Run: 2026-11-11-01M754QKZEY16DJFXHDWF17ETB

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Knight at the Stables" data-color="red"> Thunder slowed to a trot as the castle stables came into view, and Frederick reined him in before the wide wooden gates, his heart still pounding from the ride. The air smelled of hay, horse-sweat, and leather. A stableboy led Thunder away, murmuring thanks, and Frederick straightened his tunic and brushed the road dust from his cloak. He heard the clink of steel before he saw the man. Sir Roland stood by the trough, a broad-shouldered knight in his fifties, his surcoat faded blue and his gauntlets scuffed from decades of use. A streak of grey ran through his dark beard, and his eyes, sharp as a hound's, swept over Frederick and the boy's small pack at once. "You galloped in like the castle was burning," Roland said, with the ghost of a smile. "Thunder, is it? A fine beast. He'll do you credit, squire." Frederick bowed low, nearly tangling his feet in his cloak. "Frederick of Millbrook, sir. I'm to begin my training—" "I know who you are," the knight said, and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "Lord Harrow told me to expect you. Come, I'll show you where you'll sleep. And Frederick—here, we don't bow. We stand straight, and we listen. Understand?" "Yes, Sir Roland." "Good. Then let's get you settled before supper." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight at the Stables" data-color="green"> The stables were chaos. Hooves thumped, boys shouted, and a cart overturned in a spray of straw as Frederick led Thunder through the archway, still breathless from his ride across the field. He was trying to decide whether to look lost or busy when a voice boomed over the racket. "Oi! Mind the bucket!" Frederick stepped back just in time. A knight strode past with a steaming bucket in each hand, his polished helm tucked under one arm, his tabard splattered with something Frederick preferred not to identify. Sir Roland stopped, set the buckets down with a splash, and looked the newcomer up and down. "You're not one of mine," he said. Frederick clutched Thunder's reins tighter. "N-no, sir. I'm Frederick. I'm—" "The new squire," Roland finished, wiping his hands on his tabard and making the stain worse. "Well. You arrived alive, your horse hasn't thrown you, and you haven't stepped in anything yet. That's a better start than most." He offered a hand, calloused and surprisingly gentle. "Welcome to the stables, lad. I'm Roland. Around here, I teach you to feed a horse before I teach you to hold a sword. Both will save your life, but the first one saves your pride." Frederick shook his hand, grinning despite his nerves. "Yes, sir." "Good. Now help me lift this bucket before it cools, and I'll show you your bunk. Try not to fall in." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Knight at the Stables" data-color="blue"> The light had nearly gone when Frederick reached the stables, and the stone yard lay in deep shadow. Thunder's breath came in white clouds. Somewhere inside, a horse shifted and stamped softly against the straw. Sir Roland was already waiting. He stood apart from the lantern-light, leaning against a post, his arms crossed over his breastplate. The last dragon of the old songs was said to have watched from such shadows, and for a moment Frederick thought the still figure might be something far older than a man. Then Roland stepped forward, and the lantern caught the silver scar across his cheek. "Frederick of Millbrook." His voice was quiet, not unkind, but it carried through the yard as if the stones themselves were listening. Frederick bowed. "Sir Roland. I—" "Spare me ceremony until you've earned it." Roland's gaze lingered on Thunder, then returned to the boy. "You rode hard. You came far. And you look half-starved. That tells me you want this badly enough to be forgiven for it." He unfastened a waterskin from his own belt and held it out. "Drink. Then we will put Thunder to bed, and I will put you to bed, and tomorrow we will see if your hands know a sword as well as your heart knows the road home." Frederick took the skin with both hands. "Thank you, sir." Roland nodded once, as if a single nod were an oath. "Come on, squire. The night is cold, and the castle is watching." </nc-section>