Hobbiton buzzes in anticipation and excitement as the long-awaited hour rapidly approaches…

The Party Field is aflutter with activity as hobbits and many a strange folk cover the Party Tree and surrounding area in a swath of decorations. Streamers, lanterns, all manner of seating arrangements, and tables practically bending under the weight of the delectable treats set the field in splendor for this momentous event.

Guests have been arriving all day. Some particularly unusual and, to add to it, are supposedly appearing from that monstrosity of a castle that can move, of all things. They say the door inside leads to other worlds. Hogwash if there ever was such a thing and a cause for certain sour-faced looks from the less adventurously inclined denizens of the Shire. They should expect it by this point—this event takes place every year, and this is not the first time this particular castle has made an obtrusive appearance. But every year or not, it is still a bother.

Never mind. A party is a party and odd guests or otherwise, it shall be a night to remember if the folks of the Shire have anything to say about it.

To the north of the Party Field, nestled within the hills, sits a most comfortable home. Upon the gate of Bag End hangs a sign…

NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON SILMARIL AWARDS BUSINESS

Some are inclined to believe this sign is only put there to ward off visitors of any kind. Goodness knows Mr. Bilbo Baggins has been at this long enough to not need such a long time in solitude for preparations, surely. What that strange man does holed up in his house all day is truly a wonder…

The hum of the crowd shifts to hisses for quiet amongst seating neighbors as I walk onto the platform. Before me, the field is awash in a happy glow of lantern light and twilight and smiling faces, and I find myself smiling as well. For once I didn’t have to prepare accommodations for the ceremony. The citizens of Hobbiton were more than happy to do it themselves, and, truly, halflings do know how to throw a party. For the first time, I may host a ceremony that doesn’t end in stampedes, pink slime, or flames.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and creatures of all kinds!” My voice rasps a little and I have to clear my throat. “Pardon me for my croaking voice. Hosting a passel of silvery tongued individuals and long nights of karaoke will do that to a person.”

Laughter and a few shouts of “I was the karaoke champ!” and other such nonsense waft from the crowd, though many a person shakes their head and mouths the word karaoke? in confusion.

“Yes, well. Anyway.” I clear my throat again. “We are not here to discuss that. Onto our true purpose…” I grin wide and spread out my arms.

“Welcome, everyone, to 2022’s award ceremony for Silver Tongues!”

Clapping and whoops (and a few merry thrums of an assortment of instruments many of the guests have on their person) alike set the field in a flush of merriment and cheer.

“Now as I am one of the least silver-tongued people here tonight, it is my great honor to introduce the man who is truly deserving of presenting this award. A man whose quick wit and riddles got him and his friends out of many a bind… Bilbo Baggins!”

More cheers erupt as the hobbit joins me on the stage, both smiling and waving off all the bustle.

“Goodness me, goodness me, such excitement for one such as I. I think the tales told of me may be a tad exaggerated, as it were, but I do enjoy a good game of riddles and wordplay so it is an honor, as always, to present this award. And as I know we’re all quite anxious to see the results (and partake in some tea and cakes afterward!) I will waste no time. Now, where are the…” He pats at his coat and vest, frowning.

“I have them here, uncle!” A younger hobbit rushes across the stage with envelopes in hand.

“Ah, thank you, my dear Frodo. Very good.”

Frodo beams and scoots back to stand next to me.

Bilbo straightens to his full three feet, a twinkle in his eye as he makes a bit of a show of opening the first envelope and reading it over. “Hmmm. Well. This is an interesting turn of events right at the start here. It seems there is no fifth place winner. Instead, we have a perfect tie for fourth place! Sitting at exactly 18.45% of the vote each, I present to you a certain Athelas and Calcifer!“

A cackle escapes from somewhere in the shadows behind the stage.

“Oh hush, Howl,” a woman’s voice scolds. “Just because you were given this award, for reasons far beyond me, doesn’t mean you have to rub it in poor Calcifer’s face.”

“Sophie, my dear, you wound me. I would never laugh at Calcifer’s expense.”

“Will you two pay attention,” whines a third voice. “You nearly tipped me over! I come out of my comfortable hearth for this? What a waste. And, Howl, I most certainly see that smirk.”

This bickering grows louder as two individuals—a flamboyantly attired, handsome young man and a woman in a practical dress but very pretty in her own right—carry a sort of cauldron between them, with an even more peculiar sight within.

A creature peers out, its blue face ablaze and the purple pupils of its flaming eyes wide. Curly green flames resembling hair waver atop its head, and its somewhat shapeless body tilts back and forth within the cauldron precariously.

“Careful!” he cries.

