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Firmus Piett hastily adjusted his collar before the mirror of his pristine quarters on the Devastator and winced when he caught a glimpse of his pitiful appearance. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen with a sleep he barely got before the familiar, dreading sound of a comlink had woke him. Fear tugged at his heart as his brain tried to figure out what could’ve happened for the Supreme Commander to summon an emergency meeting that late in the cycle.
Although he knew the whole council of the highest ranked above the flagship were summoned too, he couldn’t help his brain from thinking about everything he had done in the past weeks, searching for a mistake he knew deep down he hadn’t committed to justify this sudden ordeal. When he managed to tame his unruly hair under the imperial cap, the freshly-promoted Admiral of the Devastator drew in a deep breath before heading out towards the meeting room.
Most of the other, few most trusted men on this flagship had already taken a seat by the time Firmus had arrived, and he rushed to imitate them, eyeing Ozzel’s coffee longingly and wishing he had had time to stop by the cafeteria to mentally prepare for this.
His thoughts were cut short by the familiar sound of Darth Vader’s respirator filling the hallway behind the door that opened to reveal the black-clad behemoth. The men in the room stood up and saluted expertly before the sith lord dismissed the mindless habit. Something was feeling off, although Piett couldn’t put a finger on it.
It wasn’t unfolding like every emergency meeting they had had in the past under the service of Lord Vader. His terrifying atmosphere was firmer, yet softer than he had experienced it to be. From the looks the imperials were shooting one another, Piett knew he wasn’t the only one to notice it.
The same way, all of them wondered why the sith lord was not entering the room and closing the door to begin with the meeting that was apparently an emergency, rather than standing there, when the man finally spoke.
“What you will see in this room tonight is not to leave the privacy of its walls, and I count on your expert professionalism to ensure an optimal unfolding of this meeting.” The deep baritone spoke menacingly, waking the last of Piett’s sleep-deprived inattention.
Footsteps were heard coming from further in the hallway, and the imperials in the room mentally braced for what they were about to witness. Before the owner of said footsteps revealed itself, however, a blue astromech casually rolled in the meeting room, chirping and placing itself before the white presentation board.
Eventually the shadow of an individual was cast on the floor behind Lord Vader, only to reveal a small boy that could not possibly be older than 7 years old. For a second, panic tugged at Firmus Piett’s heart. Was he about to witness a child’s execution? Right here in the meeting room of the Devastator? Who even was that boy, a rebel?
Unconsciously, Piett’s eyes took in the boy’s appearance. He was wearing a tiny version of the imperial uniform, although it wasn’t as pristine as the dress code allowed. The upper part and the collar were wrinkled and tilting sideways, as if it had been thrown on hastily before running off. Had this foolish child infiltrated the Devastator? If so, this certainly was a bold yet delusional plan. From under the collar, Firmus thought he could make out the baby blue, star-ships-printed collar of another shirt. Surely the Rebellion was smarter than sending pajama-clad little boys to infiltrate the most feared flagship of the imperial Navy?
Without a word, the child shot a shy glance towards the sith lord’s mask, who simply nodded his way before the odd pair strode towards the droid before the board, the doors locking behind them. Once more, the blonde looked up to Lord Vader expectantly, but the latter settled on gesturing towards the stressed imperials sitting at the table for an answer to the boy’s pleading blue orbs.
The room was plunged in a deafening silence, broken only by the repetitive sound of the respirator of the Supreme Commander, before the child hesitantly took a step forwards and nervously tangled his hands before taking a deep breath.
“So um… good evening, misters-” The frail voice of the child spoke softly, almost too softly to be heard in the large, echoing room, before the black-clad behemoth cut him.
“Gentlemen.” Lord Vader corrected, although it lacked the familiar venom dripping from his tone whenever he was correcting an officer’s mistake.
“Gentlemen” The boy repeated slightly more confidently. “Thank you for coming here even if it’s very late and time to sleep.”
Firmus Piett had served on the Devastator for a couple of years already. He had come to witness things that any sane being could only depict as extraordinary, whatever that meant. But this? A nervous, apologetic child addressing the council in an emergency meeting? This took extraordinary to another level.
However, the Admiral fixed his temporarily cracked sabacc face and gathered himself in a more professional expression of neutrality and seriousness he knew was expected of him. If he even knew what was happening to this flagship anymore.
“Today, I’m going to talk to you about the Clone Wars.” The boy punctuated his sentence with a tap on the astromech’s dome, who started to project a hologram on the white board behind them.
Was the child here to… make a presentation? By the looks of the scholar holo that was being projected, he had to be. Unconsciously, Piett’s gaze turned to Lord Vader with his mind fighting to grasp the slightest understanding of what was going on. He felt more than he saw the disapproval of the sith lord and hastily focused once more on the confusing ordeal.
