Announcing the 2020 Most Faithful Friend
The Hall of Fire, usually empty and quiet, is now packed nigh unto bursting. In the alcoves, elvish minstrels strum their instruments, flooding the hall with sweet music. The guests continue to trickle in, conversing in low voices. The great banquet they have just finished has left them content and satisfied and ready to learn the names of the winners for tonight’s award ceremony.
I stand up in front of the audience, grateful to Arwen for letting me borrow her gray dress, it is both striking and exceedingly comfortable.
“Welcome, honored guests!” I say the words tentatively, not sure my voice will carry without a microphone, but the room quiets down and all eyes turn towards me. My hands are shaking, and I clasp them behind my back to hide my nervousness at speaking in front of such a large group. “Thank you all for being here tonight. I am your hostess, Jenelle. First off, I would just like to thank Elrond for letting us invade his lovely home for these proceedings. With some of the antics that have gone on this year and with the enormity of the guest list, I was worried we would not be able to find a suitable location, but I can think of no better place for this ceremony than here in the peace and safety of Rivendell.”
The guests clap enthusiastically, wide grins on their faces. It is clear that everyone is excited to be here. And thankfully, none of them seem the least bit worried. I smile at them and raise a hand. Silence falls over the crowd once more.
“Elrond has assured me that no dementors will be able to reach us here. And I have checked in on Kenzie, who was hosting the villains, and she has assured me that the unfortunate incident with the dementors was purely a fluke and that all of the villains have returned to their homes. They should not trouble us tonight.”
A ripple of relief emanates from the audience.
“We should have no pink slime incidents, either. Oh, and Christine wants me to pass along her gratitude for those of you who helped clean up after the imps… especially those of you who are both faithful friends AND imps!” I give a few of them meaningful glances. “Ahem. And Kenzie might need a little help with cleaning her studio… apparently someone crashed a pirate ship through the wall. Let’s see… what else? Oh! Elrond wanted me to announce that someone left their large mechanical elephant parked in such a way that the caterers cannot get past it with the cake we will be having later.”
A tall man with a cane stands up, “My bad,” he calls out.
“Sit down, Carthage,” his companion huffs. “I’ll attend to it.”
“Thank you, Huxley.” I glance over my shoulder at the curtain behind me and see a nervous figure peeking out. “Now, I think that’s all the announcements I have, can I please have some help in welcoming to the stage the most faithful of them all, the man of the hour, the gardener who definitely went above and beyond the call of duty… Samwise Gamgee!!!”
The hall erupts in thunderous applause as a small figure emerges from behind the curtain, his face bright red as he takes his place at the front of the room.
“Goodness,” he says, staring wide-eyed out at the crowd. “I’m all a-fluster, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. I really keep tellin’ Mister Frodo that they ought to let someone else host this here award, it’s not right that such a fine and lofty duty should fall to the likes of me. I’m just a gardener, after all.”
The audience chuckles softly.
“But I am honored to return to Rivendell and hear the music and stories of the elves once more,” Sam continues. “This here award—“ he holds up the glittering green jewel— ”it’s not for the faint of heart, you know. Nor is it for those what say farewell when the road darkens, if you take my meanin’. It’s an award, true enough, but it’s also a weighty responsibility. This year, Miss Jenelle says we had one hundred fourteen people nominated for this here award, and I have to tell you, I found that news mighty encouraging. It heartens me more than I can tell to know that there are that many people in the world willing to stick by their friends and carry their burdens for ‘em, and maybe even carry their friends when they can’t do nothin’ else.”
Sam pauses, his earnest expression searching and serious as he scans the faces in the crowd.
The audience seems to be holding their collective breath. Each one of them sits up straighter under the sober gaze of Sam Gamgee.
“I’m proud of each and every one of you,” he continues after a long moment. “As I told Mister Frodo a long time ago, there is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. And seeing each of you here gives me hope that what I said on that darkest of days is still true on this day. Though there may be dark times before us, we must never give up strivin’ and fightin’ for that goodness. And… and… well…” Sam ruins the moment a little by flushing a bright red again. “Well, I’m no good at fancy words and speeches. But what I mean to say is just this: stick by your friends through thick and thin, even if you have to be a confounded nuisance about it at times.” He grins. “Now, would the five finalists for the Most Faithful Friend Silmaril please come stand with me?”
A green dragon chooses this moment to swoop in through a side window. “I am the most faithful friend that ever was!” he roars, sliding across the marble floor and smoothly transitioning from a great, scaly beast into a young man with tanned skin, long dark hair, and an immaculately trimmed mustache and goatee.
FWOOM!
The two hearths, one on either side of the great hall suddenly ignite under the intense burst of dragon-breath. The room instantly goes from a comfortable 75 degrees to near 90.
