Chapter Text
Two years was a long time to be apart from someone.
At first, just the physical differences were noticeable. Ivan no longer looked like a scowling toddler who drank sour milk but like a Grisha. Not just anyone at that, but a true Corporalki. He stood tall and proud, already gaining attention from higher officials for small tasks around Os Alta. During practical lessons, he allowed his mind to wander, only exerting himself during combat lessons.
Fedyor was in many ways the opposite of Ivan. He still commanded respect among the younger Grisha, who had not been in the Little Palace as long as he had. Towering over the younger students, though still several inches smaller than Ivan (much to his dismay and Ivan’s delight). However, while Ivan would disregard them entirely, Fedyor would sit and talk to them. Help them with their studies and even practising the small sciences when able. He was skilled in combat but preferred to sit in his room with his books and friends. Enjoying their company and the warmth they brought into his life.
For this alone, Ivan and Fedyor should not be friends, which worried Ivan most.
Fedyor was loved by so many. He offered smiles readily and was able to maintain a meaningless conversation with anyone. A trait Ivan often envied. He could easily befriend anyone; what was stopping him from one day just abandoning Ivan and their friendship forever? The answer was easy, however unbelievable it may be. Fedyor was genuinely his first and closest friend. He valued his friendship with Ivan, as he did with others.
When he came back from the Fold, it is what stood out to Ivan most.
Maybe it was because he had grown so used to being disregarded and ignored at the Fold by other Grisha. With the soldiers he trained with, most were too scared to talk to him. After all, he belonged to the Order of the Living Dead. Their name alone had the ordinary Ravkan praying to their Saints. So, they would just stand and listen to Ivan, whispering whenever he turned his back to them.
They feared him and Ivan thought that they should. He could stop their hearts with a single motion now as he began to perfect the small science. If they were afraid of him, that meant he was safe. As all Grisha would be in the Palace.
“What are you thinking about?” Fedyor asked, pulling Ivan from his thoughts as they rested by the edge of the water, away from the other Grisha in a rare moment of solitude. Ivan shrugged his shoulders, throwing the rock in his hand as far as he could, “What do you think would happen if we didn’t have these walls?”
Fedyor glanced up from his book and furrowed his brows, “It’s not something I really like to think about. The walls are there, no need to worry ourselves with ‘what ifs’.” He responded after a brief moment of thought.
Ivan found it hard to argue with that logic. Another thing that had changed between them. Ivan could get lost in his thoughts for hours on end, plaguing himself with 'what ifs', whereas Fedyor brushed them off with ease, looking at the brighter side as always. For Ivan, it wasn't so simple. He leaned over and picked up another rock from the ground, rubbing it between his fingers.
"Do you never worry of it being knocked over or destroyed?"
Fedyor let out a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced up at Ivan, “Knocked over? Ivan, look at it. Not even the Black Heretic himself could destroy these walls!”
“No, but they can be climbed…What if one day, people just decide they want no more Grisha?” Ivan asked, diverting his gaze away from Fedyor and back to the rock between his fingers. Fedyor closed his book and, sitting up a little straighter, "Are you okay, friend?"
Ivan nodded his head, "Yeah…I-I was just thinking back to the Fold. The soldiers feared us. How long until their fear turns to hatred and then to anger?"
"Then we will have to build bigger walls," Fedyor replied quickly. Ivan tried to scowl but couldn't stop the smile that was pulling at the edge of his lips. Just like that, the messy string of threads he had lost himself in became undone all because of Fedyor and his oddly logical responses. Fedyor noticed his smile and began to laugh. Ivan shook his head and kicked Fedyors boot with his own, nodding his head towards the other Grisha who were starting to head back to the Palace, “Come on, we should go.”
Still laughing to himself, Fedyor stood up, and they began to walk back to their quarters together. They didn't speak as they walked back; Fedyor hummed a tune instead. Ivan recognised it as one of the songs he would sing sometimes. “The songs from home, “ Fedyor would refer to them as. They came to Ivan’s room first, as always. Ivan hated saying goodbyes. They always felt awkward and insincere. Especially when it came to Fedyor, who only slept a few rooms over from him. Ivan stood awkwardly against his door, gazing down at his hands. Fedyor patted his arm gently, resting it there for a few moments before muttering his goodnights and walking to his own room.
Ivan quickly slid into his own room, his ears and neck feeling suddenly warm. His hand coming up and holding where Fedyor’s hand had been just moments ago. The strange bubbling feeling re-emerging in his chest.
This was another thing that had changed.
Unlike the others, this change wasn’t visibly good or bad. The first time the strange knot had formed in his chest and stomach was when Fedyor hooked an arm around his shoulder as they walked back from training one evening. Warm and glistening in the summer sun, Ivan felt his stomach knot itself and his heart speeding up. He had to excuse himself to go recompose himself, steadying his own heart. He thought for a few moments he might be dying. Luckily for him, he had a habit of being dramatic (an unfortunate side effect of being friends with Fedyor) and was fine. But the strange feeling had left him shaken and unsure what to do. A few months back, Ivan was still sceptical about what to make of it.
It wasn’t necessarily like the panic that would go through his body as a child when the soldiers would camp in their village. It also wasn’t like the joy he felt after he and some of the older Grisha shared a bottle of kvas between them. It was a warmth that rested in his stomach, making him both giddy and sick at the same time.
He had been tempted to go to a healer several times to see if something was wrong with him but ultimately decided against it. He didn't want to be known as the crazy Grisha. He was already disliked enough by many in the Palace. He didn’t need another reason for people to avoid him in the halls and during lessons.
So, he was stuck sprawled across his bed, unable to crack the puzzle that was his own body and mind. Maybe this was what being an adult felt like. Just constant confusion and misery. He wasn't even seventeen yet. Perhaps becoming a young Grisha martyr would be better than having to try to work through whatever he was experiencing at the moment.