Chapter Text
James was just three years old when King Arthur drew the sword from the stone and created the beautiful Camelot, bringing peace to the realm. With cobblestone streets echoing the footsteps of knights and commoners alike, Camelot expanded from a castle and small village to the largest city in the world. James grew alongside the city, gazing up at the castle in awe every night before bed, praying that one day he would become a knight of the Round Table.
James was no stranger to the stories and legends that surrounded Camelot. Growing up in the shadows of the towering castle, he often found himself gazing at its imposing spires, pondering the tales of chivalry, bravery, and honor that echoed within its walls. His eyes, wide and filled with curiosity, betrayed an insatiable appetite for adventure fueled by the very air of Camelot itself.
James' mother, Euphamia, had died in childbirth, so he was raised single-handedly by his father, Fleamont. His father, an older pottery maker, spent his free time handcrafting the most beautiful pottery in all of Camelot. Fleamont tried to interest James in the art of pottery-making, but beyond wanting to learn how to paint with all the colors, James was no pottery maker.
James was also more like his mother in that he possessed a gift for talking to animals. Fleamont had never once conversed with the pigeons in the town square or said good morning to a horse, so James stood out from his father for that reason as well.
“The only thing that boy shares of mine,” Fleamont would boast to his friends at the pub, “are his good looks.”
The kids in town bullied James for making friends with the rats, cats, and stray dogs. He was also separated from them by the color of his skin with hints of the sun catching glow his mother and father had worn their whole life. He tried not to let the others get to him, but it was hard when they acquainted his hands to being dirty and his wild black curls to being unbrushed.
“Go wash up, animal boy!” The richer townies would chant after school.
Fleamont taught James how to effectively beat the bigger boys up, but it was hard to win when it was three against one. James rested solely on the idea that they might respect him once he was made a page by a knight of the round table himself. That, and he’d ‘accidently’ suggested one of the pigeons poop in Henry Gout's hair in front of his crush Misandre Lissander.
James was given a job at the palace stables at just eight years old, thanks to his talent for understanding animals. He helped diagnose issues the horses were having or cleaned up horse dung; there was no in-between. Although James liked working with the animals, he still focused on the goal of becoming a knight.
Repeatedly at breakfast, he would express to his dad, "I just need to find a knight willing to sponsor me. If they do, I can become a page at eleven, a squire at thirteen, and a knight by the time I'm eighteen!"
In response, his father would consistently say, "Why don't you slow down on trying to grow up so quickly? Enjoy your youth while you still can."
One day, while exercising Sir Lancelot's horse in the yard, James found himself under the watchful gaze of a knight as he lunged the enormous black stallion. The knight, adorned with long red hair fastened behind his neck with a leather string, possessed strikingly green eyes that appeared to stare into James’ soul as they observed him.
"You handle that stallion quite skillfully, lad," remarked the knight, casually leaning against the gate as James cooled down the powerful beast. "Do you possess animal magic?"
Surprised, James responded, "Yes, I do. How did you guess that?"
"My wife and daughter share the same magic," the knight explained, crossing his arms over his golden armor. "Those attuned to animals have a certain look about them—a hint of wild magic in their eyes." James found himself shaking the knights hand moments later. “I’m Sir Lionel of Brancaster.”
James' jaw dropped when the knight introduced himself. Sir Lionel "The Lion" of Brancaster was a legend in the streets. According to the stories, he had once fought a dark wizard alone, with nothing but his shield, and won. He had also apparently slain a golden beast with a mane like a lion, and wore its mane as a cloak for so long that people nicknamed him 'The Lion' as a result. He had also ridden alongside King Arthur and Sir Lancelot in the quest to bring an end to all the wars; he was a real war hero.
“James Potter,” he offered a polite bow to the lord.
“How old are you, James?”
“Eight,” James responded, holding on tightly to the lead rope of the stallion who was now huffing that he’d been stalled on the way back to his grain.
“Well, you handle that stallion better than some of the men in the castle could.” Sir Lionel clapped James on the back.