“Oh Julio,” I mutter, clapping a hand to my face. The unseasonably warm weather this week made us decide to leave the hearths unlit… oh well.
Four more figures emerge—less theatrically—from the audience and congregate to stand next to Julio. They blink out at the crowd, three of them looking uncomfortable with the sudden attention.
The first in the line, a young girl, her face covered in veils, shrinks back as though she might like to flee. Rose Red’s solitary existence has not prepared her for this kind of scrutiny, and I hope it is not bringing forth any unpleasant memories of other crowds.
A young man in armor shifts restlessly, his expression hesitant. Horace Altman, of course, he catches the eye of an older gentleman in the audience, accompanied by a slight young man who looks to be the same age as our knight. Horace grins and seems to relax.
Next to Horace stands a tall, thin figure with long arms and legs and a sort of weedy appearance. He is muttering darkly to himself and shaking his head. I hide a grin. Puddleglum could see impending doom over a five year old’s birthday party. He keeps flashing glances at the sky.
The fifth figure, however, seems to be thriving in the spotlight, as it were. He turns and grins at Julio, greeting his fellow Afterversian. However, though they exist in the same fiction-verse, the similarities end there. Crispin looks to be in his twenties, though his hair is pure white. He bounces on the balls of his feet as though filled with an energy he cannot quite contain. He grins suddenly and waves enthusiastically to someone in the audience. I follow his gaze and see a monstrous creature sitting towards the back. Ah, that will be Nick, Crispin’s brother, of course… but I tear my attention away from studying the finalists, for Sam is speaking again.
“You have all come far this year, and to make it to this point is a feat in and of itself, make no mistake,” Sam says. “But there can only be one winner.” He pulls an envelope from his pocket…
Suddenly, there is a scream and several dark forms float in through the windows, looming over the audience with menacing presence.
What in the deep world? Where do these guys keep coming from? It’s not like they were on anyone’s invite list!
A young man with bright red hair jumps forward. “Expelliarmus!” he shouts, waving a wand that shoots a shower of sparks but fizzles.
“It’s expelliARmus, not exPELLiarmus,” a girl with frizzy hair scolds him sternly. “And besides, that’s not how you deal with dementors anyway.”
“Look out!” the red-haired boy shouts, ducking.
“Expecto Patronum!” A dark-haired boy with glasses and a jagged scar on his forehead steps forward. A burst of light shoots out from his wand and a glowing stag leaps forward, hurtling through the nearest dementor. The floating ghouls vanish in a … splatter of sparkly pink goo? Really?
I sigh as laughter fills the hall. Two young men on brooms swoop around above the heads of the guests.
“Fred! George!” I shout uselessly up at them. Well, at least it wasn’t real dementors. That’s something. With all the shenanigans that have happened this year, it’s a wonder none of my hosts have been kidnapped!
The twins salute and disapparate in a shower of fireworks.
The fires are thankfully burning down in the hearths. It really is far too warm in here. Sam looks at me and I give him an encouraging nod.
He tears open the envelope.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a tie for fourth and fifth place! With ten votes a-piece, we have Mister Crispin Beasley and Mister Julio Blackfire!”
Julio’s whole body droops. “Fifth again,” I hear him mutter. He glances up mournfully, and not even the enthusiastic cheers from the audience or the calls of: “We Love You, Julio!” seem capable of cheering him up. In fact… wait… that’s not… is that a tear trickling down his face? Drat it all! This is supposed to be a happy occasion… and… well… I’m not sure how Afterverse dragons deal with this much disappointment! We’ve already had too much FWOOMing and disruption. The Faithful Friends Ceremony is supposed to be peaceful!
But before I can make a move to console the disappointed dragon, Crispin slaps Julio on the shoulder.
“No, old chum,” he grins. “I forgot to vote. You got eleven. I’ll take fifth this year.”
The corner of Julio’s mouth curls up into a smile. “Fourth? You would do this for me? Por que?”
“Well…” Crispin looks embarrassed. “I mean… it’s just… I think you deserve it. That’s all. You really stick by your friends.”
Julio straightens up and a bit of happy smoke curls out from his nose, reminding any who had forgotten that he is, in fact, a dragon. “Fourth,” I hear him whispering cheerfully to himself. “Fourth!”
I smile to myself a little. Crispin has grown up rather a lot. Nick should be proud of him. It was kind of him to make the gesture, and even kinder not to mention that he in fact won last year’s Most Mischievous Imp Silmaril. Or that characters aren’t really allowed to vote….
Sam opens another envelope. “In third place, with thirty-five votes, Sir Horace Altman!”
