Summary: Sequel to When The Suns Grow Low, The Fight Only Gets Tougher. Bray Ealdel, a close friend from Cobb Vanth's past, returns to Tatooine under mysterious circumstances. For Cobb, it's a chance to catch up on lost time. But Bray, if he plays his cards right, gets to keep his life for a little longer.
A/N: This first chapter is a prologue. I can't say I'm sure how long this fic is going to be yet, but I'm almost certain it will be shorter than the last. (The next will, hopefully, be longer than both separately if all goes to plan). Anyway, you're in for a ride with this one.
Additionally, I introduced way too many OCs in the prologue, so here's a little guide as to who they are (as per my personal notes). Most will not reappear again.
Brarkesh Zerem [Bray's master, once Cobb Vanth's & Lera Ealdel's]
Bray Ealdel [Best friend to Cobb Vanth, six years older]
Cliff Ealdel [Bray's father]
Lera Ealdel [Bray's mother]
Jezhref Vanth [Cobb's father]
Idith Vanth [Cobb's mother]
Jeree [Ann & Jo's father?]
Miyo [No familial relations, the old restaurant lady from prequel]
When Twilight Checks In, The Collars Pull Tight
Approx. 16 BBY, 25 years ago…
The old, rust-orange door slides open with a grating hiss, letting the cool night air of Tatooine waft into the small slave dwelling. A man in his mid-thirties ducks through the short doorway, his dusty brown hair only a tad redder than the walls that surround him. It's dark within the small abode, a single candle weakly flickering in the back, where two alcoved beds rest, one occupied, the other not. The shared home consists of only two rooms, a main area and a closed off refresher. It reeks of blood.
The newcomer sighs as he hits a button on a control panel, the door to the outside sliding shut with a rattle, hardly clicking shut. He steps from the round-roofed hallway and makes his way over to a small kitchenette set off to the side of the room, where he grabs a waterskin, pops it open, and tilts it back over his open mouth. He relaxes as the water soothes his parched throat, then approaches the man laying in the occupied bed.
The second man is younger, by around a whole five or six years, and his tousled brown hair is darker. A bandage has been wrapped around the circumference of his forehead, thicker around a spot just below his right temple, where the faintest trace of red bleeds through. His eyes are closed, and his bare chest rises easily.
"What the hell happened to you?" His friend asks, his voice holding a familiar drawl that can only come from Tatooine.
"Hmm?" The man is awake, proven when he opens hazel, pain-glazed eyes. His voice carries the same accent as the first man's. "Oh, hey."
"Hey yourself." A pair of eyebrows raise in an honest, curious disbelief as the man peers down at him, lips twisted in concern. "What'd you do, Cobb?"
The injured man, one Cobb Vanth, gives an uneasy laugh. "I, uh…I cut out my trackin' chip."
"You cut open your head?" He frowns as he sits down on the empty bunk, beginning to remove his beige boots. "You know how crazy that is, right, buddy?"
"Mhm." Cobb lazily shifts into a more comfortable position where he lays. "I'm feelin' it. Hurts quite a bit. But not as bad as the Star did. Nothin' beats that."
His companion sighs as he sets down his second boot. "So, you plannin' on runnin' soon, then?"
"I don't know, Bray." There's a touch of exasperation in his voice with the first few words. His head rolls towards his friend. "Just gettin' ready for when the time comes, I suppose."
"Right, and how are you goin' to explain a head wound like that?" Bray Ealdel returns, flashing a pointed look at him.
"I'll tell 'em I slipped an' caught it on somethin' on the way down. Easy as that. Happens all the time in our work, don't it?"
The other man laughs quietly and shakes his head, rising to his feet once more. "I don't know how you made it this far, Cobb. I really don't."
"I got you for that." Cobb shoots back.
"Real good thing, too, buddy. You'd never make it without me."
The younger of the two smiles to himself and shifts restlessly where he lays, thin blankets wrinkling even further beneath him.