As the days passed, the famous knight had seemingly taken a liking to James. He stopped by the exercise track every afternoon to watch James exercise the horses. Sir Lionel even let James hold his sword once, showing him a few moves with it. James was expecting and hoping the knight would ask him to be a page, but then he got wind that Sir Lionel’s horse was to be saddled and brought to the castle.
“Are you really leaving?” James asked Sir Lionel as he passed the reins of the Arabian to the knight sadly, “the other knights are staying in Camelot.”
Sir Lionel ruffled his hair, smiling so wide that his green eyes crinkled, “Sorry, James, my wife and daughter don’t live in the castle like most of the other knights and I must get back to them.”
“Don’t you want them in Camelot?” James ran his fingers along the golden thread of Sir Lionel’s saddlebags. “Then you could stay.”
“Of course,” Sir Lionel said as he mounted his fine steed, “but my daughter is a little younger than you, and I’d like her to be raised outside of the confines court.”
“Why?”
Lionel surveyed James, and then offered honestly, “I prefer my daughter to have a mind of her own, not a mind influenced by the nursemaids in court.”
“Oh,” James furrowed his brow, “but one day, you will alway live here?”
“One day, we will all be in Camelot together, but for now, my home is in the north.” Sir Lionel’s green eyes pierced northward, as if he could see his home and not more walls. “Most of the other knights have grown accustomed to life at court, but I prefer to be out there.”
“I’ll miss you,” James said as he touched the soft muzzle of Sir Lionel’s horse.
“If you need anything, Sir Lancelot knows of you,” Sir Lionel eased his mind, “just tell him Sir Lionel sent for you.”
“None of the other knights are as nice to me,” James mumbled grumpily.
Sir Lionel laughed, “they’re just grumpy old soldiers, James, don’t let them get to you.”
James observed with longing as Sir Lionel departed, his young squires accompanying him. The desire to join them consumed James, and he would have sacrificed anything to be in the shoes of those two fortunate boys.
The disappointment weighed heavily on him, evident as he poked at his meat during dinner that night. Voicing his frustration, he complained to his father, who gently reminded him of his tender age.
"You're only eight, James," his father pointed out, "too young to be considered for a squire position, let alone a page."
Sourly prodding his meal, James muttered, "I don't care; I just want to be a knight."
His father, understanding the yearning in his son's eyes, offered reassurance, "One day, maybe. But for now, you'll continue your lessons and your nice job at the palace stables."
The words provided little comfort to James, who dreamed of donning armor and wielding a sword, but he knew that patience was the virtue he needed on his path to knighthood.
~~~
As the waxing and waning of the moon continued its celestial dance across the skies of Camelot, James found himself in a perpetual state of eager anticipation for the return of Sir Lionel. The knight, a beacon of chivalry and master of words, held the key to unlocking the position that would eventually pave the way for James to enter the revered legacy of the Round Table.
James went above and beyond in every aspect of life. He was the only one of his schoolmates who could read Greek and Latin. He was willingly taking on extra shifts at the stables just to catch a glimpse of the esteemed knights he hoped to one day join. The prospect of Sir Lionel's return fueled his dedication, and the young boy dreamt of the day when he would stand shoulder to shoulder with the knights of legend.
Unfortunately, in the summer of his tenth year, Camelot was struck by a bout of dragon pox. James’ father succumbed to the pox, despite the best efforts of Camelot healers to cure him. After losing his father, James also fell victim to the disease and nearly died in the same bed where his father and mother had died.
Fortunately, with the arrival of the fall chill in the air, the pox vanished. Barely recovering from his illness, James resumed work at the stables to earn a living. He had sold all of his father's possessions in an attempt to keep up with taxes and food expenses. Alone and orphaned, James knew that his only way out of poverty was to join the knights.
He just needed a knight to sponsor him, but he hadn’t seen Sir Lionel since before the pox struck. He hoped the disease hadn’t claimed the knight or his family up north. A year passed, and he still hadn’t seen Sir Lionel. Another six months passed, and he began to worry that he might never see Sir Lionel again.
