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the cave is quiet, and fundy’s ears twitch at every scuff his feet make on the floor, any strange whistle of wind as he walks. his sword is loose in his hand as he walks, following the path. there is moss that grows along the walls, and if he focuses his ears he can hear the babbling of a river underneath him.
he has been on this path for a while now, and fundy wonders why it was built so deep into the mountain. he knows what lies at the end, but why must it be protected so well - why must it be hidden so well - he does not know.
they told him not to come, when he asked. or, they at least implied it.
philza, who when fundy told him about the book he had found, hidden in an old mildewy chest below stacks of sweaters filled with holes, had told fundy that it probably was outdated, a sort of sad smile on his face as he handed off some coal.
quackity, who had laughed when he found fundy sitting by fungi’s grave poring over the barely-legible cursive, and had only stopped mocking him once he saw the name engraved on the leather cover.
tubbo, when fundy told him why he wanted a day off from the rebuilding efforts, gave a sort of sad look, and told him he really needed his help - and well, you can’t disobey the president.
niki hadn’t said a word when fundy wandered into her bakery that smelled like pumpkin pie and chocolate chip cookies, and told her that he thought he might go looking, just passed him a lump of dough and told him to get kneading.
and wilbur - ghostbur - who fundy avoids speaking to on principle, simply because he makes his fur stand on end and his eyes water and he talks about a lot of things the fundy usually tries to forget, but fundy pointedly leaves the journal out near him in hopes he’ll point it out, but he never does.
but still, he goes, because curiosity killed the fox and all that. and so he packed a bag full of food and armor and few pearls, strapped a pick and his sword to his back and set out, leaving a note on niki’s doorstep asking her to feed his pets.
and so, he found himself here, in a crudely made tunnel that must have been made in a hurry, made to hide something quickly.
the end comes, eventually, and fundy can see where the tunnel opens into a little cave, his eyes straining a little in the dark and his hand tightens around his sword, and he finds himself stopping in his tracks for a moment, sighing a little before he steps through the archway, his ears brushing the roof a little.
the air here is cool, no longer the uncomfortably still warmth of the tunnel, and he lets himself feel relieved for a moment, taking in the room. its small, smaller than fundy’s bedroom back in l’manberg, and there is moss covering patches of the wall.
however, the most notable feature about the room is the pond in the corner, and the wooden chair next to it. the pool of water is clear, seaweed and a sand floor, and the chair is old, clearly, marks from what looks like little claws around the legs. a blanket is draped over the back, soft and yellow and fundy wonders if he smelled it if it would smell like salt and snow.
he sits, his eyes still scanning the little cave, removing his bag and laying his sword by the door as he takes in the way the pebbles covered in dust are all clustered in a corner, and how there are vines now shriveled up and dead that must have once grown over the door, and theres a chest beside the chair and when fundy moves to open it its filled with little wooden carvings, and papers covered in songs and plans for walls, and soft sweaters, and a needle and thread.
there is a soft splash, disturbing the silence of the cave and when fundy turns theres a silver fish just below the waters surface. there is a piece of a memory with that fish, and fundy finds himself almost frantically scrambling to find the journal in his bag, flipping through the pages until he finds the drawing of a fish parallel with a woman, and the slanted cursive below it labeling her sally.
there is silence in the cave for a moment, even the distant river stilling as fundy sits, staring at the faded sketch, his mind rushing as he tries to figure out what this means and then -
“mom?”
the fish flits below, hiding back in the weeds of her pond, and fundy wonders if he had truely built up too much hope, that they all were right, is gathering his things to leave again, his eyes growing damp, when a soft voice echoes through the chamber.
“fundy? is, is that you?”
——
fundy’s head is lying on his mothers lap, and she runs her scaled hands through his fur, and she listens to him tell about wilbur.
“he. he was a good dad, sometimes.” fundy pauses, and shakes his head, “thats a lie. he’s a better father now than he ever was before. he went crazy, mom, he. he killed our friends, destroyed our home. and now, now its like we cant even blame him, because he doesn’t remember.”
sally hums, and its quiet for a moment.
“you know, he used to visit me.” fundy looks up, and sally has a far off look in her eye, “we, we met when he first arrived here, and all he had was his sweater and that old guitar, and he stopped by my river. i thought he didn’t see me, even when he sat down in the sun and started strumming, humming a little tune. and then he started singing.”
fundy watches as she moves the water with her tail, rippling across the pool.
