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<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> Thunder slowed to a trot as we passed beneath the iron portcullis, his hooves ringing against the cobblestones. Near the stables, a broad-shouldered man in dented chainmail was leaning against a post, sharpening a short blade with long, unhurried strokes. He looked up, and a grin split his weathered face. "You must be the new squire," he called, sheathing the blade. "Frederick, if the letter was honest. I am Sir Roland. Dismount before that fine beast decides to take the stables for himself." I swung down from the saddle, my legs stiff from the long ride. Sir Roland took Thunder's reins with the ease of a man who had handled a thousand horses, running a calloused hand along the stallion's neck until the animal snorted in approval. "Good stock," he said. "You'll need to earn the right to ride him in the training yard, mind. Pride goes before a fall, and this castle has a long memory for falls." He tossed the reins to a stable boy and turned his keen gaze back to me. "Now, let's see what sort of squire the king has sent me." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Straw (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The stable yard smelled of hay, leather, and smoke from the forge. I had barely climbed down from Thunder when a voice rumbled from the shadows of the nearest barn. "Careful, lad. Keep your feet clear of the muck, or the stable master will have you shoveling it till midwinter." A knight stepped into the fading light. He was older than I had expected, his grey beard trimmed close, his armor dull with years of use but lovingly oiled. A faded green cloak hung from his shoulders, and a small silver badge in the shape of an oak leaf was pinned at his chest. "Sir Roland," he said, extending a hand. "I command the training of squires here, which means I'll be the first to tell you that you ride like a sack of turnips." He laughed at my expression. "But you sit a horse well enough, so we'll start there. Welcome to Ashmere, Frederick." His grip was firm and warm. Behind him, the last light of the sun slipped behind the castle towers, and somewhere within the walls, a bell began to toll the evening hour. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Knight at the Stables (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I had expected a crowd to greet a new squire, but the stable yard was nearly empty. Only a single figure waited by the water trough: a tall knight in plain, well-worn armor, his helm tucked under one arm. Something about his stillness told me he had been watching my approach for some time. "Frederick, I presume," he said, his voice quiet but carrying. "I am Sir Roland, and I will be your first teacher here. Do not look so nervous. Every squire arrives looking as though he expects to be sent home by morning." He studied me for a long moment, then glanced at Thunder, who was tossing his head and pawing at the cobblestones. A faint smile touched Sir Roland's lips. "A fine horse for a young man with much to learn," he observed. "Let us see whether you can care for him as well as you ride him. Tomorrow, you will rise before dawn and begin your duties. Tonight, you will eat, rest, and remember that a knight's first lesson is patience." </nc-section>