The presentation itself was of a somewhat decent quality, except for the small mispronunciations of some names and tactic vocabulary which coming from the mouth of the child was more adorable than problematic. The sith lord didn’t refrain from correcting him, interrupting the boy softly before allowing the blonde to resume.
There was no denying the boy was nervous, since he was constantly fidgeting with his hands and more often than not avoiding the imperial’s eyes. For the first two minutes, Darth Vader had seemingly tolerated the way the child was unconsciously bouncing on his feet, but had then resorted to put his two hands on the boy’s shoulders to anchor him from behind halfway in the presentation.
“Thank you for listening to me.” The child uttered his last words so fast the council almost didn’t understand, as though he had been willing to get rid of the situation as fast as possible.
For a few seconds, the imperials stared, and the blonde stared back. From the corner of his eyes, Firmus caught sight of Veers looking around the table, carefully examining the officer’s faces to deduce the behavior he should adopt. The thing is, all of them found themselves in the same situation. None of them knew what to do next, and by the way the temperature in the room plummeted, Lord Vader was very much expecting them to do something, and now.
When a full minute of deafening silence passed, the boy craned up to look at the mask of the black-clad behemoth. Only when he registered the moisture slowly gathering in a corner of the boy’s blue eyes and the expression of distress he was throwing at Lord Vader did Piett find out what was expected of them.
Hesitantly, the Admiral of the Devastator brought his hands together and clapped slowly, soon followed by his fellow officers at the table. Simultaneously, relief washed over the boy’s features and warmth returned in the room, batting away the cold atmosphere Lord Vader was known for projecting around him, especially when displeased.
When the applause died down, blue eyes locked with Firmus’s and for a second he could read the depth of the boy’s gratefulness. The contact broke when the child craned his head once more to look at the black-clad behemoth, who looked down on him with his mask tilted, as though wordlessly asking for something. Whatever it meant was seemingly understood by the boy who looked at the table once more and spoke hesitantly.
“Do you have any questions?” The child’s voice asked timidly.
“Or remarks regarding the presentation in itself.” The deep voice of Darth Vader rumbled across the meeting room.
The imperials, still at loss like they had been since their arrival in the room for what they had believed to be an emergency meeting, wordlessly studied their companions all over the table and nodded negatively one by one. Lord Vader crossed his arms defiantly.
“Very well, you are then guaranteeing the boy will score 100 for his presentation tomorrow and you will therefore be held responsible for any possible mistake that you have not corrected.”
Flashes of worry temporarily tinted the men’s faces as the understanding of what responsibility meant in the mouth of the Emperor’s Fist passed over them. In their eyes, Firmus could make out their minds tracing back the entirety of the presentation to find something to add to ensure it would be perfect and therefore save their lives.
With feigned confidence, Piett drew in a sharp breath and mentally formulated his words, straightened his shoulders and spoke firmly but with a hint of warmth not to hurt the child’s feelings, especially since he still didn’t know the nature of the boy and Vader’s relationship status but was beginning to guess.
“Your presentation was clear and efficient. Your selection of the main aspects of the events is clever, although I suggest you keep your presentation of the characters more shallow. Your... teacher will probably ask you to say more in the end anyways, and it will undoubtedly do wonders for the clarity of your presentation.”
Metaphorical gears could be seen behind the boy’s blue eyes as he visibly processed Piett’s words. A smile then shyly spread his juvenile lips as he nodded curtly.
“Noted, mister…”
“Piett.” Firmus provided.
“Thank you, mister Piett.”
Around the table, his fellow officers threw the Admiral grateful glances, probably relieved he had dared to speak up in their name. The blonde looked up pleadingly to the black-clad behemoth, who dismissed the imperials from the emergency meeting. Piett was last to leave the room and shot a soft smile to the child before he did.
Darth Vader then walked his increasingly tired son to their quarters on the Executor. When the pair reached the doors to Luke’s bedroom and the boy was being tucked in his baby blue blankets, the sith lord spoke softly despite the vocoder.
“Are you feeling better?”
The boy groggily scratched his eyes and stifled a yawn before looking at his father with a sleepy smile.
“Yeah… I’m glad we practiced, I was really scared but I still did it. And I didn’t even have my notes!”
The child’s pride was beaming in the Force, and the sith lord had a feeling if his heart could melt it would.
“I know, I am very proud of you Luke.” He gently praised. “Now go to sleep, you need rest for tomorrow.”
If Vader knew for a fact an elementary school history presentation was insignificant next to the many trials awaiting one’s life, especially Luke’s, he had learned to never look down and invalidate the boy’s fears. And although he had to admit summoning an emergency council in the middle of the cycle to reassure his son by practicing before a public was somewhat extreme, the sight of the boy relaxing into sleep was more than worth it.