silmaril awards 2023: the most epic hero ceremony

This is the third time in a week that I’ve had to run to the park. Thank goodness it’s finally starting to cool down here–Tokyo weather is a beast, and not every fantasy character has a wardrobe suited for summer-in-fall. Or umbrellas for that matter. I check the weather forecast on my phone one last time before hurrying across the street, a gentle breeze at my back.

As usual, the park that my fellow Epic Hero ceremony coordinators and I selected for this year’s venue bustles with life. Not-so-usual are the forms of life that have gathered around park benches, on wooden daises, and under bright canopies, talking and laughing and observing with interest the pigeons that meander fearlessly among them. A three-foot mouse with a sword at its hip appears to be regaling a small audience with tales of adventure. I pass a circle of young ladies, many of whom I recognize from the Epic Heroine and Devoted Couple ceremonies. The heroes they must have come with stand around one of the barbecue grills, looking baffled by the charming vegetarian fare kindly supplied by our caterer, making me grin–I’d been worried the relatively-tiny portions of woodland animals wouldn’t be enough to satisfy our wide array of guests, but I should have known better. It’s Redwall Abbey, after all.

I weave through the crowds until I reach my destination: a table next to the stage, where the Pevensie brothers are poring over a large map. For some reason, an untouched plate of Turkish delights rests next to Edmund.

“What ho, Pevensie brothers,” I say as I take my seat. “Is everything going well? We’re on track?”

“I believe so,” says Peter, but uncertainty shades his voice. He glances at Edmund, who is scowling at the map.

“Is that an area map?–oh.”

They are indeed looking at an area map. Of the Tokyo Railway System.

I sit back in my chair, reconsidering all my life choices. “So… you’re telling me the finalists of this year’s award have to get here… by themselves?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” says Edmund sheepishly. “These ceremonies are often made out to be like quests.”

I nod and take a square of raspberry-pistachio Turkish delight. “You know what? It’ll be fine. They’re heroes. They’ve faced much worse. Where’s Aragorn?”

Peter gestures behind the stage. “It appears they’re having some, er, ‘tech issues’ backstage.”

Right after he speaks, a chorus of whoops comes from behind the stage, along with a questioning “It works?” followed by an enthusiastic “It works!” A moment later, Aragorn strides out with a microphone and a satisfied smile. He nods when I flash him an OK sign, then heads onstage.

“My friends, it is with great honor that I welcome you here this day.” With the aid of his microphone, his regal voice booms over the audience, washing them in silence. “And before we proceed, I must thank you all for each of your roles in protecting, guiding, and assisting those who have striven to be worthy of this title–for as each of you may know, their goal was never to be called a ‘hero,’ but to guard the lives of those they cherish, and to grasp that light which shines in every darkness. Now–let us begin the 2023 Most Epic Hero Silmaril award ceremony.”

The screech of his microphone after he finishes is mostly covered by the cheers of the crowd. Reepicheep scurries onstage to hand him a new one.

“Ah, there they are now,” Aragorn says, looking to the far side of the park, where two diminutive figures are making their way down the path.

“Hello!” the younger-looking of the two mice calls across the park. “Sorry if we’re late–we got on the wrong train!”

“And they attempted to confiscate my sword,” his companion adds in a grim tone.

“Was that really the most of their troubles?” Edmund mutters beside me.

Onstage, Reepicheep greets them with cheer and one hearty hand–paw?–shake each, directing them to Aragorn’s left.

“It is due to the courage and legacy of these two mice that Redwall Abbey has remained an impregnable haven through countless generations.” Aragorn turns to them with a fond smile. “Martin the Warrior, and Matthias his successor–you have shown that the love of peace produces the most steadfast of fighters.”

“That’s our Martin!” one of the mice in the crowd–Gonff, is it?–shouts over the sound of applause.

“I say!–a jolly good show, wot?” Basil Stag-Hare cries. “Give ’em blood and vinegar, Matthias!”

Martin and Matthias bow to the audience and move to the back of the stage. For the first time I notice they’re around the same height as Reepicheep.