A small silence drags on between the two men as Bray drags himself over to the kitchenette, his own energy spent after a day's hard labor. He finally casts the waterskin aside, instead kneeling down to open one of the lower cabinets, pulling out a polystarch ration pack and tearing it open. He pours the flour into a small bowl, tilts some of his water into it, and leans back against the counter, waits for the flour and water to mix and react.
"Are you goin' to cut out yours?" Cobb asks, the question not unexpected. "I could help."
Bray shakes his head. "I don't got one."
"You never told me that." He hides his surprise well. "What do you stick around here for, then?"
"I said that I don't have a chip. Ma still does. I leave, they'll blow her."
"And here I thought you stayed around for me." Cobb teases. He rubs at his head, chews at his lip thoughtfully. "I could take hers out, if she'd let me."
Another shake of his head, this one more firm than the last. He takes the completed portion bread from the bowl it had risen in. "Ma's too old to be cut open like that. It'll do her more harm than good."
"Then, what? You just gonna stay here till she dies?"
"That's not for you to worry about." Bray retorts, demeanor changing with his companion's words. His own are of dismissal. "You just performed surgery on yourself, Cobb- best rest that pretty head of yours. You know you ain't gettin' tomorrow off for nothin'."
Something bitter and hurt flashes through Cobb's eyes, and he's suddenly in a less than friendly mood himself. "Forgive me for wantin' to help my best friend and his mother in place of my own. Ain't my fault that my folks got themselves killed, an' yours took me in."
The other man recoils, eyes widening at the sudden shift in the air, at the terseness replacing his friend's amiable personality. "I didn't mean it like that." He insists. "Listen, buddy- you're family to us. Always have been. But Ma's my responsibility. You shouldn't have to worry 'bout her on my behalf, okay? I know you mean well-"
"-Look, just leave it, would you? I don't care." Cobb snaps, though the way in which he turns his scarred back on him as he rolls over betrays his thoughts on the matter. "G'night, Bray."
Bray sighs and remains still for a long moment, troubled eyes resting on the younger man's back. He shakes himself from his stupor and turns his attention back to the polystarch portion bread in his hand. His appetite most likely gone, he takes a bite anyway. Life as a slave on Tatooine is rough, and the next day will be no different.
9 ABY, present time…
Saleucami, like most planets in the Outer Rim, is a quiet place to live. An out-of-the-way planet, the population is small and most interaction is limited. The terrain is a unique mix of everything warm, ranging from swamps to arid deserts. Most people stick to the drier swampy areas, where there's just enough water to farm, not quite enough to flood.
This is where Bray Ealdel lives, in a dingy, three-roomed cottage with a garage just big enough to hold the speeder bike he's currently parking inside of it after a long day of working out on one of the neighboring fields between his place and the nearest town.
To anyone who had known him back in his Tatooine days, it would seem very strange that he would choose this line of work over all the other options out there, the intensity near that of the labor that he had once been forced to do for years on end. But, after spending more than half as many hunting down bounties at his master's summoning, he is more than happy to throw himself into working fields.
It's honest work, the most honest work he's done his whole life. And he's fifty-nine, skin weathered, mustache white, wide-brimmed hat atop his bald head. He's lived a long time for a man with the Star on his back, a chip in the back of his neck.
Bray is proud of that.
He thinks of this as he cuts the engine of his speeder bike and listens to the familiar thrum die out, bleeding away into the silence of the garage, letting the ambient sounds of the insects and invisible light wind fill the air in its stead. His back creaks the moment he rises to his feet, but he ignores it as he steps back out into the open, humid air of the land he calls home.
The grasses squish like sponges beneath his boots as he walks around towards his front door, wet from the rain that had fallen a few days back. He casts the horizon a glance as he goes, the sky a soft pink, the planet's single sun sinking towards the horizon as yet another day comes to its end. He's half-tempted to stop and watch the sunset, but that's always been more of Cobb's thing than his own, and Cobb isn't here.
