Welcome, friends (fictional or otherwise), to the 2021 awards ceremony for the Most Magnificent Dragon! Fifty-eight dragons were deemed magnificent by their readers, five proved their true worth and rose to the top, and today only one will walk (fly?) away with the resplendent lifetime award. So settle in (preferably with some fire extinguishers on hand) and let us begin today’s ceremony!

The sun shines bright upon the field, glimmering across the lake and warming the heads of the great audience. Of course, the dozens of dragons intermingling with the crowd are providing plenty of warmth as is. Thank goodness for the cool fall breeze. And the rain. As fortune would have it, a heavy shower covered the field the previous night, dampening the grass to assure no wildfires break loose. This location was specifically chosen for its wide opened space, lack of trees to catch fire, and a lake near the stage to accommodate one of the more water-inclined contenders for the second year in a row. Although one can’t be too cautious. A row of buckets perch at the edge of the lake, ready for any fire outbreaks, and the row of chairs are set a good distance from the stage. Alas, a fifty-foot wide sheet of fireproof glass to be placed between the audience and the stage didn’t fit the budget, as much as I tried.

Many of the dragons I had the—ahem—honor of hosting during the nominations phase have returned for the ceremony. I just hope they have come to cheer on the winner and not fight for a recount. Goodness knows I had enough of that during the nominations counting. (Sheesh. The pride of dragons. Only much flattering and bribery got them to calm themselves.) In fact, there seems to be even more dragons in the crowd than had been in my home, as many apparently invited acquaintances and—

Oh no!

I dart to the refreshments tables, shooing away a gaggle of minor dragons flocking around the pudding. “Back, back! That’s for after the ceremony!” One zips away with its snout covered in cream, eyes dancing with mischief. The appetite of dragons! I lost count at how many times I had to restock my pantry while hosting this crew.

As I hurry back to the stage, trying to push back my flyaway hair, I pass by the previous winners. Little Toothless is zipping around exclaiming about his “shiny” prize from 2017. Saphira watches the tiny dragon in silent, curious wonder. Clefspeare converses with many other dragons, as well as a group of teenagers, one girl noticeable by the large backpack she occasionally shifts around on her back. Eustace Clarence Scrubb stands a little ways from the crowd, eyeing the sky warily.

I must give credit to the swell of people who have come. Brave souls, this crowd. Not that I can blame them. I mean, it’s dragons. Threats of incinerations or not, we still love them.

I step to the front of the (very wide) stage (made from bricks, not wood), give up on attempting to make my singed hair look any kinds of decent, and tap the microphone.

“Welcome, everyone, to 2021’s awards ceremony for Most Magnificent Dragon!”

Applause erupts across the field and much shuffling takes place as people finds seats or, for the more draconic-inclined or less-than-human shaped participants, settle in the grass.

“It is my great honor to—” My voice squeaks. I clutch the microphone, trying to still my shaking hands. It’s just excitement, not nerves. Of course not. “My great honor,” I manage a little stronger this time, “to welcome our awards presenter. One who is most magnificent indeed. The Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities. Mighty and—”

In a rush of stifling wind, a figure zooms across the air, its red-golden scales blinding in the sunlight. An alarmed murmur ripples through the crowd. A squeak from Eustace’s general direction echoes above all others as the boy cowers in his chair. The great, shimmering figure crashes onto the stage, and I nearly fall to my knees in its wake.

“I DO NOT COME UPON BEING SUMMONED, VILE HUMAN.” Smaug, for, of course, it is the powerful and most dreaded one himself, gives a fierce shake of his serpentine neck, making the many jewels covering his underside tinkle and gleam in the sunlight. “But,” he continues, his voice lowering to a teeth-clattering rumble, “as you ridiculous creatures deem it necessary to keep putting on this charade, I will bestow you my presence and do what I must. If only so your pathetic invitations stop littering my home.”

“Er…thank you. O Great Smaug,” I quickly add, remembering proper manners around dragons. “We are most humbled and awed by your presence.”

His thunderous laugh shivers down my spine. “Naturally.” He tosses his head again, piercing the crowd with his hypnotic gaze. “NOW LET’S GET THIS OVER WITH.”

“Right, right.” I scoot a little ways from him, grasping the microphone tight. “If our five contenders can please come onstage. A great welcome and congratulations to Malcolm, Shardas, Julio, The Daisha, and Hulwen!”

The audience seems to have recovered from the shock of Smaug’s appearing and applauds heartily as four great figures—one red-scaled, another golden, a third green, and one, curiously, sporting fur instead—swoop down onto the stage. The fifth contender, a small, red-scaled and scarred creature, lurches up from the lake and peers out from the back of the stage.