“I’ll never be more than this,” he whispered to the horses as he cleaned their stalls, “a silly stable boy who wanted to be a knight.”
These days, James frequently found himself sleeping in the stables due to his inability to afford his father's blacksmith shop, where he had spent his entire life. The stables offered warmth and dryness, and he never missed a day of work. The master of the stables, an older man who enjoyed smoking, didn't mind James living there; it meant less nighttime work for him since James was readily available to care for the horses.
On the eve of his twelfth birthday, James’ world unraveled even more. Snuffles, one of his favorite stallions, had suffered a minor injury during a jousting match. Filled with concern for his equine friend, James chose to stay by Snuffles' side, ensuring the stallion's comfort and facilitating a speedy recovery.
While taking a nap near Snuffles' stall, the peaceful night was suddenly shattered by the panicked whinnies of horses and ominous crackling noises. James jolted awake to a nightmare – the stables were ablaze, and everything around him was chaotic, bathed in an eerie light from the flames. His lungs burned, and James wondered how long he’d been asleep.
Snuffles was nudging him from above, Master James, there is a fire.
“Where did this come from?” James coughed as he stumbled to his feet.
The flames crackled, seeming to taunt him and casting bizarre shadows in every direction. The stables, built under the castle, left nowhere for the fire to burn but up. James’ eyes watered from the smoke, which was pooling on top of the stone roof.
He knew he had to save both the horses and himself. With no time to waste, James released Snuffles first. The horse limped his way to the front of the stables. The air thickened with the acrid smell of smoke, stinging his eyes and making it hard to breathe. James raised his shirt over his nose as he watched Snuffles stumble toward the end of the exceptionally long hall.
As James realized the considerable distance to the exit, panic crept in. However, he couldn't ignore the desperate cries of the other horses. Their voices cried into the night, a constant he always heard, even when humans weren’t around him.
“Hold on,” James coughed through the smoke, “I’m coming!”
With courage he didn't know he had, James darted through the fire, setting the horses free one by one. The flames roared, threatening to devour everything, but James stayed determined. He reached the back of the stables, unlocked the last few stalls, and, in a frantic attempt to survive, grabbed onto a white stallion's mane.
James held on for dear life as the horse dragged him toward the exit.
The fire was scorching, burning his skin everywhere. His mind felt hazy, and he was practically drowning in smoke. James didn't even realize he had broken through the fire until he felt someone catch him on the other side.
“Nice job, boy.” A voice murmured. “A true hero’s rescue.”
“See to it that boy is taken care of,” another voice commanded, “and find the horses!”
Before he could catch a glimpse of the faces, James succumbed to the overwhelming fog in his mind and his body. However, in the fog of consciousness, he recognized the melodic voice of the wizard Merlin. It echoed through the chaos, chanting spells as if attempting to shield James from the suffocating smoke that had settled in his lungs. The world around him was ablaze with a fiery brightness as James's eyes remained closed.
~~~
In the realm of unconsciousness, time seemed to blur, and when James finally opened his eyes, all that met his gaze were dancing black shadows and pinpricks of light. The fiery glow had given way to an enigmatic dimness, and he felt disoriented, unsure of where he was or how he had ended up there.
“Help,” James moaned out loud, “help!”
Struggling to make sense of his surroundings, James found Merlin's incantations lingering in his mind. Was it magic that had rescued him from the fire? The air now lacked the acrid sting of smoke. His body no longer felt like he was burning alive. Yet, something lingered, a blackness he was not accustomed to.
Attempting to sit up, James’ body protested with every muscle aching from the ordeal. It felt like his skin as stretching, newly bound, against his bones. He felt tears come to his eyes, but no change happened to his sight. Everything was still spotted, darkness creeping into colorful light.
A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder, startling him. "Careful, son, careful."
"Father?" James turned his gaze toward the deep voice, only to discern a blurred, sizable pink nose. It seemed as though James held a hollowed-out stick, with just a small circle of light visible in his field of vision. However, he wasn't holding anything; his eyes just weren't working. “Am I dead?”