“he sung of a woman with silver eyes and red hair, who enchanted men with her beauty,” sally snorts, and fundy tries to picture the man he knew in that position and he can't, “he always was a flirt. but we talked, and he told me he had to go - something about having a meeting with an old friend - but he promised to come back.” she pauses again and smirks with sharp teeth that mirror fundy’s own, “and he did.”
“eventually, we had you, but by this time wilbur was worried with how his buisness was going” sally pauses, a small frown forming on her lips, “he never told me much about it, always said something about potions and a van and some... king, but i knew it was dangerous. i used to hate how he’d come visit me with his ears all flattened against his head -“
fundy sits straight up at that, his voice loud in the confined chamber, “ears!”
sally looks confused as she responds, picking at the scales on her arms, “yes, like yours. i think he kept them under his hat when he wasn’t with family but-“
at that fundy nods, laying back down, and sally is quiet for a moment before continuing with her story.
“well, anyways, he told me he needed us to hide, to make sure we stayed safe. that, someone might try and hurt us - you, really - if they found out.” sally gestures around, “so he built us this.”
“he never lived here, per se, he visited for a few days before he had to get back to his business. but, and this is important, fundy, he always loved you. when he came back he’d always bring a little toy, and sing you a song about this fantasy little country he called l’manberg. and he’d sit in that chair and you’d climb all over him and yap your little head off,” sally laughs at that, “i remember you’d always be so excited when you’d hear him singing from down the tunnel, you’d run to the door and leap into his arms.”
her smile turns a little sad there, and she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, “the day you asked where dad went during the week, i knew your time here was over. the next time he came, he brought you a uniform and told you he was taking you to l’manberg.” fundy closes his eyes, and strains to remember a uniform for a child, and sally moves on, “that was the last time i saw you, you were barely halfway up the door, and i never saw you.”
fundy’s ears flick about as they grow silent for a moment, and he barely whispers to sally in response, “i wish i had come back.”
tears begin to slip out of fundy’s eyes, and sally pulls him close, “me too, fundy, me too.”
——
its a while later when sally speaks again, and fundy has rummaged through the chest to find a moth eaten sweater to fight off the chill thats come down over the cave.
“i didn’t mean when you lived here, though. when i said he used to visit me.”
fundy hums, fiddling with a grey sleeve, and sally continues, letting water run through her fingers as she speaks.
“he, well, after he took you, he didn’t come back as often. i think he still loved me, but,” she smiles softly, “you were his world. he did everything for you.”
fundy snorts at that, and sally looks up, her eyes slightly bitter, “he did. even, well, even after he stopped thinking straight, he. he always talked about what he thought would be best for you.”
“he didn’t visit, as often after he won the war, or thats what i think happened. when he did visit he spoke about, paperwork and how you were fighting some war. he seemed sort of angry about that, but well. you were fighting a war.” sally laughs a little, “i don’t think that i would be very happy if you were fighting either.”
——
“why didn’t you leave?” fundy asks her, later, “he, he never was good to you, even when he visited, why didn’t you just go? i can hear the river under us, it wouldn’t be hard.”
sally is quiet, weaving pieces of seaweed together, and then she tilts her head.
“i think i had hope. that you would come back, that wilbur would sing for me again, that we could be a family here again.” she scoffs, “i can’t say i didn’t think about it. but, it felt like, if i left, you’d never find me.”
they fall quiet again. the cave is cold, and fundy knows hes been here for longer than he meant to be, but he can’t bring himself to go away from her again.
“i think i’d like to, now.” she whispers, and the lines on her face seem to have melted away, “leave, i mean.”
——
they dug through the sand together, filling the old chest with it, and sally tells fundy about the time she convinced wilbur sand was a delicacy of salmon. as they break through the solid rock, fundy tells her about all the time he and tubbo and tommy spent building the walls, how they would run across them as they worked, playing rounds of tag.
and when they break through and theres the rushing water below, sally grins, fully, for the first time since fundy has seen her, and she holds him tight and kisses him on the forehead.
fundy sighs, and promises to meet her on the next full moon, by her old pond, and she tells him, if he wants to, he should bring wilbur.
and then with a flash, she shifts, and disappears into the river below. fundy feels a tear slip down his face, and he sits by the pool for a long while, swiping at his eyes, before he finally stands, gathering his things and adding a few of the carved toys to his bag.
the walk is long, and when fundy steps out of the tunnel, the stars are out. he walks forward, for a moment, and then he pauses looking closer at the sky for a moment, searching for the pattern he remembers wilbur used to point out every night on top of the cmarvan. and then he’s on his way, running a little in the hopes of making it back by dawn.
and the salmon watches over him, her scales glinting of starlight.