Smaug narrows his eyes at the lot of them. “You two again?” He huffs a plume of smoke from his nostrils into Malcolm’s and Julio’s faces. A dangerous glow flashes in Malcolm’s eyes but before he can speak his mind, Smaug’s rumbling voice continues. “And I recognize that one too.” He flicks his tail toward Hulwen perched in the water. “But you are new.” His bright gaze narrows on Shardas, looking the dragon up and down, from his gold-hued scales to sapphire horns. “At least you appear to be a proper dragon.”

“I’m a proper dragon,” Malcolm shouts, jutting his red snout high in the air.

“So am I!” Julio tries to peer around Malcolm, who keeps shifting to stand in front of him, but Smaug and Shardas barely acknowledge either of them.

Shardas, nearly as large as Smaug himself, meets the other’s eye with no reserve, nodding his head in a manner of respect but his calm, authoritative demeanor demands respect of his own. “I am a dragon through and through and quite proud of my race.”

“Ah, finally. A worthy contender. Though…” Smaug leans forward, only to recoil back. “You’re overcome with the stench of human. All of you. And you claim this award declares one’s magnificence.” He snorts out another puff of smoke. “What does this supposed to be, by the way?” His sharp eyes snap onto The Daisha, roving over her furry appearance in disgust.

She raises her head high. “I am The Daisha, the sole survivor of my kind.”

“Hmmm.” Smaug’s incredulous gaze shifts to something akin to respect. “Well, regardless, let’s get this masquerade done with.”

“Masquerade?” Julio murmurs, while Malcolm huffs a smoky breath and The Daisha sniffs indignantly.

“Here are the results, O Smaug the Terrible and Mighty.” I hold up the envelope, already fearing I’m going to run out of flattering adjectives before this ceremony is over with.

He snatches the envelope with a claw (thankfully not tearing my hand off in the process) but merely tosses it in the air and, with a breath, sends a ball of fire to consume it whole. I blink as the burned shreds flutter down at my feet.

“I need not read from pathetic parchments! Your bothersome invitations already revealed the results. You think one as old and wise as I would not remember them?”

I scoot closer to the back of the stage near Julio and Hulwen. “Certainly not. Not at all, O…er sage and well-informed one.” I grimace. Yeah, I should have brought a thesaurus for this.

With no more ado, he swings his head around, having no need for a microphone as his voice booms through the field. “In fifth place, with 6.92% of the vote, is not surprisingly”—he huffs a smoky chuckle—“Julio Aquino.”

“FIFTH AGAIN?!”

Now I regret coming to stand by Julio as his wail threatens to burst my eardrums.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” In a rush of fire, Julio shrinks from a green-scaled dragon to his human form (Smaug watching in pure revulsion all the while). “Why do I even bother?”

Having come to the realization that I’m not deaf after all, I pat him on the shoulder. “Hey, making it to the finals against so many is quite a feat.”

He just shrugs one shoulder, staring at the ground.

I lower my voice. “You’re welcome to stay for a little longer at my house and have another Dragon Tales marathon.”

This raises his head a fraction. “With nachos?”

“Naturally.”

Appearing semi-mollified, he slumps off stage and a flicker of a smile lifts his features as he receives much applause. He joins an auburn-haired woman, centaur, and girl wearing a blindfold and hood in the audience. The girl squeezes his arm and leans in, murmuring something in his ear which makes him brighten considerably.

“In fourth place,” Smaug’s booming voice demands everyone’s attention once more, “with 14.62% of the vote, is Shardas.” His scaly face scrunches in a frown. “Hmph. The only one that seems semi-worthy here only gets fourth? Clearly this whole absurd thing is a fraud.”

Shardas rumbles with good-natured laughter. “I find it an honor to have made it this far.” He turns to the audience and inclines his head. “I thank you all.”

He is met with uproarious applause, and, with a beat of his wings, lifts from the stage and swoops over to settle next to a blonde young woman. She’s clapping as well but looks entirely put out. No doubt due to her friend only making it to fourth place.

“THIRD PLACE.” At Smaug’s cry, the applause immediately stops. “With 19.23% of the vote is Hulwen. Third again apparently.” He flicks a careless wave of his wing toward the water dragon.

She raises her head a little and offers the audience a thankful nod. Once more the field erupts in cheers. A light gleams in her single eye, as if she had not expected such a result but couldn’t be more gratified at this surprising kindness. As the applause dies down, she slithers back into the water to watch the rest of the ceremony farther in the lake.

Malcolm and The Daisha, the sole contenders, eye each other rather haughtily from opposite ends of the stage. A tense hush falls over the crowd.

