'The local', as Pete had called it, was the sort of pub I knew well from long association. Much the same on either side of Tasman, even if I didn't recognise most of the names of the beer on tap on the other side of the long wooden bar. The place was chock-full of cast and crew, though it was hard to tell them apart from the locals, except where I recognised a face.

"We've been here for so long," Kelly told me as we made our way to the bar, "that we've become a fixture. And there're so many Kiwis on the lot that the line between the movie and the community is practically non-existent. It's great!"

We'd just got our drinks when we were hailed by a strident cry of: "Ladies!" We turned, to be faced with a lanky youth, mohawked and bursting with energy. His grin was broad. His beer was half-full, and probably not his first.

"Orlando," Kelly greeted him, and he leaned forward to hug her one-armed, exchanging extravagant air-kisses.

I needed the moment that gave me to recognise him. "Legolas, right?" It was almost impossible to draw the line between this overexcited puppy of a boy and the elf prince.

He beamed at me, and made a respectable bow, not spilling any of his beer. "At your service, fair Shieldmaiden of Rohan."

I was surprised. "You already know who I am?"

His voice had smoothed, mellowed, taking on elven poise, but when he straightened, his accent kinked again. "Of course we do. We've all been waiting for you to get here."

Kelly made the introductions. "Miranda Otto, Orlando Bloom."

We shook hands solemnly, then his grin broke out again. "Orli'll do. What do we call you - Mir?"

I shrugged, took up my beer. Nicknames never worked well with my name. "Dad used to call me Randy," I remembered.

"Don't tell him that!" Kelly cried. "He'll take advantage."

"Look, Kel," Orlando said, turning on her, and then he paused, squinted suspiciously at her, rubbing his chin. "Your skirts are getting shorter," he declared, with the sound of one vindicated.

"They are not!"

I just laughed. Admittedly, Kelly's skirt wouldn't have looked out of place on a tennis court.

Kelly swatted at his head; Orlando ducked, laughing, and fended her off. "No, I'm serious, this is a new record for short. You'll have to come and show Dom. He's the final judge."

"Cushy job," I murmured, retreating into my beer with a smirk.

Kelly was not to be dissuaded, flailing at Orlando, who wrestled back, shrieking, "Harridan!" He gained control while I shared a chuckle with the bartender, who didn't seem surprised at the horseplay. I guessed he was used to it. When I looked back, Orlando had her immobilised, though her helpless laughter had a lot to do with that. "Come and meet everyone," he suggested, a little breathless himself. "Like I said, we've all been waiting for you."

"I hope I don't disappoint," I said mildly, handing Kelly's drink to her as Orlando let her go.

"No worries about that!" Another grin, over his shoulder this time as he led the way through the press.

The others were clustered around two tables pushed together. It was the noisiest corner of the pub, but not by much. When we reached the table, two young men had one foot each on the table, their jeans pushed up to their knees to display hairy shins. I recognised them, though they didn't look much like hobbits now.

"Put it away!" Orlando shouted. "No one wants to see."

"Lady on deck!" It was another hobbit this time, with a thick Scottish accent, who pushed at the others, and then stood, holding out a hand across the table. "Hello, I'm -"

Orlando swatted his hand away. "Wait yer turn." The Scot fell back into his seat as Orlando wound up for a round of introductions around the table. "Everyone, this is Miranda Otto." A faint cheer and a few claps, led by the young hobbits. "Shut up. Miranda, this is Dave, Rick and Louisa. They're from the crew, but we associated with 'em anyway." I leaned around Orlando to shake hands. "The rowdy bastards over there," who now had their legs off the table, "are Elijah, Dom and Billy." That was the Scot. I gave him a wider smile as I shook his hand. The younger boys were almost as bright-eyed as Orlando, but polite. "Hey Dom," Orlando interrupted himself, "get a load of Kelly's skirt."

Eyes widened. "Jesus Christ!" he declared. "That's a fucking short skirt."

"Bugger off," Kelly told him.

"And this," Orlando said, gesturing to the person sitting just beside me, "is Sean Astin. We've got two Seans, it's very confusing, but this one claims to be a respectable married man. Don't trust either of the dodgy sods, is my advice." I shook his hand, and took the seat he offered next to him. Kelly took one on his other side, and Orlando slid in next to me.

"So what does Bean claim to be?" Elijah was asking.

"Thoroughly unrespectable," Rick declared. "In every way."

"And loving it," Dom agreed.

"He's playing Boromir, right?" I had read the information about the film already. I just needed some reminding now and then.

"Yep." Elijah, child-star but with a grin as friendly and unaffected as anyone else around the table. Still, he laughed with the innate confidence of someone who knows just how gorgeous he is. "He's about as filthy as the humans come." That brought laughter around the table - some in-joke I didn't quite understand.