“Please welcome our next finalist,” says Aragorn, “a young lad of both wit and valor, and one who has graced this list on many occasions–Will Treaty.”

Something rustles in the trees near the stage. Everyone looks up as a young man slips down from above, lightly dusting himself off before bounding up to the stage. As he passes our table, Edmund asks, “Isn’t that the fellow with the mandolin from before?”

Will bows to the cheering audience with flourish of his cloak, seeming to have done this several times before. He grins and waves at a particularly loud group near the front, comprised of several characters who have had to rush over from other ceremonies. Horace is clapping with enthusiasm, beaming with pride, and Halt offers a nod of approval.

“Was he up there this entire time?” I ask the Pevensies. Peter shrugs; Edmund merely peers up at the trees.

“It appears our next finalist is just arriving,” Aragorn continues, moments before a massive grey beast swoops in from the sky.

The pigeons on the grass scatter as The Daisha lands next to the stage and lowers her wings.

With an expression that could be interpreted as slight embarrassment, Errance dismounts, turns to thank to his friend, and joins Aragorn onstage. His bearing is every bit as noble as Aragorn’s, though if one were to look closely enough, there is something a little less certain about the way he carries himself. I don’t think he expected to be up there at any point in his life.

I glance over the crowd, where I see Tellie & Co. waving at him with big grins. Coren gestures for him to smile.

“The road here is not an easy one, my friend,” Aragorn tells him. “You did well to take to the skies.”

Errance cracks a small smile at that, replying with what I imagine is a fond remark about The Daisha’s agreement to carry him here, before joining the other finalists–who are not-so-discreetly glancing between his pointed ears and those of Legolas, who is currently having some discourse over with the tech people.

Aragorn turns back to the audience once more. “Our fifth finalist is the winner of this year’s silmaril. Please welcome our Most Epic Hero of 2023–Artham Wingfeather!”

Cheers, whistles, and deafening applause herald the winged figure gliding down to take his place next to Aragorn. Artham looks startled, as if he missed most of the ceremony–which, if the Pevensie brothers’ whispering over the metro map are of any indication, he just might have. (Flying seems to have been a popular reaction to being told to take the subway, which I can respect.) In response to a quiet question the microphone doesn’t pick up, Aragorn says, “Yes, you’ve won the award.”

Surprise flickers across the Throne Warden’s rugged face.

Peter rises from his seat to present the white box containing the treasured prize. Aragorn opens the lid and pulls it out, the gleaming silmaril:

Aragorn slips the gold medallion over Artham’s head, and the crowd once again bursts into applause. With that, the Most Epic Hero ceremony draws to a close.

And not a moment too soon, either, because Aragorn’s microphone gives out with a dying SKREEEEET that has all our animal friends clamping their paws over their ears.

Aragorn only laughs and strides offstage, handing the mic to a very confused Legolas, while the friends and family of the finalists swarm up to their heroes. I see Leeli holding up her pink Most Epic Heroine medallion up to her uncle’s as Nugget runs around them in joyful circles. Peter is talking with Errance, or was before Tellie nearly bowls the latter over in a giant hug; Martin and Matthias take turns describing their perilous journey by Tokyo metro to a fascinated Reepicheep. Meanwhile, Will slides over to Edmund, pulling out his mandola in what I can only describe as a very determined manner. (He’s definitely had enough of people calling it a “mandolin”…)

I watch them with a smile as the sun continues to set beyond the cityscape, then head straight for the tables. Don’t tell Aragorn I came here for the food.

---

Votes for Most Epic Hero 2023

4th Place: Martin the Warrior & Matthias from the Redwall Saga (13.42% each)

3rd Place: Will Treaty from the Ranger’s Apprentice series (19.46%)

2nd Place: Errance from Moonscript (20.13%)

1st Place: Artham Wingfeather from the Wingfeather Saga (33.56%)

Thank you for voting, folksies! Make sure to check in on the final award ceremony tomorrow, for our Wisest Counselor of 2023! And I take back my earlier comment–I did not just come for the food. It was my honor to be here.

Until next time,

~ Merie