Not far from Hobbiton, tucked away in the village of Bywater, stands the Green Dragon Inn. And within the cozy confines of this pub, a jolly good celebration is about to take place. The sounds of laughter—and downright guffaws, in some cases—is already filtering out into the early evening air.
Inside, warm golden light spills over a crowd that would ordinarily be much too big for the Green Dragon… yet somehow, the entire audience fits around the well-worn wooden tables. Perhaps Pippin persuaded a wizard or two to work some magic and broaden the space.
Which is a very good thing for this year’s hostess (yours truly), because her home has been a madhouse—first crammed full with sixty-five imp nominees, then with the five remaining pranksters—and it’s nice to have some room to breathe now. Even if it is rather loud and talkative in here.
As food and drink is passed around, a short, curly-haired hobbit hops up onto the center table. “Well then, I s’ppose we should get started!” he crows by way of announcement.
A roar of approval erupts from the readers and characters present.
“I’m Pippin, otherwise known as Peregrin Took, and I think we impish folk have worn our poor hostess out.” He sends a twinkling grin toward a young woman slumped in a chair in the back corner. From the look of her mussed bedhead and the dark circles under her eyes, she’s frazzled to the point of exhaustion. “Which is why,” Pippin continues, “I told her she could bow out of today’s ceremony. So you’re all stuck with ME for the rest of this party! But not to worry, I’ve done this gig a fair few times, and everything is under control.”