"Will he be along tonight?" I asked with a grin. "I'm starting to feel out-numbered by the other races."

"Bean not come to the pub?" Dom grinned back, pure cheeky. "Not likely. He'll be here. Especially since he's basically finished filming now. He and Vig said they'd be late."

Another one I wanted to meet, but before I could pursue it any further, a melodic American accent behind me said: "Are these boys bothering you?"

I turned with a welcoming smile. "Liv, hi!" We'd met that afternoon, in the amazing rooms of the wardrobe designers. I was swathed in dark shades of velvet, brocades and heavy laces. She'd breezed in to be draped in her light, delicate elven robes. We'd both agreed that the experience of being transformed into something other was an amazing feeling. Like playing dress-up for big kids.

Now, she stepped up behind me, one hand on my shoulder, and surveyed the table. "Fuck, you've got the worst of them here."

The boys made cheerfully rude gestures at her, and she blew them a kiss.

"Where's your drink?" Dom demanded, gesturing with his own.

"I'm not staying," she replied.

"Not staying?" The banter passed from Dom to Billy with the ease of long practice. "How are we supposed to get you drunk and take advantage of your vulnerable state if you won't drink?"

"Shut up, you lot," Rick stated gruffly, but Liv just laughed.

"So what'd you come for?" Sean asked, and I was surprised anew at how broad his American accent was. He grinned up at Liv. "Don't you think we'll take good care of Miranda?"

"I don't trust you," Liv said sweetly, leaning over me to tap one finger on Sean's nose.

"Wise woman," one of the crew muttered, while Sean looked extravagantly hurt.

"Dodgy sods, I tell you," Orlando declared, and nodded sagely before draining his beer. "Who's for another? Mir, drink up; you're behind."

Things continued in that vein, and I relaxed into it. Liv left, but a couple more of the crew arrived. A night out with entertaining people was a rare treat, and the banter here was quick and lively, even if I didn't understand most of the in-jokes. The one time Elijah started explaining one reference to me - something about dolphins, I still don't quite get it - the others kept interrupting, leading him off on tangents until the entire thing devolved into an inexplicable round of 'did not, did too' between Sean and Dom. Kelly occasionally tried to fill in the blanks, but there were too many, and I told her not to bother. Soon I'd be a part of it. I was actually looking forward to it.

And so it went for another round, which is the only acceptable way for time to be measured in a pub. I was feeling quite happily buzzed on beer and laughter when Orlando leaned over and said: "Still feeling outnumbered?"

"Not at all," I answered gaily, turning to look at him.

"That's unfortunate," he commented lightly, and I followed his significant gaze sideways, to where two men were edging their way through the press towards our table. "Because the Men are showing up."

Considering how different everyone else had looked, I was mildly surprised at how easy it was to recognise these two. "They're certainly men," I agreed.

"They're the Men," Orlando declared, grinning up with renewed energy at the new arrivals.

"And don't you forget it." OK, the voice was different. More American, less precise enunciation. It poured into the gaps in your brain. Hmm, maybe I was tipsier than I thought. I looked up, and received two smiles guaranteed to turn a girl's head.

I offered a hand, and a smile of my own. "Miranda Otto."

"Viggo Mortensen." Callused hand, and his shirt loose at the wrists.

"Sean Bean." Similarly rough hand, edging around Viggo to shake mine.

"I know," I told them. "I recognised you both."

Sean grinned, and nudged Viggo. "Our fame precedes us."

"It's the smell!" Orlando cried, sliding out of his seat, empty glass in hand. A few good-natured and well-practiced insults flew back and forth, and Orlando escaped off to the bar.

Sean went to sit up near the head of the table; Viggo stole Orlando's seat next to me. "You looking after her?" he asked Kelly.

Kelly just laughed. "She doesn't need looking after." And she went back to her conversation with Louisa.

He turned to me with a smile. "Overwhelmed yet?"

I laughed. "Close! But not quite. I haven't really started anything yet, but I feel like I've been here for a week already."

"Welcome to the Peter Jackson Circus," he said with mock significance. "Changes your life forever."

I glanced around the table. Astin and two of the crew seemed to be arguing swordplay, with demonstrative gestures, while the rest of the hobbits were playing one of those complicated drinking games that requires thumbs on the table and other oddities. There was a lot of noise, and much laughter. "Well, there are worse concepts."

Viggo followed my gaze, and his smile was warm, fond and comfortable. "There are," he agreed.

Kelly and I left not long afterwards, and my house seemed abnormally quiet after the noise of the pub. One of those Powderfinger songs that sounds like all the other Powderfinger songs had been playing on Kelly's radio, and I found myself humming it as I watered Eric. There were people back home I should have probably called, but instead, I went to bed.