“You are crabby today,” the handsome man says. Now that he was within sight, many recognize this individual as the Wizard Howl, the winner of this very award five years ago. Others, with a bit of a grumble, note him as the one whose monstrosity of a castle brought over half the guests. Still, he certainly has a presence about him.

The woman, Sophie, is also recognized, being this year’s very winner of Most Epic Heroine. A few people call out her name in delight, drawing a blush across her cheeks, and the spark in her eyes belies her attempt at a scowl.

“Well, anyway,” she says placatingly to Calcifer, the fire demon presiding in the cauldron, “I think fourth is a very fine honor.”

“Indeed, I agree to that,” comes a mild voice. It is only then that all realize another person is standing just behind the peculiar threesome, and many have a discomfiting suspicion he has been standing there all along.

Compared to the garish robes of Wizard Howl, this other man seems somewhat commonplace in his suit and houndstooth jacket. Though he is elegantly put together, appearing in his early forties and carrying himself in a distinguished manner. Something about the knowing glint in his eyes draws a great amount of attention to him now that everyone realizes he is there. He also carries a teacup from the china I recognized as mine. I facepalm. I told him no more tea. The man was going to drink away the world’s supply of the stuff.

“Too bad, Athelas! I was rootin’ for you!” a raspy female voice shouts from the audience. Next to her a giant of a man in a leather jacket and shockingly white hair frowns, though from Athelas’ loss or this entire event, it’s hard to tell. But on her other side, a young Korean man (who seems to be gaining a lot of looks from the females within his vicinity) merely smirks.

From atop the stage, Athelas gives the girl a careless shake of his head. “Do not worry, Pet. Fourth is well enough for me. My sights are not on collecting shiny trinkets, I assure you.” He takes a sip of tea as gasps resound throughout the crowd over the resplendent silmarils being referred to as “shiny trinkets” but no one chooses to comment.

Athelas merely smiles, inclines his head slightly to the audience, and walks off the stage.

“Can I please return to my hearth now?” Calcifer cries.

“Ah, right. I will get you the best logs. But only if you stop your complaining.” Sophie gives her own curtsy to the crowd (a bit awkwardly whilst holding the cauldron).

Howl bows in the most elegant of fashion, nearly dumping Calcifer out in the process, which results in a great cry from the fire demon and Sophie alike, and the bickering continues as they make their way off stage.

There is a moment of awkward silence before Bilbo clasps his hands together and grins. “Onward, I always say!” He opens the next envelope. “In third place with 19.42% of the vote, we have a man by the name of Vizzini!”

“Inconceivable!” A squat man stomps onto the stage and glares at the audience with sharp eyes. “Third? Third? I am more than deserving of the award. Why with my great wit and skills I should be given each and every award bestowed. My intelligence far surpasses every weak mind here tenfold. Nay, twentyfold at the least!” He pulls himself up importantly. “Let me tell you of all my great accomplishments, of the infinite knowledge I hold within my mind, and then you morons will see who is truly the greatest of silver tongues. Plato and Aristotle could not even begin to compare to my—”

From somwhere in the darkness, nearly a shadow himself, a man masked in black leaps onto the stage in one deft movement, snags Vizzini from behind, and snatches him back into the shadows.

The crowd merely stares, silence reigning with the shock of it all.

“You think we should help him?” a man, easily the largest one in the crowd, at last whispers. Well, he attempts to, but his voice carries quite far and rather shatters the stunned quiet.

The Spaniard next to him shrugs. “He says he is a clever man. He will find a way of escape himself, yes?”

As no one else in the crowd seems inclined to attempt a rescue either, Bilbo continues on.

“Our second place winner, with 21.36% of the vote, is Curdie!”

There is a great swell of cheers from the crowd, though those who are unfamiliar with the name look on warily, rather cagey from the contestants thus far. It comes as a great relief when a boy, looking to be about twelve years old, climbs onto the stage. His dark eyes twinkle brightly in the lanterns’ glow and there is a merry and pleasant bearing about him.

“Ah yes, the brave chap who outwits the goblins by song!” Bilbo says. “It is good to see you here on stage again.”

The boy’s grin grows all the brighter. “It is an honor, sir.” He turns that smile to the crowd and gives a wave which results in yet more applause. A young girl especially gives out loud cries of delight, causing the older woman next to her to pale and blush in turn and attempt to tamper down the girl’s enthusiasm.

“Princesses should not make such noise,” she murmurs. “It’s not at all proper.”

With a little jaunty whistle, Curdie hops off the stage and strides over to join the two.

The field falls to a hush, anticipation thrumming through the air like a bowstring.