“No,” the voice spoke again, and though familiar, James couldn’t quite pinpoint it. “You are very much alive.”
“Who are you?”
“Sir Lionel.”
James felt goose pimples rise up his back as he discerned the voice from his memories. It certainly sounded like Sir Lionel, but why?
“What’s going on?” James was utterly confused. “Where am I?”
“In the medicine hall.” Sir Lionel explained in his soothing voice, “I hadn’t seen you since I arrived at Camelot, and then I heard of a boy who braved flames to save the horses from a fire that took over the stables. I knew it must have been you.”
James touched his head, which throbbed, as memories of flashing fires and suffocating smoke flooded back. “Are the horses alright?”
Silence lingered for a moment, and then Sir Lionel spoke softly, “It’s been four moons since the fire, James.”
James felt a punch to the stomach from the words. “What?”
“Your healing time was extensive,” Sir Lionel’s voice lowered, “according to sources there, you were badly burned.”
“How did the fire even start?” James blinked, hoping his eyes would adjust.
“The fire was set on purpose.” Sir Lionel sounded disgusted, but James couldn’t even see his whole face to confirm it. All he could see was a startling green color that James took to be the color of Sir Lionel’s eyes. “Some vagabonds, upset with Arthur’s new tax incentive.”
“Four moons?” James repeated, “I’ve been down that long?”
James struggled to comprehend the weight of the revelation, a heavy silence settling between him and Sir Lionel. His mind raced, grappling with the concept of time, a bitter truth sinking in. The world around him seemed to tilt, and he reached out, seeking support against the onslaught of emotions. A hand grasped his firmly.
A new voice, deeper and filled with wisdom, interrupted the conversation. "Young man, you're lucky Merlin was there to help, or you wouldn't be alive. He healed your burns, except for those on your eyes. You won't see out of those eyes again, lad."
James felt the weight of those words and it was like he was now drowning. He instinctively held his head, as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. Losing his sight left him feeling profoundly isolated. Questions swirled in his mind, but answers seemed elusive in the midst of this disorienting revelation.
Sir Lionel, with a mix of sympathy and regret in his voice, tried to offer comfort. "It's a cruel twist of fate, my boy. The loss of sight is a heavy burden, but you're not alone. I can help."
James found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions—anger, sorrow, and confusion crashing within him like waves. His once-steady world had collapsed into chaos in an instant, leaving him on the edge of uncertainty.
The shattered dreams weighed on James, and he struggled to speak. "I was meant to be a knight of the round table. I wanted to be your squire, Sir Lionel."
Sir Lionel remained composed, in tone. "You will be," he assured. "We'll start your training in Camelot this Spring, and when you turn thirteen next year, you'll be my squire." Sir Lionel's confident words provided a glimmer of hope in the midst of chaos.
The older man's voice mocked, "A blind boy as a knight of the round table? That's amusing."
"Arthur would be lucky to have him," Sir Lionel retorted firmly. "This boy is braver than half the men in knight training."
"Bravery only goes so far when you're blind," the old man cynically remarked. "You might have better luck making your daughter a knight."
"I'll do even better and make them both knights," Lionel declared with a snort. “If only to shut you up for once, you miserable old fool.”
“Sir Lionel,” the old man’s voice grew deeper at the jab, “you run a fool's errand to put a blind boy and a woman at the round table. Surely, you aren’t that daft?”
“I am,” Lionel said, surprising James as the knight squeezed his hand. “We start as soon as you can move, James.”
James frowned, “but he’s right, I can’t even see where I’m going. How will I be a knight?”
“I once met an old Fisherman near our home many years ago,” Sir Lionel explained patiently. “He used a walking stick to sense uneven ground, having troubled sight. Our first task together will be crafting one of the finest woods in Camelot.”
James, dealing with the odd flashes of light and aching eyes, tried to focus on one thing to discern a color. Blinking to adjust, he noticed his body didn't hurt as much as expected. Passing bright lights triggered eye discomfort, but he could not make out exactly what he looked at. His fingertips ran along his arm and he felt smooth, unblemished skin.
