"They will die by arrow and steel, impaled on their own anger."

Kalle Reminick held herself motionless in the dark, listening to the words, feeling the power beneath them. Seloras was right--they all knew it--but the enemy hordes were so close, and the elves were so few. In the silence that followed, she gazed on his face, serene with the influence of millennia, intense with purpose.

"Cut! And print!"

The set became a maelstrom of activity, with crew and props people and makeup and wardrobe all moving with individual purposes and one goal.

"Nice take, everyone," the director called. "Next we'll do the close-ups. Kalle, Reid's tunic is bagging at the neck. George..."

Kalle hurried forward with needle and thread, and in seconds had the offending collar snug against his skin. But then she had to fix his cloak, and the lay of his quiver strap.

"What did you think?" he murmured, staring straight ahead while she repinned the cloak.

Yeah, like Reid Masterson really cared what she thought. The guy had not gotten a bad review in six years, directors loved him, the cast fawned over him. That didn't even begin to touch the adulation of his fans. A wardrobe assistant's opinion was meaningless, but she answered anyway. Egos were only as strong as their latest praise.

"I think your performance will make everyone forget about Legolas Greenleaf." She stepped back and grinned, startled when made eye contact and grinned back. The success of the Lord of the Rings trilogy had spawned a rush of fantasy films, but few, in Kalle's opinion, were as good as Elf Lord was going to be. And it was well known that Reid's inspiration was Orlando Bloom's performance as the fellowship's elf in LOTR.

"Thanks, Kalle."

She raised her eyebrows as she watched him walk away. He knew her name already, and they'd only been filming for three days. That was enough to make her happy all day.

And she was. Nothing ruined it, not costume tears before there were supposed to be any, not supporting actors who'd eaten too much since their last fitting, not even actresses who'd eaten too little, necessitating the taking in of whole garments. It didn't even bother her that somehow, every one of those problems was made her fault. Reid Masterson knew her name.

She let the good mood carry her into the night, but shed the reason for it quickly enough. She'd worked in this industry for ten years and fifteen films, and she knew how things went. Reid might have remembered her name today, moments after the director said it, but tomorrow she'd be a non-entity again. That was fine with her. She had no intention of becoming a groupie.

They wrapped late the next night, and because they all had the following day off while the location was prepared, cast and crew congregated at a local bar to let off steam.

"The damned horse wouldn't move!" the horsemaster said, and everyone laughed. "By the time we were halfway through shooting, they were so used to mayhem, it was normal for them. They were calmer than Aldrid."

Kalle sipped her beer and let her mind wander. The table was crowded with people from all departments, and she knew most of them. Knew most of their stories, too, especially the stories spawned by the marathon Rings shoot. Truth be told, she was getting a little tired of all the comparisons. This film, this shoot, was nothing like Rings. She loved the sense of camaraderie that surrounded her, but too often camaraderie could edge into boredom.

She'd just about decided to head back to her apartment when someone stopped in front of her, blocking her view of the two-steppin' couples on the dance floor.

"Want to dance?"

Kalle raised her eyebrows. "Reid Masterson wants to dance with his wardrobe assistant?"

He shrugged one shoulder, the other hand still held out to her. "Why not?"