Disclaimer: I actually have no idea if we still put disclaimers on our fanfics here anymore, but I'm putting one on just to be on the safe side, so here it is: I do not own any recognisable characters in this story (Quinlan, Vaun, Lar, the Ancients etc.), they belong to Guillermo Del Toro, Chuck Hogan and the bigwigs at FX. But I do own Freya, and any non recognisable characters (I'll most likely be giving the Ancients' other progeny names, seeing as only Vaun and Lar were ever named). Not making anything off this, this fic is just for fun.
A/N: Hello, people. Long time, no write (about nine years now {OH MY GOD! O.O}). Sorry for not writing before now, had severe Writer's Block, and all my Plot Bunnies died (R.I.P Plot Bunnies), but I'm hoping that some of them have revived a bit (YAY!), at least, some revived to make the first chapter of this story (so...tiny yay then?).
I was inspired to write this fic by one I read on AO3 called Instinct by savorvrymoment, and I came up with this. This fic is rated M for naked strigoi cuddles (and bad language), but will most likely NOT have any romance in it, save for what's in the show. No romance between Freya and Quinlan, they're just "siblings".
This mostly follows the show, but will NOT have Quinlan's love interest Louisa, or her daughter Lydia, but WILL have book Quinlan's wife (known as Tasa in the Mister Quinlan - Vampire Hunter comics), and her daughter (known as Sura in the Mister Quinlan - Vampire Hunter comics). Sorry to those who like Louisa and Lydia, but I didn't like the fact that Louisa only seemed to see Quinlan as a person after she put makeup and a wig on him. Shallow much, Louisa? QUINLAN'S BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY HE IS, WOMAN! Sorry :D This story will also have Quinlan being with the Ancients for as long as book Quinlan was with them, and will have book Quinlan's origins.
Oh, I started watching the show in between seasons 2 and 3 (currently rewatching the series...yet again), but only started reading the books back in May (2019), and the Mister Quinlan - Vampire Hunter comics not long after. But it's taken me this long to write a fanfiction about it because of the untimely demise of all my Plot Bunnies. This is my first fic in nine years, so please be nice. And I don't care if no one's writing fanfics of The Strain any more (sacrilege in my opinion), I'm doing it :P
Anywho, stop yer waffling, woman, and get on with the story! This starts from season 2 episode 6: Identity.
The Strigoi's Daughter.
Chapter 1.
I'm lying in the smaller nesting chamber off the room behind The Old One's larger nesting chamber, when I hear a very familiar, deep voice coming from the main, larger nesting chamber. He sounds disgusted. I untangle myself from my brother, Lar, and wrap my naked body up in a blanket, follow the voice, and stand behind my Creator; the middle Ancient. There, standing on top of the covered drain, in the middle of the bloody semi circle my Creator and Its two siblings are sitting in, is my eldest brother, Quinlan, whom I haven't seen for the better part of five decades.
"Pitiful this 'City' of New York! I expected Constantinople! Baghdad before the Mongols! Rome! Oh! Those were cities! This is a factory! A machine! I can see why he started here." His top lip pulls away slightly from his more blunt, yet no less pointed, teeth in obvious disgust of the newest City we call our home. The Ancient sitting to the left of him makes a grumbling noise, which causes Quinlan to point to that Ancient.
"YOU INDULGED HIM! You looked the other way for too long!" He lowers his arm back to his side, and all three Ancients start growling at him. "Perhaps You're growing complacent?" The Old Ones growl even more at that, and it feels like my head is about to explode from all the mental shrieking They're doing.
Insubordination!
Insolence!
How DARE he speak to us with such blatant disrespect?!
Unfortunately, my brother doesn't hear Them, but I feel my other brothers', and my father's discomfort, as they can hear, and feel, The Old Ones' anger.
"Watch yourself, Born! You are out of line!" My father growls from behind my brother, who turns to look at my father. "They didn't know what He was planning! He has the power to disrupt thought, or had you forgotten? They didn't know He was going to break the truce!"