“In second, at 29.23% of the vote…” Smaug’s eyes gleam, appearing to be relishing the drama.

Malcolm slams his tail against the stage. “Oh get on with it.”

Smaug whips his head around and huffs another plume of smoke in his face. “Daisha,” he spats out.

“Oh nooo!” comes a moan from Julio’s direction.

An immensely proud gleam shines in Malcolm’s eyes.

The Daisha pulls her head back, a hint of disappointment flickering over her features, but with a quick shake of her head, she stands to her full height, regal and dignified. “That is The Daisha. And I am most grateful. This has been a true honor.”

A group of elves in the crowd begin an applause, and soon everyone is clapping and whistling and whooping with the utmost enthusiasm. The Daisha bows her head and leaves the stage to join the elves, many of which share their congratulations, making the last traces of disappointment fade from her gaze.

“Ahem.” Malcolm clears his throat (a little too loudly), bringing attention back to the stage.

“Oh look, you’re capable of counting. How surprising,” Smaug drawls. “Yes, yes. Somehow you finally made it to the top.”

Malcolm raises his head high, the picture of pride. “Well, it’s about time! Clearly there was much miscounting in all the previous events.”

“Clearly,” Julio mumbles, slumping farther down in his chair.

“At last, things are in perfect order,” Malcolm continues. “Now I demand my rightful prize and—”

“I should mention you scraped by with one vote.”

At Smaug’s comment, a coughing choke whisks away Malcolm’s words, and I scoot back as fiery sparks rain from his mouth. He snaps his gaze around. “Excuse me?”

Smaug’s eyes shine maliciously, and he turns back to the crowd, flicking a tail at Malcolm. “Malcolm Blackfire, 30% of the vote. Only one vote between him and second place. Not much of a win.”

Malcolm opens and closes his mouth several times before drawing himself up. “But I still won.”

“If that’s the tale you wish to flatter yourself with.” Smaug motions to me, and I hurriedly bring over the box. He rips off the lid, and an awed silence falls over the field as the glittering jewel shines from within. The gems covering Smaug’s underside lose their brilliance and even the sun itself seems to dim in the resplendent light of the jewel. A dangerous glint pierces Smaug’s gaze.

I shake from my entrancement of the silmaril, remembering Smaug’s attempts at his first ceremony of taking the treasure. I snatch up the ribbon attached to the jewel and rush toward Malcolm, only to realize slipping it over his head is an impossible feat for a five-foot-five girl. I clear my throat.

Seeming to snap out of his own daze, Malcolm locks eyes with me. “Ah.” He lowers his head, holding a rather unnerving (very toothy) triumphant smile while I attempt to maneuver the ribbon over his scaly head.

The second the award settles around his neck, Malcolm raises back to his full height, nearly knocking me over in the process. The red silmaril blazes so bright against his red scales, they dull in comparison, though his haughty expression is enough to make up for it. He eyes Smaug and me expectantly.

I roll my eyes, but can’t quite hide my smile.

“May I present the winner of 2021’s Most Magnificent Dragon award, Malcolm Blackfire!”

Even in the expansive field, the applause is deafening, and does nothing good for Malcolm’s ego as it continues for a considerable amount of time. There are quite a number of “Finally’s!” and “At last’s!” cried out amidst the voters.

“Of course, technically it’s only second place.”

This casual comment of Smaug’s halts the cheers rather suddenly.

Malcolm’s smug smile slips. “Pardon?”

Smaug’s expression holds all the malice and pretension of the clever worm he is. “As I understand it, and, of course, I am never wrong, this award indicates that I am forever the most magnificent and greatest of dragon kind, and anyone who claims the award is a paltry second to my superiority. Especially you who traipses around with vile humankind, who shifts to appear like one yourself.”

Smoke billows from Malcolm’s nostrils. “Is that so?” His chest puffs out, in a clear show of the silmaril dangling against it. “Then let us prove who is the greatest in a true show of dragon kind. The proper way.” He raises a claw.

A horrid laugh thunders from Smaug’s throat, vibrating the stage, rattling up my bones. “Oh, most assuredly. If it is your wish to fall today.” His great body tenses, claws digging into the bricks of the stage. “My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, my breath death!”

Malcolm merely strokes the tips of his claws against his scales, as if polishing his fingernails. “Indeed. You could use a breath mint.”

Fire flashes in Smaug’s awful gaze.

“Oookay!” I jump to the front of the stage. “And that concludes today’s ceremony,” I say in a rush. “Thank you so very much, O Smaug the Magnificent and Wise and Fierce and, uh, Glorious and…and…Shiny? That is uh, Resplendent, yes! We are utterly grateful for your most resplendent presence today.” I smile hopefully at Smaug, though I feel as though my attempts rather appear like a grimace. A number of silent, heart-pounding seconds pass.

