Disclaimer: I don't own Fable or any of the canon characters. James, however, is all mine.

Well, this would be my first fanfic in a looong time. Original fiction is my one true love, you see, but Fable is simply impossible to resist. So yeah.

Basically, this story will follow the main quest line, but it'll be told from the point of view of young James here, and OC of mine. Some parts may be told from Sparrow's point of view for clarity's sake. Note: Sparrow is evil and James is a spoilt little bugger. I'll try to make them as lovable as possible though. X3

Warnings: This fic will contain yaoi (boyxboy), mild sex scenes and swearing. Because sometimes nice words just won't suffice.

Chapter One

"Father's gone mad, hasn't he?"

James Hamilton stood at the open gate to the gypsy camp by his mother, eyeing the caravan his father had just vanished into. It was fancier than the other caravans, but not by much. In fact, other than the mild decorations that adorned its walls, the only thing that set it apart from the rest was the fact that it had a door.

James decided he hated this place.

His mother didn't reply but when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye he saw he twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, releasing it, and then twirling it again at worryingly fast speeds. He rolled his eyes slightly and folded his arms across his chest, glancing around in disgust.

The Hamilton family were rich by inheritance and none of them truly knew what it was to work. Laura Hamilton, James's mother, would often arrange fetes with the other upper class ladies in Bowerstone to raise money for some such thing or another but really all she ever did was call in a few favours and boss people around until she got what she wanted.

Edmund Hamilton wasn't much better, either. When he wasn't pretending at being some high flying real estate mogul he would go off on 'business trips'. James, courtesy of his own little circle of contacts, knew that these business trips were actually only covers for his father to go and indulge his twisted little fetishes at the Temple of Shadows.

And then there was James. At the age of sixteen he was possibly the vainest young man in all of Bowerstone. He knew he wasn't especially clever, nor did he have the most dazzling personality but he had his looks and for now they were more than enough to see him through. And at least he was sharp enough to spot the lecherous stares certain upper class men gave him. As far as he was concerned, flirting and blackmail were a perfectly legitimate form of business.

Of course, he'd never gone so far as to let any of them... touch him inappropriately. He wasn't a child to be taken advantage of, nor was he a slut. Besides, he had a reputation to uphold.

And it was for the sake of his reputation that James was so very agitated about being in a gypsy camp of all places. He scowled at a little girl as she ran past him, drawing a foot back in case she stepped too close and dirtied his incredibly expensive shoes.

"I swear if he's not out of there in the next thirty seconds, I'm going in there and I'll drag out him by his ear, respect for parents be damned." He spat out, rubbing a hand along his arm uneasily.

"No, no, you can't!" Laura gasped, grabbing his arm. "James, he's in there talking to a fortune teller... If you make her angry she might curse you!"

James raised an eyebrow at his mother and gently shrugged her off. "You don't believe all that nonsense, do you?" He gestured at the caravan. "She's just some crazy old bat who likes to throw cards around and pretend she can see the future. She's in there right now, playing up on father's fear of those damnable shadows. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had enough of wallowing in this... this cess pit. I'm going to get him."

Laura made a few more ditch pleas for James to stay with her, but she was too afraid of the fortune teller to follow him, and James marched off too fast for her to hold him back. He trotted up the steps to the caravan door and shoved it open noisily.

"Father, we're-" He didn't get much further than that as the sight that greeted him shocked him into silence.

His father, a man he was so used to being proud and haughty, was hunched over a small table at the back of the caravan opposite a woman in a red hood. He was trembling from head to foot and whimpering in fear. The fortune teller was sitting upright watching him - no, not watching. At the sound of James's entrance she turned towards him slightly and he caught the briefest of glimpses of blinded eyes. His father didn't even react to James's sudden appearance.

"What's going on?" James growled quietly once he'd recovered enough to form proper, coherent thoughts. "What's wrong with him?"

The gypsy turned towards him again. "Sparrow, will you see to young James? The distraction is not helping."

There was a sound to James's right and he glanced towards it, startled. A dark shape detached itself from the wall there and moved into the light filtering in around James's body. It was another teenage boy, perhaps a year or two older than he was. He was slightly taller and he peered down at James with an expression of curious distaste. James only had a moment to feel utterly offended at being looked down upon by this nobody when - had the woman called him Sparrow? - placed a hand on his shoulder and nudged him out of the door, none too gently.

James spun on his heel quickly to avoid falling down the stairs backwards and stepped down to the ground. Sparrow followed him down, closing the door of the caravan behind him. James scowled and rounded on the gypsy boy.

"Do you know who I am? No, I don't suppose you do, being all the way out here in the middle of nowhere." He growled, looking around unhappily. "I demand to know what's going on in there. Tell me."

Now, James had thought he had sounded terribly intimidating right then. He knew that the pathetic, fawning townspeople in Bowerstone were quick to give him what he wanted when he used that particular tone. So he wasn't precisely prepared for Sparrow's sudden smirk.

