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Personally, my favourite head canon for this series is that Thom actually has some severe mental illnesses. This is snippets of that concept.
TW for mental illness and self-harming activities
They say genius and madness are often found together, Thom is no exception to this.
It's not paranoia, he thinks, as he wakes to check that his door and window are still barred for the third time that night. It's not paranoia, if somebody is truly out to get you. He didn't care how long it took to check his room for unfamiliar spells twice a day, sometimes more. He didn't care if the Masters looked at him oddly or whispered amongst themselves, nor about the snide remarks from his peers; wondering aloud if insanity ran in his family the same way stupidity seemed to. He kept to himself, knowing he'd prove them all wrong soon anyways. Besides, could any of them truly call him mad if they knew the truth? That his twin brother at the palace, was actually his sister? That the Duke of Conté himself had a personal interest in them? No. It was not madness, it was a healthy caution, pure self preservation.
"Thom, is everything alright?" Master Si-Cham asked calmly, months later. "The Masters and I are... concerned, for your well being." Thom scoffed.
"I'm fine," he snapped, shifting. He would be far more comfortable back in his room, alone, and safe.
"You haven't been sleeping," it was a statement, not a question.
"So? I've been busy," he replied curtly before looking away. "Are we done?" He didn't wait for an answer before departing.
Not sleeping? Of course he wasn't sleeping! How could he do something as trivial as sleep when Duke Roger was plotting to hurt his sister? When spies were around every corner? He didn't have time to sleep.
He stopped eating with the masses months ago, stopped eating all together when he could. Too many people watched him, whispered about him.
The masters had realized he wasn't as stupid as he looked, and Thom couldn't help the sense of pride that came over him. He didn't care that they watched him wearily or avoided him in the hallways. They were jealous, the lot of them. He was stronger than them and they knew it, that's why they hated him. Besides, it was getting harder to tell who was Duke Roger's men.
Instead of socializing (or eating), Thom spent his time in his rooms, rereading old tomes and practicing complex spells. He spent hours checking and rechecking his room for spells and traps before he even contemplated sleep.
He didn't need anybody, he reminded himself as he opened another book. Not as long as he had his gift.
He wasn't sure what set him off, but suddenly he was yelling.
The world seemed to tilt out of focus, and when he came to, he was breathing hard. A priest was holding him down, looking almost scared. His room was destroyed.
Books were thrown across the floor, work discarded as if it were nothing more than blank sheets of paper. A mirror was shattered.
"Lord Thom?" The Priest asked, hesitant to let him go. A crowd had gathered outside his door, trying to catch a glimpse at what had happened. "You're bleeding," he added.
Thom looked at his hands. Sure enough, blood pooled between shards of glass stuck into his palm, before dripping onto the stone floor.
They were watching. Always watching. Why did they have to stare? He was going to slip up. He was going to get Alanna killed.
The people sneered at him, it reminded him of Trebond. How the few other children looked at him when Alanna, Coram, and Maude weren't looking. The laughed and called him names. The adults were never much better.
Eye bore into his skull as he fled. He could hear their whispers, calling him weak, worthless, a shadow of his sister. All the things he was desperately trying not to be.
Thom slammed her door closed behind him, finally reaching the solitude of his rooms.
He slid down until he sat on the floor, back against the wall. Not for the first time, he dug his nails into his arms deep enough to draw blood. Anything to get their eyes off him, their words from his mind. They were jealous, that was all. They feared him because they were jealous.
It was midnight. Few Priests were awake, and those who were stayed far away from Thom's path.
It was silent, other than the sound of his own footsteps down the stone corridor, and the rustle of pages as he shifted the pile of books in his hands. The only time he left his rooms was at night, when it was easier to see the danger that lurked behind every corner.
Somewhere behind him, a second set of footsteps began echoing through the corridor. Thom picked up his pace, listening as heavy feet met hard stone. His whoever was behind him sped up as well.
He didn't risk turning around. It wasn't the first time he was followed at night, likely at request of Duke Roger.
Thom turned a corner, listening as the footsteps followed. His anxiety mounted. How did he know that this pursuer meant no harm? Alanna's ordeal was only a few months away. Perhaps Duke Roger had finally decided to take him out of the picture.
The footsteps were speeding up, gaining on him. He spun around, spell on his lips.
The corridor was empty.
Alanna came to visit, smiling as the thief followed her into his chambers. He had forgotten just how much he missed his redhead counterpart. Si-Cham looked him over distastefully as he invited himself to the evening meal. How long had it been since he ate with the Priests?
They spent the evening talking. Not for the first time, Thom was glad for the long sleeved Minthran robes that hide the gouges his nails had dug into his flesh. He would be hard pressed to explain the scars to his sister. She seemed not to notice the way he paced the room, casually checking his warning spells.
Court was no better, worse actually. At least he didn't have to hide anymore, but it meant little. Alanna was gone, traveling Tortall like she'd always wanted to. They both had their dreams come true, but why did he feel so empty?
Nobles and Knights alike stared at him as he walked down the hallways. He ignored them. Let them stare, he thought, he was more powerful than any of them. It was different now, he was worth something now.
He was the most powerful sorcerer, he could walk among the Gods. So let them stare.
Delia knew exactly how to push him. Her worlds echoed the voices in his head, pointing out his flaws.
He would never compare to his sister. Not unless he proved himself.
Delia was right. If he really was as powerful as he said, shouldn't he be able to?
He felt eyes on him everywhere he went, people following him through the corridors of the castle. He heard whispers, even when people weren't there, taunting him. They reminded him he would never be his sister. It took all his strength to not tear out his own hair when he heard them.
It was Roger, it had to be. Roger was the one corrupting his gift, making him see things that weren't there, making his own personal thoughts be spoken over and over in different voices. He didn't know how, but it had to be him.
"Do you trust me?" the older asked, taking in his appearance. Thom knew how terrible he looked, pale and shaking. He hated the way the soon-to-be King stared at him, as if he had something to hide. Of course he had something to hide, after so many years, who wouldn't?
"No,' he replied honestly. "I don't trust anybody." He never trusted anybody, not when it was too easy to hurt him, to use his weaknesses against him.
"Aside from your sister," Roger pointed out.
Thom didn't say anything, because he was right. The only person he trusted in the entire world, was Alanna.
He was dying. That much he knew. A fever that Duke Baird couldn't get rid of, corrupted magic, all of it. Roger was the blame, but that's about all he knew.
Alanna wanted Si-cham to help but, but he couldn't. He couldn't trust the man, he was jealous, he stared. He could never trust him.
He could feel the fear in his voice, and cursed himself for it. He was a dying man in a world where he could trust nobody.
Thom still isn't sure how his sister manages to talk him into accepting help, but he sat with Si-cham, locked alone in his rooms in the palace.
"Thom," the Master said, drawing his attention from the books. "How long have you seen things that aren't there?'
It's not paranoia, if somebody is truly out to get you, he reminds himself. It's almost funny, he thinks. He had spent so long, terrified of the whispers and the stares, driven insane by things that weren't there, desperately trying to stay alive long enough to prove his worth. Yet, as he dies, he finds it calming.
He's missing chunks of hair, torn out after months of frustration and anxiety. His arms are scarred with years worth of breakdowns.
Alanna is coming, he can feel her gift, even as his drains away. He has to warn her, even if he couldn't quite tell what was real anymore.
They say genius and madness are often found together, it's taken Thom this long to realize that maybe, he's not an exception.
Let me know if I missed any spelling or grammar errors when editing and I'll fix them as soon as I can.