The Winner of the Most Epic Hero #SilmarilAwards2018

The winner of the Most Epic Hero Silmaril is now to be announced! Aragorn and his crew will do the presenting today. You can find links to all of the other awards being presented HERE.

Enjoy! 🙂

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“Are the columns and flowers all put in place, yet?” Aragorn asked as he paced about Minas Tirith’s Court of the Fountain, where that evening a ceremony was to be held: announcing the winner of this year’s Most Epic Hero Silmaril.

Legolas stood nearby, his arms crossed as he gazed out over the Court’s view of the white city spread below. Aragorn took a moment to pause at his side. “The sky is clear, and the sun is bright,” said Legolas. “Tonight will be a grand ceremony.”

“…Yes,” said Aragorn. He frowned slightly. “You know, Legolas, you could try to…oh, I don’t know, say something different instead of always stating the obvious?”

Legolas’s brow crinkled. “What different things would I say? I don’t understand.”

“Well, what I mean is…try being more original.”

“Original? Oh, that is a word I have not become familiar with. What does it mean, this original?” Legolas looked intrigued.

“Original, hm.” Aragorn thought. “How does one explain? It is doing something completely different, completely out of the ordinary. Something that other people won’t expect but are then pleased by.”

Legolas’s intense gaze turned to him. “This original sounds complicated. Do humans do it often?”

Aragorn tried not to laugh, instead patting his friend on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out someday, Legolas. I’m sure of it.”

***

The trumpets blared.

Ribbons and banners rippled in the breeze.

Flower petals rained down the streets, as the procession made its way up the city to the great Court of the Fountain, and once arrived there, spread out. Aragorn and Arwen stood before their thrones, crowns glittering in the noonday sun, to greet the entourage of elves, dwarves and hobbits come to witness the once-a-year ceremony, and to greet the five guests brought from afar.

The five unusual guests were ushered by Faramir to stand in place before the Fountain and face the large gathering. He announced each of their names in turn and had them each step forward: “I bring here before you now, Edmund Pevensie from Narnia. Tristan from The Girl Who Could See (whatever land that is). Jace from Ilyon. Janner from Wingfeather. And Leith Torren from Acktar.”

Applause sounded.

“Welcome, most esteemed guests,” said Aragorn, motioning with a hand. “You are the finalists for one of the most vital and honorable awards, the Most Epic Hero Silmaril.”

The crowd cheered and chanted: “Epic Hero, Epic Hero!”

Aragorn gestured for the crowd to quiet down, of which the loudest culprits were dwarves—tossing their axes in the air, and sneaking in hidden mugs of strong drink. The elves moved to distance themselves further from the noisy, smelly bunch.

Aragorn strode forward, stopping before the row of Silmaril finalists. “It is with great pleasure and humility that I pass on this award to the one who has been deemed most worthy. And that person is…”

The Court fell silent, every ear waiting to hear.

“This year’s Most Epic Hero is…Edmund Pevensie!”

Loud roars and shouts and Edmund-name chants filled the air.

Edmund stepped forward, a bit shy, his grinning cheeks turning redder by the second as he stood before the King of Gondor. “This is a great honor, Your Majesty. Thank you.” Edmund bowed, then turned to the crowd and waved. “Thank you everyone!”

Aragorn motioned to Legolas, and the elf came forward to stand beside him.

Aragorn looked from Legolas’s face down to his empty hands.

“Hm, Legolas…you’re supposed to bring me the Silmaril medallion. You know, so I can hand it out?”

“Ah yes.” Legolas brought his hand to his lips and whistled loudly, making Aragorn’s ears wince.

“What are you—?” Aragorn began to ask, when a sudden loud rumbling made the crowd falter in their merriment.

Thundering steps came up the ramp, Thmp! Wmp! Thmp! And there was the sound of fracturing stone stairs, as whatever it was approached the courtyard.

Dwarves raised their axes, drunk and ready for a fight. Elves pulled the swords at their sides. Hobbits hurried to find hiding places.

A massive gray head came into their view, and then giant tusks followed by a trunk.

“An Oliphant?” Aragorn exclaimed.

The creature’s rumble shook the pavestones, and each press of its large feet created fissures as it moved, destroying the stone ramp and ornate stairs, until it reached the wide, level space of the courtyard.

It raised its head and let out a trumpet sound than rang through everyone’s head and caused many to faint.

“Over here!” Legolas waved.

But the Oliphant didn’t pay attention. Instead, its gaze fell upon the Fountain and its lovely white tree. A tree that would be fun to break apart. With another trumpet sound, the Oliphant charged—intent on destruction.

Aragorn’s heart leaped to his throat.

Before he could shout orders, Legolas was already sprinting for the Fountain. He reached it before the Oliphant and whistled, waving his arms.

The Oliphant saw him, hesitated, and slowed to a stop.

Faramir passed out, Eowyn catching him. Aragorn felt like passing out, himself.

As Legolas grabbed the reins and guided the Oliphant over to the King and Edmund, Aragorn gave him the sternest glare he could manage. “The Silmaril?” he said.

Legolas tapped the Oliphant’s tusk, and it lifted its trunk out to Aragorn, holding the medallion.

Aragorn took it, giving him one more glare. He faced Edmund and put on a smile. “Here it is, I now bestow upon you the Most Epic Hero Silmaril.”

Aragorn placed it around Edmund’s neck.

“Thank you.” Edmund bowed again, and glanced several times at the strange, massive creature filling the Court.

Minas Tirith guards and Eowyn then escorted the four guests and Edmund in a procession, leading out from the Court of the Fountain—taking a different route than the one that was now ruined.

“Legolas, what on middle-earth were you thinking?” Aragorn confronted the elf.

“You are surprised. I finally did it! I did something original!” Legolas praised himself.

Aragorn shook his head, rubbing his left temple. “That was a disaster! Completely unexpected. The Fountain could have been destroyed… You’ve never been so foolish in all your life.”

“Yes.” Legolas grinned. “Very original.”

Aragorn made a sound in his throat and turned away. “Guards, get this creature out of here. And assess the damage, will you?”

When he turned back around, Arwen was speaking with Legolas.

“I’m curious, what is this original thing humans do?” Arwen was asking.

“NO.” Aragorn waved a finger before the elf could answer. “Legolas, no.”

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