He doesn't let himself think about Cobb Vanth. Those days have long since passed.
Instead, Bray climbs up his rickety old porch and stomps the mud from his boots, spots a small package leaning up against the closed front door. It's been some time since he has received anything from anyone, much less something straight to his place. Usually, he has to collect them in town. That's why he knows who this one is from just by looking at it, what it likely contains; it's his next job.
Bray grimaces, gut twinging with nausea, and he picks it up, heads on inside. What do you want this time, boss?
He pulls the old-fashioned door shut behind him, and the floorboards groan under his weight, worn down from years of use. The cottage had been abandoned when he had found it so long ago, and despite all he's repaired and replaced, it still shows. Old and grotty, just like him, still fighting on as if the galaxy isn't throwing its worst at them. In all honesty, the house itself isn't any better than the ones back on Tatooine. But that's okay, because it's not one of the houses from Tatooine.
With only the natural light bleeding in to light the space, the shadows are dark, but it doesn't bother him. No one ever visits him- friendly, unfriendly, or otherwise. He's safe. Safe, other than the blasted package in his hands.
Less than interested in lighting any lanterns, he roughly sits down at the multipurpose table in front of the closed-off kitchenette at the far end of the main living space and sets about opening the case. He does so slowly, as if drawing it out might change the contents- as if drawing it out may prove what he knows to be true false.
Of course, it doesn't, and the first thing he ends up pulling out is one of the handheld model holoprojectors. He feels his face drain of color, feels the shake in his arm as he sets the device down on the rickety old table.
He takes a deep breath and swallows, reaches back in the open box and pulls out an older datapad, one of the kind that can only store what is transferred onto it from elsewhere, one of the kind that really doesn't do anything. He refrains from turning it on; he doesn't want to know what his next target looks like, yet. He doesn't need to know what the target looks like yet. It's times like this that he regrets lying to Cobb about his chip all those years ago.
The last item in the box is a letter, telling him that he knows what to do. And, he does.
He reaches out and activates the holoprojector.
His stomach churns as he waits for the other end to pick up, this particular device altered so that it's only able to hook up to a single channel. He feels like he's going to be sick, and that's before the humanoid shape materializes into existence before him.
He's not ready when he finally does, moments later- the Pau'an Brarkesh Zerem. His master.
His breath leaves him, and he'll never be quite sure how he finds his voice. "You require my service?"
"You've grown bold." Zerem hisses in warning. "Remember your place."
Bray fights back a flare of indignance- it's not his fault he got left alone for the better part of ten years. But he corrects himself nonetheless. "Do you require my service, master?"
"Better." His master purrs. Black eyes narrow, showing the whites around the irides. "Have you accessed the datapad yet?"
"No." He admits, his gaze flickering over to where he had put it down. He's falling back into his old submission quicker than even he had thought he would. "Should I have?"
"It will not be necessary yet." The Pau'an informs him, his tone finalizing the matter in the way that it always does. He's silent for a moment, observing Bray, as if assessing his ability to see this new job through. "I've run out of tracking fobs, but I know of a woman in Mos Eisley who can tell you where your quarry is."
The bounty is on Tatooine? He wants to ask. But he doesn't. It isn't his place to ask questions, never has been. "What's her name?" He asks instead.
"Peli Motto. She owns a hangar bay labeled three-five. It is on the outskirts of town, but it shouldn't be difficult to find."
Bray commits the name and hangar number to memory.
He thinks he sees frustration in the eyes of his master when the Pau'an speaks again. "I have been sending others after this one for years, yet he has managed to kill them all himself. If any can defeat him, it will be you. If you don't…"
He nods. He already knows what will happen, shall he return unsuccessful. "I won't fail you."
"We shall see." Now, that is doubt. "Take a look at that datapad."
A sudden wave of dread slams into his chest and he almost argues. His arms have a slight tremble to them as he reaches out for the datapad and gingerly takes it in his hands, hits the button that powers it on.