"They should have! They should have known what He was capable of! And They should have called me the second They knew He was here, not ten fucking days later!" My brother snarls at my father.
We thought We could handle it without you, Born! But there were a lot more of the unclean than what We thought!
"They thought we had it under control! But there were more of His strain that what we all thought!" My father tells my brother, who opens his mouth to reply when the Ancients grumble at him more, and he whirls around to look at Them with pure fury on his face, which is whiter than ours.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STOPPED HIM SEVENTY YEARS AGO, IF NOT SEVEN CENTURIES AGO!" He yells at the Ancients, which causes Them to uncross Their arms, lean forwards in Their tall seats threateningly, and growl even more at him.
GUARDS! The Old Ones are virtually screaming in our heads now. I wince in the agony of the migraine I'm getting. Four of my other brothers, who are standing behind my father, march forward several paces, and point their customised shotguns in Quinlan's direction. The rest of my brothers, who were sleeping in the smaller nesting chamber with me, rush into the larger nesting chamber. All of them are now fully dressed in their tactical gear, and all fifteen Sun Hunters, excluding my father, cock their shotguns at the same time. I am the only Sun Hunter who is neither dressed, nor armed.
My father has neither pointed his loaded shotgun at my brother, nor has he removed his pistols from their holsters at his hip. My father and brother are very close, and doesn't want to hurt him. I feel that my other brothers don't want to hurt him either, but they're good little soldiers, and do as the Ancients command.
Seeing himself outnumbered, the fury melts off Quinlan's face, and he closes his eyes, tilts his head back, takes a deep breath to calm himself, before exhaling, shaking his head, and opening his eyes, lowering his head to look at my Creator. He looks to my Creator more than the other Two, because It's the eldest of the Seven Ancients. The other Two are the Second and Fifth.
"I get no pleasure from your anxiety. I trained Vaun and the others to be better, they failed us." My father, and four of the brothers who were in the chamber and standing behind my father, before the Old Ones made them move forwards, all rattle their stingers angrily in Quinlan's direction, but he pays them no mind. All five of them have still healing burn marks on their faces, from their botched mission of kidnapping the multi billionaire, Eldritch Palmer, who was the reason the Master is in our territory in the first place.
"I'm here now. I will stop Him, but for my own reasons." Quinlan continues in a much calmer voice, which makes the Three reluctantly sit back in Their tall, red seats, and cross Their arms back over Their chests. My other brothers all lower their weapons and step back now that, not only is my brother not yelling at the Ancients, but also the Old Ones have calmed down a bit too...at least, They're not screaming in our heads anymore. "I sensed Him, when He was injured. I need to know who got close enough to hurt Him. And I need human hunters, who can work during the day." He pauses for ten solid seconds, before smiling a bit, and continues in a bit of a sarcastic tone, "that is if You have any left."
The Old Ones grumble at him again, in annoyance. I see the Second Ancient, the one on Quinlan's left, roll Its black and red eyes, but They're not angry, just annoyed by the lack of respect my brother is showing Them.
All my other brothers either back off, or go back to the small nesting chamber to sleep, and I follow Lar and the others in that direction, leaving my father to give Quinlan the names of an old strigoi hunter called Professor Abraham Setrakian, and an Hispanic gangbanger called Augustin Elizalde, Gus for short.
A few minutes after I've snuggled back down on the floor, and wrapped my naked form back around Lar's naked form, I hear boots on the concrete. I pull my face away from Lar's neck, and smell Quinlan, who stops at the edge of the blankets Lar and I are snuggled under. We're also lying on top of a pallet made of three thicker blankets.
"Should I be jealous?" Quinlan asks playfully, referring to me cuddling Lar. I turn my head around to look at him, and see he's squatting on the floor next to me. My black eyes, rimmed with a circle of blood red, meet his extremely pale blue eyes. I stick my tongue out at him, which causes him to chuckle. Lar, and my other nine brothers in the nesting chamber, are already asleep; their continuous purring deep and steady.