"Yeh used to getting' yer own way, ain't ya?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing James up and down. "Right spoiled little brat, I bet."

James sputtered and recoiled in shock, his father's predicament momentarily forgotten. "I- I beg your pardon?!" He snarled, trying and failing to regain his composure. How dare this filthy little peasant speak to him in such a way?

"Yeh heard me." Sparrow shot back, his little smirk growing slowly into a full blown grin of malevolence. "Bet yeh so wrapped up in yer own little self that yer not even really worried about yer dad. Yeh just want to know if yeh'll get his money when he kicks it."

Sparrow's head snapped to the side when James slapped him. Being as posh and well mannered as he was, James had never slapped anyone before and he stared at his hand in shock for a moment where it hovered slightly outstretched in front of him. Just as he was about to pull it back though, Sparrow's hand darted up and grabbed his wrist.

"Heh, fiery, ain't ya?" He asked, pulling on James's wrist and forcing him to take a few steps forward. His voice, James noted, was just a touch huskier, his vindictive smile a few watts brighter. He glanced sideways at James's hand. His palm, as soft and sensitive as a baby's thanks to the fact he had never done a day's work in his life, was reddening slightly. "Looks like yeh hurt yerself more'n yeh hurt me."

James opened his mouth to deliver a suitably scathing reply but never got the chance. Before he'd even begun to form the words in his mind, Sparrow yank on his arm, causing him to stumble forwards the last few steps -- straight into a torrid kiss.

Sparrow tightened his grip on James's wrist, preventing the weaker boy from retreating and placed a hand on the back of his head, gripping the wavy blonde hair roughly to stop him pulling his head back.

On his part, James was frozen in surprise and mortification. It was safe to say that this - this - had never happened to him before. His shell shocked mind only jerked out of its terrified stupor when Sparrow contentedly poked his tongue into his still open mouth. James gave a strangled little noise of shock and tried to pull away, but Sparrow's twin grips on him made it impossible. Then he tried hitting and scratching at Sparrow's face and neck with his free hand, but thanks to his habit of keeping his nails perfectly trimmed, any damage he did was minimal and certainly not enough to make Sparrow stop.

Finally he resorted to kicking Sparrow, but once again found himself thwarted. His incredibly expensive shoes that he'd been so worried about getting dirty were made of the softest possible leather money could buy and were therefore worse than useless. He may has well have been barefoot.

Thankfully, Sparrow saw fit to release him after no more than a few moments. When he loosened his grip on James, the little rich boy jerked away from him, stumbling backwards and slamming into a tree. He stood there leaning against it for support and stared at Sparrow with a mixture of indignation and horror on his face. Sparrow just smirked and rubbed absently at the pale red welts on his neck where James had scratched him.

"You-" James started weakly, "You... you- how... how dare you..?" He said, aiming for anger and missing spectacularly.

Sparrow licked his lips and gave a little chuckle. "Yeh taste like pumpkin." He murmured, the husky tone of his voice fading now. The corner's of his mouth twitched slightly and for a moment he almost looked like he was smiling honestly, but the expression faded as quickly as it came. James scowled faintly; fishing for a retort but once again was interrupted before he could find one.

"Eww..." A childish voice said from beside them, almost causing James to fall over in panic. Three small children were standing in the path not far from them. A little girl giggled. "You kissed him! That's icky!" She informed them grandly before laughing some more and running away.

James's face burned with indignation and he pushed himself away from the tree. Not looking at Sparrow, he stormed back up to the fortune teller's caravan, stomping up the steps and slammed the door open again. The fortune teller turned his way again, an unreadable expression on her face. James's father looked up too. He was calmer now, but still seemed disturbed.

"Father, get up. We're leaving." James said, crossing the small space to the side of the table and grabbing his father's arm. Edmund looked vaguely annoyed at how brazen his son was acting all of a sudden, but was apparently too distressed to do much other than scowl at him slightly.

After a little coaxing and some none to gentle tugging, James got his father upright and out of the caravan. Behind him he heard the woman stand up and follow them as they stepped outside and turned to look up at her. She had stopped in the doorway of the caravan. Sparrow was leaning against the side of the small structure, apparently entirely uninterested in the conversation now.

"Do we owe you any more money?" James asked, his tone clipped. The fortune teller shook her head.

"Your father already paid in advance." She bowed her head slightly. "Indeed, in situations like these, I would accept nothing less." And on that note, she turned and drifted back into the darkness of the caravan.

Helpless not to, James glanced at Sparrow. The older boy simply smirked smugly at him before follow the fortune teller back into the caravan and closing the doors behind him.

Infuriated and embarrassed, James grabbed his father's arm and tugged him towards the gates of the gypsy camp where his mother was waiting. As they approached, he looked up to see her giving him a deeply shell shocked look and inwardly winced. Brilliant. She'd seen everything.

What a bloody fabulous day.

R&R if you feel like it.