And there, staring up at him, is the face of Cobb Vanth.
No.
He spins to the side and retches, stomach acid rising from his empty stomach to burn his throat as he dry heaves. His thoughts spiral uncontrollably, a kaleidoscope of images rushing up all at once, quickly shoved aside by a memory thought long lost to the sands of time.
He's sitting quietly in the back of his family's hovel when a pair of explosions come in quick succession, rocking the whole block- the home itself rattles so hard that it's more than clear the explosions are on the very same street in which Bray lives. It jolts him from picking sand from his fingernails, knocks him to the floor. His mother drops a plate. It shatters.
His father staggers from the back room when the ground settles, face tight. "Stay here." He says.
"As if." He shoots back, climbing up from the floor. He loves his father, but he's always gotten along better with his mother.
His mother leaves the broken plate where it lays, hands gripping the edge of the counter. "I dread to know who it was this time."
There aren't many explosions that happen in Mos Espa, and least of all in the Slave Quarter- and that's how they know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the cause of these two is an angered owner setting off a couple of transmitter chips.
Neither he nor his father quite make it to the door, for it opens instead and large, dark-skinned Jeree rushes into the entryway, his clothes engrained with soot, his eyes wild with the distress that he's struggling to hold in.
"Cliff-" The man coughs, choking on smoke, and wipes at his mouth.
"Who was it?" Bray's father asks, rigidly stepping forward, reining his emotions in. He's always been good at it. He'd even passed it down to Bray.
"Jezhref and Idith Vanth." Jeree manages to get out.
His eyes widen. "Their boy…"
"Took a hit to the head, but he's okay. Miyo's with him."
"Did he see?"
Jeree nods grimly, gaze flickering between Bray's parents in an unspoken question.
His mother turns to her husband with a silent plea in her eyes.
"Bring him here." Cliff sighs, unable to fight against his lover's wishes. "At least, for now. We'll take care of him."
The relief in Jeree's eyes is so strong that Bray has to look away from the man. He wishes that others were able to hide their emotions as well as he and his father can.
The big man is gone by the time his gaze returns to where he had been standing. He blinks, sighs silently to himself, and returns to where he had been seated, the grit beneath his nails forgotten, eyes locked on the door. He doesn't know the Vanth couple, much less their son, but it's clear that his parents do. How, he'll never know. Old friends, perhaps. But, nonetheless, an orphaned boy does leave a heart heavy.
His parents speak quietly, but Bray doesn't care to listen.
The front door opens a short while later, Jeree ducking through with an unconscious boy hanging in his arms. The boy, perhaps twelve years old, is covered in thick, black soot, has a thin line of blood streaming from his dark hairline.
Something in Bray's rebellious heart shifts at the sight.
He doesn't know it then, but Cobb Vanth has just become one of the most important people in his life.
Locking onto that little boy, the one who had just lost both of his parents at once, Bray forces himself to turn back towards the datapad, shaking near-violently, struggling not to double over at how ill he feels. He focuses on the screen, at the evolutionary headshot images of Cobb over the course of his life.
The first image, he's perhaps six years of age, brown hair loose and growing long down the sides of his head, face round, eyes bright; the second image, just as Bray had met him; the third, eyes haunted, face a little more angular, hair recently cut and spiking up; the fourth, jaw set tight beneath thin stubble, hair raked back in the style that is him, eyes holding a light beneath the harsh grim acceptance; the last, the most recent- the same hazel eyes as always, his hair silver and styled the same as Bray has always remembered it, his beard full, that familiar old scar just behind his right eye- his whole expression just daring someone to go after him.
He looks good for his age.
Bray can't go after him, not the man who had been raised alongside him as a brother.
He shakes his head and tries to say as much, but his voice is a croak, and his throat still burns.
"You will go after him." His master holds up the device that he knows controls the bomb inside his head. "Or you will die."
Does he really have a choice?