I watch as he takes off the leather harness from his back, and sets both the harness and his human femoral-bone handled long sword on the floor a few feet away, he then takes his black leather gloves off, and puts them into a pocket of his heavy black coat, which he also removes, setting it near his sword, and lastly he removes the leather gun holster from his shoulders, and sets it on top of his coat. I see that his gun holster holds a pair of dual micro Uzi machine pistols. When that's all out of the way, Quinlan stretches out next to me, the pallet wide enough for four people, and puts his arm around me.
I let go of Lar, and turn around to cuddle Quinlan, and put the blanket over him. Lar snuggles up against my back, and both he and Quinlan throw and arm around me, and around each other, each pulling themselves tighter to me. I pull Quinlan's black vest, and thin navy undershirt up, and put my bare hands on his bare chest; my right hand over his heart, which is beating steadily.
Quinlan's body temperature is around ten degrees cooler than mine, which is one hundred and twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, so his is approximately one hundred and fifteen degrees. If both of us were human, we'd never survive a body temperature at one hundred and eight degrees Fahrenheit. Good thing I'm not human, and my brother's strigoi DNA makes it so that high of a temperature doesn't kill him.
Quinlan lowers his head, and touches his forehead to mine, and purring deeply. I return his purring, and move my head, so I'm nuzzling his face, and he shuffles himself even closer to me. His thigh slips in between mine, and I drape my right leg over his left hip. Eventually Quinlan pulls his face away from mine, and I instinctively whine at him, but he leans his face closer to mine again, to cover it in quick butterfly kisses, and I go back to purring and trilling softly in contentment, before he covers my lips with his in a five second long peck.
When he pulls back from the kiss, I bury my face into the swirling pattern on his neck, and deeply inhale his scent, letting it relax me, the last of my migraine going away.
"I missed you, Parvulus." He murmurs, setting his chin gently on top of my bald head. I pull my hand from under his shirt, reach up, and start playing with his pointed left ear.
"I missed you too, Stórr Bróðir." I reply against his throat. I feel him kiss the top of my head, before resting his chin back on it, and purring again. I find myself returning his purring on instinct alone, my body sagging in relaxation and I drift off to sleep, thinking of when I first met Quinlan eleven hundred years ago.
Scandinavia - 877 AD/CE, Sunset.
After clearing the table, and washing, drying and putting the dishes away, I excuse myself to my moderate sized bedroom, claiming that I need to lie down, but I'm really waiting for my dead father to show up.
My father went missing five years ago when I was eight years old. He went raiding with the other men from our village, but never came back...not human anyways. More men went out to look for them, and found their ship wrecked on a nearby shore. The bodies of all the men were found, most of them on the ship, others in the sea...all except my father; he was the only one they couldn't find. The other villagers believed he was dead, and his body lost at sea, I believed so too, until around a month later when he showed up at my window.
He looked a lot different: his skin was as white as snow, and glowing slightly in the light of the full moon, his face suddenly had markings that were never there before; they're dark and go diagonally across his face, from the top of the left side of his forehead, to the bottom of the right side of his bottom jaw, most of his red hair is gone, his dark blue eyes were now as black as his pupils and flat with a blood red ring around them, and his teeth and ears were pointed. His fingernails were long and sharp, like claws. My heart almost stopped at the sight of him.
"Freya? Please open the window, Dýrr Einn ." He said. Even his voice was different, almost musical and sounds like there are two voices speaking at the same time. I refused at first, but then eventually let him in, and he told me he was a strix, which was an immortal creature that had to drink the blood of the living to survive. He then told me what happened to he and his crew.
His ship ran aground because of a storm, and some of his crew died from drowning, others died from the injuries they sustained, and the rest were fed to the strix that found them. My father and the others were taken to a cave about a mile away from the beach, and, one by one, they were fed to six beings known as the Ancients, and some were fed to Their progeny.
When They fed on my father, They decided to let him turn because he was the best warrior the ship had, and They were in need of another warrior. He had to be the best warrior because he was the ship's Captain and also the village Chief. His story was told over several nights, because I had to sleep and wrap my brain around what he had told me, and he had to leave before sunrise, or he would burn to death.