Bilbo takes out the results of the envelope with a flourish. “The winner, with 22.33% of the vote, making it to first by a single vote, is…Fflewddur Fflam!”

The cheers underneath the Party Tree ring out all across Hobbiton.

A tall, lanky man with a pointed nose and mussed head of spiky blond hair appears on the stage, arms wide and the harp on his back bouncing with each sprightly step. He takes Bilbo’s hand on both of his and shakes it heartily.

“What an honor, what an honor! Of course, I was plenty content to make it in any place in the previous years—” Twang! A string upon the harp snaps, causing him to wince. “Um. Ahem. In a manner of speaking, that is, it is all an honor. A Fflam is always humble! But how pleased I am to receive this award! You are all too kind, too kind!”

Frodo scurries up to Bilbo, now holding a box made of fine wood and silver. Fflewddur’s eyes grow quite round as Bilbo opens the box and carefully pulls out the contents within. The lanterns and last gleams of twilight seem to fade away in the resplendent glow of the gem, its orangey hue illuminating the stage like a perfect sunset. Bilbo slips the ribbon from which it hangs over Fflewddur Fflam’s neck. And for one moment, the bard stands speechless.

Bilbo clears his throat and gestures to the man.

“May I present 2022’s most Silver Tongue, Fflewddur Fflam!”

All silence is broken. The swell of applause and cries of delight ring across the field, as bright and wondrous as the silmaril itself. A young man and woman climb onto the stage to give Fflewddur the heartiest of congratulations. Beaming like the sun, the bard takes up his harp and begins a happy tune, though it is somewhat unclear if he is playing the harp or if the instrument itself sings out its own beautiful song.

Others in the crowd gather their instruments, and soon the applause shifts to festive songs and dances. Princess Irene wrenches Curdie up to join the merriment, Athelas merely leans back in his chair to watch the proceedings with an amused gleam in his eye, and the ground shakes as the moving castle across the field stomps about and spews some form of fireworks from its chimney. No one is quite certain what happened to Vizzini and the man in black, but it is noted that the winner of last year’s Silver Tongue award, Westley, has newly arrived and twirls a beautiful blonde woman in a dance.

The stars glimmer in a bright display over the Party Tree, seeming to twinkle in their own dance as the festivities continue well into the night…

And thus ends the award ceremony for Silver Tongues! I must say, that was the smoothest ceremony I’ve yet to host. I may have lost my voice and my hearing dealing with so many silver tongues, but there was a minimum amount of explosions so we’re calling it a most successful year!

Here’s a rundown of the final count!

Silver Tongues of 2022

• Fflewddur Fflam (Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander) – 22.33%
• Curdie (The Princess & the Goblin by George MacDonald) – 21.36%
• Vizzini (The Princess Bride by William Goldman) – 19.42%
• Athelas (City Between Series by W.R. Gingell) – 18.45%
• Calcifer (Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones) – 18.45%

Fflewddur did indeed win by one vote. It was such a close race this year!

The Other Ceremonies

The first half of the ceremonies have already taken place, and what a delight they have all been! You most certainly do not want to miss out, so here are the links to each one. I’ll update this list as the rest of the ceremonies go live.

• Most Epic Heroine – Jenelle Schmidt (Sept. 19)
• Wisest Counselor – Jem Jones (Sept. 20)
• Most Magnificent Dragon – E.E. Rawls (Sept. 21)
• Strangest Character – Samantha Benedict (Sept. 22)
• Most Nefarious Villain – DJ Edwardson (Sept. 23)
• Silver Tongue – Christine Smith (You are here!) (Sept. 26)
• Most Mischievous Imp – Kenzie Keene (Sept. 27)
• Most Majestic Ruler – Grace Taber (Sept. 28)
• Most Faithful Friend – Sarah Pennington (Sept. 29)
• Most Epic Hero – Jenelle Schmidt (Sept. 30)

Goodness me, I cannot believe we are nearing the end of this year’s Silmaril Awards. It always flies by so fast! But it is a joy every single time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must clean up after having so many houseguests. I just hope Athelas doesn’t get it in his head that he’s a permanent resident of my home. I hear tell he’s a rather difficult guest to be rid of…

But before I depart I must give out a humongous THANK YOU to every single one of you. Your nominations, your votes, your comments, and all the enthusiasm makes this blogging event a highlight of every single year. Thank you, thank you, thank you for joining in all the fantasy love and making these awards such fun! <3

Don’t forget the giveaway runs all the way to the end of the awards. Check it out HERE!

What say you? Did you enjoy today’s ceremony? Are you excited about the outcome? And do be sure to check out all the other ceremonies!