for three days, and I was beginning to think the roads had swallowed you whole." I straightened my back and bowed as I had practiced a hundred times on the journey. "Sir Roland. I am honored to serve under you." "Honored." He repeated the word as though testing its weight. "We will see about that by the end of the month. Come, your quarters are above the armory. You will want to wash off the road before supper, and I want you to meet the others before the bell rings." He turned and strode toward the keep without waiting to see whether I followed. I hurried after him, my heart pounding with equal parts nerves and excitement. <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Thunder had barely come to a stop when a voice rumbled from beside the stables. "Mind the hay bales, lad. They're not for sitting on, however tempting they look after a long ride." I turned to find a broad-shouldered knight leaning against a fence post, a half-eaten apple in one hand. His armor was plain steel, polished but well-worn, and he wore a faded blue cloak over his shoulders. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes, though his gaze was steady and observant. "Sir Roland?" I asked, sliding down from the saddle. My legs protested after the long journey, and I nearly stumbled. "The very same." He tossed the apple core over the fence, where a goat promptly claimed it. "And you must be Frederick. Don't look so surprised. Word travels faster than horses in this castle, and your arrival was the most interesting thing to happen all week." "I hope it was a good kind of interesting, sir." Roland laughed, a warm sound that surprised me. "We shall see. Every squire thinks he's the exception until his first morning with a practice sword. Let's get Thunder settled, and then I'll show you the training yard. You'll want to know where to find the best water and the worst cook before you learn anything else." He clapped a hand on my shoulder as we walked together toward the stable doors, and I felt a little of the tension drain from my shoulders. Whatever trials lay ahead, at least I would not face them alone. <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was quieter than I had expected, filled only with the soft nickering of horses and the creak of a lantern swinging from its hook. The evening air smelled of hay, leather, and smoke from the forge. Beside the third stall, a figure stood motionless in the dim light, one hand resting on the neck of a grey mare. I almost failed to notice him at all. He wore no armor, only a simple tunic and a sword belt worn smooth with years of use. "You rode hard," he said quietly, without turning. "Your horse's flanks are still trembling. Next time, give him a rest at the river crossing." I felt my cheeks warm. "I didn't think anyone had been watching." "A good knight always watches." He turned then, and I recognized the scar running from temple to jaw and the calm, weighing eyes. "I am Roland. The men call me Sir Roland, though I have never cared much for titles. You are Frederick." "Yes, sir." I hesitated, then added, "I hope I can prove worthy of your training." Roland nodded slowly, as though my answer had confirmed something he already suspected. "Worthiness is not declared at the gate, Frederick. It is earned in the yard, in the cold, and in the quiet hours when no one is there to praise you. Tomorrow we begin. Tonight, eat, sleep, and let Thunder rest." He stepped aside and gestured toward the path leading to the keep. As the lantern light swayed across his face, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression that might have been respect, or perhaps a memory of his own first day here.