He always left after I fell asleep, but, that first night he begged me not to tell anyone, or I would put them in mortal danger. I agreed, and who would have believed me anyways? Everyone in the village knew that I had a wild imagination, and they would think that I not only made that story up, but I did it because my mind would not have been able to handle losing my father. I made up stories about my mother after she died when I was four, trying to give my father a son. Both she and my brother died, and I could not accept that; I was an only child, and was very close to both my parents. Losing my father as well almost drove me mad, and I stopped talking until that first night he appeared at my window.
When my father went raiding, he would leave me with my mother's sister, her husband, and their two young children. Thankfully I have never had to share a bedroom with either of them, as they are both boys, so I was allowed a bedroom to myself. It's with my aunt and uncle that I now live, but I had to move out of the larger house I grew up in because that was for the village Chief, which my father was no longer.
I have to wait about an hour after sunset before he taps on the wooden shutters on my window. Climbing off the bed, I go to the window and open it to let him in, and promptly see he is not alone. Standing beside my father is a tall man, who smiles at me. He is a head taller than my father. He looks similar to my father, except his skin is whiter, his teeth aren't as pointed, but still look sharper than my dull human teeth, and his eyes are the colour of moonlight.
He has markings on his face as well, and his face is also scarred. His markings aren't as dark, and they go straight down his bald head then splits at the top of his nose, and goes diagonally down his cheeks in opposite directions, that is; the line on his left cheek continues down his face going from his nose to the left side of his face, and the line on the right cheek continues down his face on the right side of his face, and the lines continue down either side of his neck, but I can't tell if the lines go further down, as the collar of his heavy black coat hides them. He also has a strange swirling pattern on his throat, which isn't white but dark red. All in all, he looks beautiful, in an eerie way.
"Good evening, Dýrr Einn." My father says softly so my aunt and uncle don't hear, stepping through the open window, the tall man following him after, while I go back to sit on my bed.
"Good evening, faðir." I reply, still watching the stranger, who sits on the wooden chair that sits against the wall opposite my bed. My father sits on the bed next to me, and I turn to him.
"Freya, Dýrr Einn, this is Quintus, he's my brother and mentor. He asked to come see you because he heard so much about you." As soon as my father says his name, the tall man, Quintus, smiles at me again, and I turn to address him.
"Good evening, Quintus, sir." I say, lowering my eyes to look at his knees. I notice that he's wearing all black, which makes his skin even whiter.
"Good evening, Smár Einn. How are you this fine evening?" His voice is deep, but pleasant and soothing, and it also sounds like there are two voices speaking the words, but not as noticeable as my father's.
"I am very well, thank you, sir." I reply. "And yourself, sir?" I see him standing up, and watch as he walks towards me, and very gently takes my hand. His hand is hot and quite rough; he's obviously done hard labour in his life.
"I am very well too, Smár Einn, thank you for asking." He raises my hand to his lips, and kisses my knuckles. No one has ever done that with me. I feel my face go hot, and know that my cheeks are red, and my heart is fluttering, and he smiles again. Afterwards, he gently pulls his hand from mine, and walks back to sit on the chair.
"Dýrr Einn, Quintus and I have decided to teach you how to fight. I can only be with you at night, so I cannot protect you during the day. You are the most precious thing in the world to me, and I do not want you to get hurt." My father says. For the first time, I notice that he's carrying two wooden swords. "Every night, for an hour or two, one of us will train you. Quintus is the best warrior amongst us; he was a gladiator, and a Roman Legionnaire, he will train you when I cannot be here."
And with that, the three of us climb out the window, and they begin training me with swords.
A/N: TRANSLATIONS: Please note that the only language I speak is English, so I had to use Google Translator, and another site for the other languages. I apologise profusely if any of this is wrong.
. Parvulus - Little One (Latin)
. Stórr Bróðir - Big Brother (Old Norse)
. Dýrr Einn - Dear One (Old Norse)
. Smár Einn - Little One (Old Norse)
So...what did you think? Constructive criticism only please. Should I continue? Again, please be nice, as this is my first fanfic in nine years. Thank you so much.