The young knight beams and salutes the audience. He waves again, and I can see Will giving him a thumb’s up. Halt just gives a nod… high praise, indeed.
Sam opens up the next envelope. “In second place, with thirty-seven votes, we have Miss Rose Red!”
The veiled young woman gives a start and her head swings around to stare at Sam. He gives her an encouraging smile and she waves at the crowd. The audience goes crazy and a few Imps stand up and shout, “WE LOVE YOU, ROSE RED!!!!”
If we could see behind her veil, she’d surely be blushing.
“And now in first place, with sixty-two votes, I’m sure you could be guessing the winner at this point,” Sam grins. “But I give you: Mister Puddleglum the Marshwiggle!”
Puddleglum’s head jerks up and he strides over to Sam, who holds out the glittering gem. Puddleglum stares at it suspiciously for a moment. He leans forward, studying the prize.
“Go on, Mister Puddleglum, you’ve more than earned it,” Sam urges.
“Are you certain the votes were counted correctly?” Puddleglum asks in a loud whisper.
“Sure, Mister Puddleglum. Go on, take it, the prize is yours,” Sam insists, holding the Silmaril out.
“I’ve heard rumors that the Lady of the Green Kirtle has been about and up to her old tricks, you know. This could all be one of her deceptions.”
“No, Mister Puddleglum. I assure you!” Sam insists.
Puddleglum still hesitates. “I won a Silmaril once before, you know,” he confides. “This could be a trick, I shouldn’t wonder. Perhaps if I take that, someone will pop up and cry foul. Then you’ll have to hold this whole thing over again. That will cause no small amount of effort and difficulty for our hostess. No… I… do not believe I should dare.”
“Oh, Mister Puddleglum, that’s too hard,” Sam says, his voice reproachful. “We wouldn’t do a thing like that. Miss Jenelle assures me that characters can win in multiple categories. And you are a faithful friend. The Readers have spoken. Come on, take it, won’t you?”
“Well…” Puddleglum frowns. “The Readers, you say?”
Sam nods.
With a deep sigh, at last, Puddleglum takes the award and reluctantly slips the ribbon over his head where the green jewel clinks next to the purple one (for Puddleglum has indeed won a Silmaril in years past, but for the Strangest Character category!) The audience goes wild, cheering and applauding for this much-beloved character.
He stares up at the sky. “Can’t argue with the Readers, of course. But this will probably make me a target for some villainous types. And it’s liable to rain, I shouldn’t wonder.” Muttering to himself about rain and how we should all get on before everyone starts knifing each other, the marshwiggle makes his way back into the crowd amidst the continued cheers.
Sam smiles at me and fades into the background as I take his place before the crowd once more.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight!” I say. “Thank you to everyone for their nominations, for their votes, and for helping us make this the best Silmaril Awards ever. Thank you to the finalists, for being such amazingly faithful friends. And for cleaning my house and doing all my gardening over the past few weeks. I will be very sorry to see you all go! And let’s hear another three cheers for Puddleglum, who has now entered the annals of history as the third character to win Silmarils in two categories! He joins ranks today with Aslan, Edmund Pevensie, and Reepicheep, and he is in good company, indeed!”
The crowd raises a chorus of “hip-hip-hoorays!” and then I give them all directions for how to get to the outdoor patio where the elven cake will be served.
As the crowd files out, I catch the eyes of our four guests of honor, those who have previously won this particular Silmaril. An android, a burly man with a staff, a thin man with an exquisite rapier at his hip, and a small mouse (also with a rapier). They smile at me, and I know they are pleased. I wanted Sam to mention them, but they begged him not to… they don’t like the spotlight, these faithful friends of fiction. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t always ready and willing to step up when they are needed.
Ah… if only the world housed more of such beautiful souls.
And thus ends the Faithful Friend Ceremony. But the festivities aren’t QUITE over yet. Make sure you swing over to DJ EDWARDSON’S post tomorrow to find out who this year’s WISEST COUNSELOR is! And if you have missed any of the other award ceremonies, you can visit their links below.
And make sure to swing back here on Monday, for the GIVEAWAY WINNERS will be announced!
2020 SILMARIL AWARD CEREMONIES
Most Faithful Friend - you are here!
The Giveaway
Don’t forget that the epic 2020 Silmaril Awards Giveaway is still running until the end of the ceremonies! Each prize goes to one winner, so there’s a good chance you could win something!
Well, how do you think that went? Did the person you voted for win? Who is your all-time favorite fictional friend or “buddy” story? Have you enjoyed this year’s Silmaril Awards?
Thank you all for attending this year’s Awards! YOU, dear Reader, are the only reason this event works or even happens, and you are the one who makes it so much fun!