Don't Tell Me Our Thom's Gone Blue

Thom was surprised to find a prince sleeping on the sofa in his rooms at the University. "Liam?" he ventured curiously. There was something slightly unsettling about how routinely the prince picked his locks.

The prince groaned and opened his eyes. He peered at the sunshine that was filling the room, "Oh good, you're only fourteen hours late to your own birthday dinner, I'll call off the search party."

"My birthday?" Thom asked dumbfounded, he ruffled his bright red hair trying to recall the date, "I was in—"

"The laboratory?" Liam finished for him, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Yeah, I know, I didn't really send out a search party, I just witlessly assumed you'd come home to sleep the night before your big thesis presentation."

Thom looked around noting what looked like party decorations and food crammed into his tiny rooms. His stomach growled in protest at the neglect he'd been subjecting himself to over the last few weeks. He had sped up his University timetable by two years in order to reach Mastery. Only full Masters were allowed to conduct experiments on the devices instead of just passively observing them and Thom wanted to be in on those experiments. Unfortunately, those ambitions came at a price. Those royal blue, Conte eyes were unnerving him.

"I'm really—"

"Sorry?" Liam finished with a raised brow, "Why should you be? It's your birthday after all, you can choose to spend it however you like." His obviously disgruntled tone said otherwise.

"Liam—"

"I'll see you afterwards alright?" Liam said sighing, "But Thom—"

The scholar looked up at him with a true puppy-like remorse that almost made Liam feel bad for his brusque manner, "Do yourself a favor and make yourself a little more presentable for your thesis? You look like you've been living in one of those metal monsters instead of just studying them."

Thom took a cautious sniff of himself and recoiled. Liam smirked, "Bye Thom." He grabbed his cloak from the hook by the door and left.

"Thanks," Thom replied a little forlornly as the door closed. He hurriedly entered the privy and did his best to scrub off a week or so of oil and grime from his skin. Thankfully he still had soap and shampoo although he couldn't remember the last time he'd purchased supplies.

He toweled off intent on dressing and cramming some of the party food into his empty stomach before heading off to his Mastery evaluation. He shrugged on a brown acolyte's robe marveling that he had a clean one somehow.

He felt truly lucky that Liam had left him so much food, he'd have to find a way to repay the prince somehow. The bell outside his window started to toll the ninth hour and he leapt for the door with a pastry in one hand and his notes clutched in the other.

Thom flew down the corridor half choking on the meat pastry and praying to any available gods that he hadn't forgotten any of his oral thesis. He attributed any odd looks he received to the unfortunate fact that he ran like an overgrown colt, Aly and Alan had gotten all the athletic graces in his family.

He stumbled into the lecture hall where the other students were already seated in order of presentation. There was already a brown-robed acolyte nervously taking the stage, one of the thesis advisors glared at him. He ducked his head in apology and sat next to his friend Percival of Fenreigh who looked at him strangely.

"You—" Percival started to whisper but an advisor turned and shushed him. Cowed, his friend looked to the floor, biting his lip.

Thom anxiously shuffled through his notes trying to keep everything straight in his head. He clapped loudly for Senna of HaMinch, Lindhall's apprentice, who had conjured an entire menagerie of creatures and managed to transform them into their ancestral species. She was awarded mastery and glowed under the praise of her mentor and the dean.

By the time Thom's name was called two acolytes had failed their practicals and would have to retry next year, three were to be summoned in a week for further review. He ascended the stage wringing his hands.

He looked out at the crowd that had gathered in the lecture hall, it was difficult to see individual faces but he could have sworn he heard some tittering. "Masters of the University," he addressed squinting to find the row of judges, "Honored Dean, I am grateful to be given the opportunity to present to you today," his voice cracked and he coughed embarrassed, his face flushed scarlet which somehow received even more laughter, honestly it was rather rude. Hadn't he sat quietly for all the previous presentations.

He hardened his voice and focused on his thesis drowning out his nerves, "To present to you today on the subject of the magical devices being used on the northern border of Tortall."

"Do continue Acolyte Thom," Dean Harailt said with an unmistakable tremor of amusement in his voice.

He flushed again wondering exactly what was so funny, he carefully described his painstaking work of the last several months drawing parallels between the cold machinery of the monsters and their single-minded intentions. He launched into a well-prepared thought piece on the ethical quandary of escalating against these creatures. He dazzled them with facts and figures on the sustainability of monster machine building in Scanra vs Tortall. Thom knew he was brilliant. He also knew they were still laughing at him.

Numair Salmalin, the mage who had inspired him to become a master, walked him through the steps of his practical which he accomplished with ease. The indignation he felt at being mocked melted away any nerves and left him cold, clear. Peripherally he wondered, was it because he was so young? Did he look foolish to these masters? Like a child trying on shoes that were too big for him? He seethed silently as he performed mastery level spells with his violet Gift flashing around him like lightning. He'd show them young.

"Well Thom I can see that you've thoroughly accomplished every level required to become a master, I feel safe in speaking for my colleagues here in saying that you've passed with flying colors." There was a distinct choking sound coming from the audience.

Numair continued wryly, "I just have one more task for you, if you'll indulge the panel once more Master Thom."

Thom was barely mollified by the use of the title he had strived for, et tu Uncle Numair?

"Anything Master Salmalin," he replied frostily.

"Conjure a mirror."

Thom looked incredulously at his adoptive uncle. A mirror? It was child's play. Did they want him to scry in it? He waved his hand derisively and a mirror pooled into existence out of thin air, "What would you like me to do with it Master Salmalin?"

"Tell us what you see."

The young master huffed and looked into the mirror noting the evident flush in his cheeks and his… He pulled at his hair in shock, completely missing the fact that it was silkier than ever, and finally realized that it was no longer the signature Trebond scarlet inherited from his mother. He jerked his head towards the audience and this time employed his second magical inheritance, the Sight.

There was Liam, in the farthest row of the lecture hall, struggling (and failing) to keep a straight face as he admired his handiwork. Thom's formerly dark auburn hair was now a brilliant sapphire. I am going to kill him.

ooo

Hello Tortall fandom!

Just dropping by because this popped into my head 😊

I always thought of Liam as a bit of a trickster, middle children tend to act out right? Also, Thom, an intense scholar, seems like the perfect victim.

They're pretty cute imho 😉.

Enjoy,

Sandwitch II

PS. I could probably be persuaded to continue as this was pretty fun to write.

PPS. Why are all the Tortall books spread out into different categories? This is very confusing