People better versed in Tolkien than I have since told me the twin sons of Elrond were born a long time before their mother became a prisoner of the Orcs. In fact, the sons led the rescue mission. But what if they'd been born after their mother's rescue... about nine months after, in fact... born out of lurking on a discussion on "Celebrian As Orc-Captive" fanfic on the Cabbages and Kings forum, when the idea leapt fully-formed into my foetid brain.
Elrond looked with sympathy and concern at his wife. It was several-score years now since her ordeal in the Orc-holds and her rescue. She had been quiet about it and hadn't really spoken much of whatever terrors she had suffered. And in any case, the birth of the twins had been a happy event that had given her something to occupy her time and attention.
But something was wrong... Elrond looked out of the window to where the twins were severally at play. Elladan, tall, noble, sturdy in his bearing, commanding as only a descendent of Luthien and Beren should be, half-Elven maybe, but one who would command and be willingly followed; as if from a long-distant age, the light, distilled and dilute, but there nonetheless, of the Trees and the Silmarils of memory, playing about him.
And Elrohir. Yes. Elrohir. With that rather unruly pet... dog... of his. So large he could ride on its back. His skin a healthy mottled grey-green. His even glowing white... tusks. His command of language, in particular the Black tongue of Mordor.
Elrond looked away, shaking his head. He turned to Celebrian, who was placidly working on a tapestry.
"Your...er... torments, in the den of the Orcs" he began, uncertainly. "They didn't include... er... you know?"
"I really have no idea what you're talking about, dear." she replied, evenly. She set down her tapestry and picked up a scroll.
"You know. Thing." Elrond persisted. "Errrm..."
She shrugged, perplexed.
"Can't you be more specific, dear?"
He gave up.
From outside came the merry piping cries of boys at play.
"On, Elven-folk of Rivendell!"
"Shugluk paralgul snotrag ul alcatraz!"
Elrond's frown deepened.
Okay, so like little boys, they're playing at "Rangers and Uruk-Hai". Somebody has to play the Orc side. Even though it's usually unpopular. But Elrohir plays the Orcs EVERY time and he takes pains to make it realistic...
A passing servant screamed as Elrohir's pet dog took a playful bite.
"I'l have to talk to him about getting that animal housetrained", thought Elrond, frowning.
Celebrian looked up from her scroll.
"What are you reading, dear?" he asked.
"It's a sales brochure, dear. Luxury cruises to Elfholme. I'm rather inclined to go on one. You know, me and some of the girls. Who were tormented by the Orcs? You do recall? We deserve it!"
Elrond sighed. He dropped the subject.
Arwen wandered in. Elrond reflected that a problem with being a father of Elf-daughters was that those difficult teenage years went on and on... for centuries. If it wasn't a wholly unsuitable boyfriend it was...
"Dad, that little sod's been rummaging in my underwear drawer again!" she complained, petulantly.
Elrond grimaced. He really would have to talk to Elrohir.