Disclaimer: Everything Middle Earth belongs to the wonderful creative genius, Tolkien. No money is being made.

Author's Note: For the first part, I'm going mostly on the movie instead of the book because it is much more convenient for me to carry on my story that way. However, when the story nears the 2nd and 3rd books, I will revert back to the books for information and such. Well this chapter starts off in Rivendell after Frodo Baggins recovers from his injury from being stabbed by the Ringwraiths. Gandalf is back from Orthanc, and everyone knows that Saruman is a traitor…

01/10/06: At this point, I'll mostly reference the films because I honestly haven't the time to reread the books (though I am trying to squeeze it into my schedule when I can). My goal now is to complete this story instead of having every single thing completely accurate. I want to finish at least one story under my name, and since this was my first story, it's only right that it should be completed first. Anyway, there are a few changes scattered throughout this chapter, but nothing completely major.

The Imperfect One
By: JDArc

Chapter One: An Informative Breakfast

Elenmírë leapt out of bed at the morning's first rays of sunlight and stretched as she walked over to her balcony which overlooked the lustrous valley of Rivendell. Annaril, the only handmaiden she ever really trusted, drew her bath and called to her. "Arwenamin, your bath is ready." Elenmírë turned at the sound of her voice and smiled.

"How many times must I tell you, Annaril," she scolded softly as she stepped into her bath, "I am anything but a Lady. I fear you must be the only one in all of Rivendell who still insists on giving me such a title."

"But you are a Lady after all," Annaril commented as she lay Elenmírë's usual tunic and leggings aside on her bed. "Just because you refuse to be pampered and attired in dresses does not give anyone the right to deprive you of your proper title. Besides, you are just as part of the line of Lord Elrond as Arwen or the twins."

"I am naught but a warrior to everyone," Elenmírë sighed. "I think they all forget that a She-Elf lies underneath all this armor. Not that it is hard for them to do for I am as far away from the idea of beauty as anyone could possibly be." She frowned and splashed water around with her hands.

"Ah, hush your tongue, My Lady," the handmaiden snapped. "Here is a piece of advice for you. Appearances are not as important as you deem them to be. Worry not. You do have special qualities, Lady Elenmírë. To realize what they are, you must look past all superficialities."

"Special qualities or not, that does not change how others perceive me," Elenmírë replied stubbornly before completely immersing herself in the water.

"Always the immovable one," Annaril muttered in defeat, shaking her head. "I know it is almost futile to ask, but do you want me to-"

"No, thank you, Annaril," Elenmírë said automatically as she broke through the surface of the water. "I can braid my own hair." The handmaiden gave her a strained, somewhat sad smile as she walked out of the room, and Elenmírë climbed out of her bath and proceeded to dress.

She moved across the room to start her daily ritual of self-evaluation and stared at her mirror, her eyes critically looking over her body clad in a warrior's fashion. Her arms were too muscular, her legs too bulky for any She-Elf, and she angrily pinched the bit of bulge she hid right under her belt. It never really occurred to her that that bit of 'bulge' was actually a well-toned abdomen she acquired from her hard years of training, but all the same, it contrasted sharply with the soft, gentle curves she envied in other She-Elves. However, the one curve she had almost too much of was her bottom, which she attributed to her human half as no other Elf seemed to have a curvier bottom than she, but her bust was small which did not proportion her body at all. 'A flat chest and a frumpy bottom,' she thought gloomily. 'It isn't any wonder why no one has glanced my way.'

The eyes of her reflection met hers as she started to plait her unruly black hair into a long braid, noting how dim her eyes now seemed. Her face appeared worn, tired, as if she had been through a long battle, causing even more worry lines to etch her brow as she studied herself. She had grown accustomed to her face, as unusual as it looked. It took her a few hundred years to finally accept that her nose wasn't ever going to be perfect; her cheekbones were never going to be high or so defined. Her olive skin was never going to be as pale as porcelain as Arwen's, butElenmírë did allow herself just one allowance: her face did have character. She smiled softly at her reflection, willing for the brightness that had once belonged to her eyes to return, but there was naught but a flicker.

Finally, she tore herself away from her mirror and strapped her quiver of arrows to her back, her sword to her waist, and snatched her bow in her left hand before she left for the dining hall.

"Elenmírë!" Elrohir greeted her as they arrived at the doors of the dining hall at the same time.

"Good morning, Elrohir," she replied with a smile, and together, they entered and sat by Lord Elrond, who in turn welcomed Elrohir with a firm handshake and Elenmírë with a kiss on her cheek. He showed her nothing less than fatherly affection, for which she was grateful, for he was one of the few who treated her not only with the respect for a warrior but with the respect for a Lady of high class.

"How do you fare this morning, father?" she asked as they all settled down into their seats while servants fervently placed plates of food in front of them.

"Ah, I wish I could say I had no worries, my dear," he sighed heavily before chewing on an orange slice. He swallowed and sat in thoughtful silence before speaking again. "The hobbits are incredibly cheerful, which is quite refreshing in this serious time, but I cannot say the same for the others. The Prince of Mirkwood also has not yet arrived, and I am rather worried as to what could have happened to cause such a delay. All the representatives should have been here by now."

"I have yet to meet the Prince of Mirkwood," Elenmírë stated absent-mindedly.

"That you will, my dear," Elrond smiled, patting her hand, before his face turned serious once more. "I only hope that he has not encountered any trouble on the road to Rivendell." He lowered his voice even further so that only Elrohir and Elenmírë could hear him. "I must ask the two of you to find Elladan and stay close to the outskirts of the city after breakfast, and look for signs of any possible danger. Prince Legolas' delay troubles me."

"We should have the Council soon," Elrohir commented just as softly. "The Ring's presence in Rivendell is a great danger to all its inhabitants. We must discuss what to do with it as soon as we can."

"We cannot start the Council without the Mirkwood representative," Elenmírë said, startled. "Not only will it be an insult to Mirkwood, it would not be fair to Prince Legolas to miss anything important that might be discussed." She paused and looked at Elrond. "Are you absolutely sure that no one will mind my being at the Council father?"

"You are second in command after all," Elrond answered. "I trust your judgment in this matter as much as I do with my own sons. You are a warrior, my dear, and you have proven time and again with your trusty sword that you care more for the protection of those around you than you do for own well-being." He clasped her hand. "I feel that your input in this matter will be an asset, not a hindrance." She smiled at his confidence in her, and he squeezed her hand in reassurance. "Now, you two should eat. You have a long day ahead of you."

They nodded in response, and after they had had their fill, they bid farewell to their father and proceeded to carry out his orders.

TBC...