@helpicant-stop

Fundy had been dreading this conversation, ever since his mother had explained that she hadn't stayed in touch with his father.

It wasn't that they weren't in love, but Sally longed for a peaceful life beside the river and, as she'd quietly explained to Fundy one night in front of the fire, his father was a general of the war for independence that raged downstream.

When he was 14, he'd done two things: he'd realized that he wasn't the daughter his mother had raised, and he'd decided to meet his father. They were equally daunting.

He was 15 when he left a note on the counter for his mother, along with a couple locks of ginger hair that he'd chopped in front of the bathroom mirror with a freshly sharpened knife.

It was two days after his fifteenth bithday.

He stood outside the tall, imposing walls of L'Manberg, keeping his shoulders back and his chin up as he stared at the man in front of him. His father cut an imposing silhuette, broad shouldered and poised like a man who knew his way around a battlefield. The sword at his side definitely didn't help.

“I... I have a son?” he frowned. Fundy bit his lip, forcing himself not to curl his shoulders defensively. Just have to tell him, someone you just met today, something that the woman who birthed and raised you doesn't know, no big deal.

“I'm going to need some proof. The only child I had is a daughter, and she lives with her mother-”

“Her name was Fauna.” Fundy finished his sentence. Wilbur stared at him.

“That's what I wanted to name her.”

“That's what she was named.”

“How do you know that?”

Fundy took a deep breath. “You already know about me. You just... don't know everything about me, Wilbur. Mom... technically had a daughter, but that's not what I am.”

Wilbur slowly lowered his sword, stepping sideways to let Fundy through the wall and into L'Manberg. Fundy didn't move. Not yet.

“How about we talk about this somewhere a little less likely to get us ambushed?”

Fundy felt a prickle down the back of his neck, tensing sharply and meeting his fathers eyes for the first time. “Too late.”

He spun, drawing the sword at his hip- just iron, he'd found it abandoned at a cottage at the side of the river while he was walking- and raising it against the three men who lunged toward him.

Wilbur stood frozen for a moment, watching the child- his daughter? his son?- draw an iron blade against three of Dream's men before lunging into action beside him.

The teen didn't move with the well-sharpened skill of a general who'd fought on the front lines for fourteen years, but he had good reflexes and seemed to know his way around a sword. It wasn't long before the three men were forced to retreat, spitting curses over their shoulders.

Wilbur made eye contact with the teen, who sheathed his sword- Wilbur would have to teach him how to quickly wipe blood from a sword before sheathing it, to reduce need to wash the sheath every other day- and turned to face him.

Neither of them spoke. Wilbur tilted his head, indicating for the boy to head inside L'Manberg. He didn't hesitate this time.

Wilbur took a moment, wiping his sword with the cloth in his breast pocket and putting it back into it's slot at his left hip while he pondered. He only knew of one child, and after Sally had informed him of the pregnancy they had fought, Sally heading upstream to where she could raise their daughter peacefully and safely while Wilbur kept fighting. Occasionally he received word about her, but he never replied.

If what the kid had said was true, though, then it meant he had another child. Had Sally had twins and neglected to tell him? Or-

Oh.

He felt like an idiot as he followed his son inside. You already know about me, you just... don't know everything about me, Wilbur.

His son, his son, wasn't born a son. And that was okay.

He led the teen into the van, giving Tommy and Tubbo quick orders to patrol the borders and ignoring their questioning looks as he put a hand on his sons shoulder lightly.

Once the other teens were gone, Wilbur took a seat, motioning for the child to do the same. He sat at the opposite side of the table.

“I- I'm your son.” the boy said softly, not making eye contact.

“I know. What's your name then, if it's not Fauna?”

The boy flinched. “I'm Fundy.”

Wilbur reached a hand across the table and Fundy hesitated before shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Fundy. I'm Wilbur. Welcome to L'Manberg, son.”

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