The Vermeer line was descended from a single man. The sole survivor of a massacred family nearly a thousand years ago. They'd started as peasants, were even kings for a while, before settling into mid-high range nobility. They were known for three things, their artistic gifts, their high-level intelligence, and their distressing habit of dramatically committing suicide by jumping off high towers and walls.
The Artist's Woe it was called. Named for the family most famous for it.
Alba Vermeer had been the first, at least according to surviving records. Known for being beautiful and a gifted musician, she'd thrown herself from the family bell tower when her lover chose another.
William Vermeer had, a bastard who'd been legitimized as a teenager had leapt from the city wall a year later, after realizing the family he'd longed for was nothing like he'd imagined.
Princess Isabella Vermeer, the great beauty of her age and slated to be wife of a king, had broken family tradition and drank poison when her future husband refused to give up his mistress after the marriage. That one had had stunning fallout, as Isabel's father and mother had gone after the prince's family with a vengeance and the resulting war had seen them annihilated.
According to family lore, no one was sure if Princess Isabel had loved or hated the prince she was supposed to marry.
There's even been a famous Vermeer general from the period before they held the throne who'd thrown herself on her sword after winning a vicious war against Song and Snow. It was a great mystery why she'd chosen to take her own life at the height of her success, but family rumors abounded hundreds of years later.
Her portrait had actually hung in the wing of the family estate where Finn had grown up and he'd been enamored with it as a child. She'd been a stunning woman, but contrary to most portraits, she wasn't looking out. Instead, her face was turned away, gaze focused on something far beyond the edge of her cousin's vision.
She'd been a famously private woman. Even her closest family members had left behind letters and journals detailing how little they truly knew of her.
Thankfully, the Vermeer's tended to produce enough that the line survived their tendencies.
Like most families that rose to some level of prominence, they'd gone after a throne for a while, ruling Sorrow during a short period at the beginning of the Age of Warfare. But artists didn't make great military commanders and unlike most noble families, the Vermeers had realized it and acted accordingly. They'd surrendered the throne and turned their focus to the creative arts, building their families influence and reputation by producing beautiful works of art that represented the pinnacle of the human race's ability.
Their works filled wealthy homes and palaces across the rock and Sorrow took a special pride is claiming them. The Vermeer holdings through Sorrow included one of the largest estates in Aontacht, a large swath of land next to the forest of Rhiannon, a couple of smaller islands that were part of the Isles of Smoke.
Finn was part of the 43rd generation of Vermeers and while he had a modicum of artistic talent, being the baby of his generation had led to little desire to compete. He had two older sisters and dozens of older cousins, and he didn't have a strong enough personality to stand with them.
The Camelia had been his escape, a chance to find his own purpose outside the family sphere, but not so far away, he was outside the umbrella of their protection. He hadn't been expecting to see the Princess Soliel in this place. Eirian had been the shining star the high society revolved around and while she was a few years older than Finn, his sisters had spoken favorably of her.
Apparently, she shared their love of fighting.
Finn did not. Finn was an organizer. A task-doer, in his own words. He'd only been Eirian's assistant for a couple weeks and it was more fun than anything else he'd ever done.
More challenging too, in its own way. Eirian was well known for being straightforward and impatient, but Finn liked those traits when it came to his boss.
There's was never any question about what she expected of him or what he was supposed to do. His sisters had been thrilled when he'd written them about his new position. Apparently, they both assumed he'd be learning to fight as a result.
Finn was not assuming that.
Nor was he interested in it.
If Eirian's magic was any indication, he'd be beaten into the ground in seconds and Finn wasn't a fan of pain.
Or physical exertion in general. Basic training had been hell and was a good part of the reason he wasn't on good terms with most of the instructors or his peers.
The work for Eirian was interesting.
And the sun. The sun the morning after her magic had engulfed the entire castle in flames was amazing. He hadn't seen it since he'd left Aontacht.
Like finding this artifact that was poisoning the Camelia. There were plenty of stories of haunted items in the Vermeer family history, so Finn was familiar.
Emmy and Patrick were two of the nicer soldiers he'd met so far, but they were both staring at him now.
"You're a Vermeer." Emmy repeated, looking faint.
Patrick's mouth kept opening and closing like a fish, but no sound came out.
"What are you doing here?" Emmy managed, still looking a bit feint.
Finn was confused, she knew what they were supposed to be doing. "Looking for the artifact?"
Emmy put her head in her hands. "No, what are you doing at the Camelia? Your family is, like, legendary? Shouldn't you be off somewhere safe making beautiful pieces of art that people will still be talking about a hundred years from now?"
"Not all Vermeer's are artists." Finn muttered.
Emmy wasn't convinced. In her experience families like the Vermeers clung to whatever made them famous until there were none of the left. If one of them was a great general, they were all made for war. If one of them was the great beauty of the age, they were known for their looks.
Finn seemed like one of those forgotten branch members who never lived up to the family's preferred specialty and thus disappeared from history.
But he was calling Lord Rong Yuze.
No one called the First Eye by his first name.
~ tbc