“What happened to the burns?” James asked hoarsely.
“Merlin used whatever magic he could. You've been in and out of a magically induced sleep,” Sir Lionel explained. “When I arrived a month ago, you were still very red, but today your skin looks much better.”
“How will I be a knight like this?” James questioned. “There's never been a blind knight.”
Sir Lionel spoke words of reassurance, attempting to instill a newfound sense of purpose in the young man. "James, adversity may alter the path we envisioned, but it does not define our destination," Sir Lionel said, his voice a steady anchor in the tumult. "Your courage and determination are the true measures of a knight, not the sight of your eyes. Remember that."
~~~
A week later, James was able to walk around the room with some help from a healer. Merlin came to visit once more, and was happy to alert James that the only scarring he had was on his legs and back, and it was minimal. When James was finally freed, Sir Lionel came right to him, and started leading him to his new home.
His new life.
James caught the scent of freshly cooked eggs, signaling their departure from the medical tower and entry into the expansive kitchens of Camelot. Sir Lionel maintained a firm grip on James' arm, skillfully navigating through the bustling crowds. Though James could only discern vibrant flashes of color every third blink, the murmur of hushed conversations surrounded him.
Amidst the indistinct chatter, a light voice reached James' ears, suggesting, "Sir Lionel must've taken pity, but the boy will go nowhere with eyes like those."
Another female voice concurred, disdain evident in her words, "No use at all. Why, if my son were foolish enough to prioritize saving horses over self-preservation, I'd say he deserved whatever fate befell him."
The callous remarks echoed in James' mind, casting a shadow on the already tragic circumstances surrounding him. He’d spent his childhood bullied for his magic, now he had an added wall separating him from the normal people in Camelot.
The whispers fell away and soon, Sir Lionel was halting him to a stop. Based on the sun on his raw skin, James knew they were outside. He surmised the courtyard, based on the sound of grouting men and clashing swords. The familiar scent of oiled armor and sweat enveloped them as Sir Lionel placed both hands on James’ shoulders.
"Your senses will become your allies," Sir Lionel explained, "If I train you, I am only training you how to fight someone who is sighted, but use your blindness as a way to trick abled people, who are small minded enough to believe there is only one way to be good at something such as sword fighting.”
They managed to find James a walking stick and Sir Lionel spent half the first week helping James learn his way around the castle. Somehow, Sir Lionel had gotten James a new job in the rebuilt stables, which meant he had a place to sleep at night. Then, only a week after that, James had been accepted as a sponsored page under Sir Lionel.
It was all James could ask for.
Time passed in a blur as James lost himself in the repetitive motions and the encouraging words of his mentor. The initial frustration transformed into determination, and gradually, James found a renewed sense of purpose alongside Sir Lionel’s patient teachings. He wasn't as good as the other pages, but he was starting to hold his own more often than not.
The blindness remained, but he continued to adapt to ways of doing things that didn’t require the same vision as the people around him. Sir Lionel taught him different smells of plants, and how they feel, so that James might navigate using his hands and nose. It was taking him some time, but Sir Lionel was also certain he might be able to train a horse to follow his, so that James might just talk to the horse to give it generalized direction. James was learning so much and it was so sad when Sir Lionel had to leave for his home once spring was over and the summer sun had tormented the sky once again.
“Must you go?” James asked. “No one here believes in me, not like you do.”
Sir Lionel placed a steady hand on James’ shoulder, “I have to return home, to my wife and little girl, but I will be back soon to help King Arthur divide up the land fairly amongst the people–and to officially take you as my squire once you turn thirteen. Once you are my squire, you can join me on trips home, and have a home of your own. A real home, not the dusty stalls.”
James' heart soared hopefully. “You promise?”
Sir Lionel’s hand tightened on his shoulder, “I promise.”
James listened as Sir Lionel ride off, once again wishing that he was following the knight, not understanding that the loneliness he felt settling, was going to settle for a long time…