Smaug’s razor sharp gaze flits from me to Malcolm to the crowd and back. And then he smiles. A horrific smile showing far too many teeth. He shoots one final plume of smoke in Malcolm’s face and spreads his wings. With a mighty flap that sends me sprawling to hands and knees, he lifts into the air and streaks across the sky in a golden blur. But before vanishing completely, he hurtles a ball of fire into the field a mere foot away from the edge of the audience, causing a fair amount of panic. As people scramble out of the way and a good number of heroes and heroines rush to fill the buckets at the edge of the lake with water, Smaug’s chuckle echoes through the air like thunder.

I scramble back to my feet, taking in the scene.

Well. That could have gone much worse. Flattery…it works every time.

As things begin to settle again, I gesture to Malcolm, who has been unhelpfully watching the chaos with amusement. “Another round of applause to our winner! And all the contenders. Worthy dragons each of them.”

This applause is even greater than before, and all fear of dragon duels and/or incineration seems to fade in the wake of good cheer.

“Please do stay for the after party. Refreshments are provided. Just, uh, pay no attention to the tiny dragon prints in the pudding. And do be sure to head over to Josiah’s ceremony happening tomorrow to see the winner of the Least Competent Henchman! I’m sure that’ll go off…without a hitch.” My smile drops as I recall all the previous henchman ceremonies. “Erm, well. Anyway, thank you all for coming! Until next year!”

A rush of wind billows behind me, sending me staggering. Malcolm’s great red form slashes across the blue sky, the silmaril beaming like a star. The dragon does an impressive (if not showoff-y) flip and hurls a great spark of flames in the air. With a flap his wings, the flames dance around like fireworks. Yet more cheers echo through the field at the show.

Yes, this would do nothing good for Malcolm’s ego whatsoever. But I can’t help but clap along anyway.

Yet, amidst Malcolm’s display and the cheers, one voice mutters in the crowd.

“Fifth. I will never hear the end of this…”

WELL. Nobody died or left with any substantial injuries*, so I’m calling this ceremony a success! And, seriously, getting to host the DRAGON category was like the highlight of my year. I do hope you all enjoyed the draconic chaos as much as I did!

*Unless we’re counting hurt feelings as injuries. Poor Julio.

And here’s a rundown of the final count in case you missed it amidst, well, all of that.

Most Magnificent Dragons of 2021

• Malcolm Blackfire (Beaumont and Beasley series by Kyle Robert Shultz) – 30.00%
• The Daisha (Moonscript by H.S.J. Williams) – 29.23%
• Hulwen (The Wingfeather Saga by Andrew Peterson) – 19.23%
• Shardas (Dragon Slippers by Jessica Day George) – 14.62%
• Julio Aquino (Crockett and Crane series by Kyle Robert Shultz) – 6.92%

The Other Ceremonies

There have already been SO many epic ceremonies going on! You definitely don’t want to miss them and see who won in all the other categories. And they will continue for the rest of the week. I’ll update the links as each ceremony goes live!

• Most Silver Tongue – Jenelle Schmidt (Sept. 20)
• Strangest Character – DJ Edwardson (Sept. 21)
• Most Epic Heroine – E.E. Rawls (Sept. 22.)
• Most Mischievous Imp – Tracey Dyck (Sept. 23)
• Wisest Counselor – Kenzie Keene (Sept. 24)
• Most Faithful Friend – Grace Taber (Sept. 27)
• Most Magnificent Dragon – Christine Smith (You are here!)
• Least Competent Henchman – Josiah Dyck (Sept. 29)
• Most Nefarious Villain – Jem Jones (Sept. 30)
• Most Epic Hero – Madeline J. Rose (Oct. 1)
• Most Majestic Ruler – Sarah Pennington (Oct. 2)

Welp. I’ve survived my time with the dragons. Now it’s off to relax with a few more episodes of Dragon Tales, some nachos, and then…I better start looking at reconstruction at my poor, poor house. Maybe I should recruit some of the faithful friends or heroes and heroines to help me out…

Thank you all so much for your participation! We couldn’t do this without you. The sheer amount of enthusiasm we receive each year makes it a thousand times more fun! What a lovely community of fantasy lovers. I think you are all worthy of a silmaril!

Share your thoughts, O questors! Are you excited about the outcome? Who were you rooting for?* And don’t forget to check out the previous ceremonies if you haven’t already! Trust me, there is plenty of epicness to be experienced!

*I’m probably not supposed to be biased, but I’ve been rooting for Malcolm for YEARS. I’m so ridiculously happy right now. Though that ego…