Source: Post RotK
Disclaimer: Tolkien discovered Middle-earth and made it his, Kortirion is just playing in the sand-pit.
Tiny rivulets of sweat ran down his back, naked chest… collecting in hot, soaking wetness at the waistband of his trews. He bent forward, shook his head to dislodge the drips beading his sodden hair…
Pull hard, straighten, lean back… stretch forward, reach… pull back…
His teacher had insisted, learning to row would strengthen his wrists and back… Legolas begged to differ. His muscles protested; his bare back burned under the blazing sun, and…
Firm hands gathered aside his wet, clinging hair, and wiped his neck and shoulders with a cooling cloth.
“Enough. Rest awhile – then we’ll begin our lesson.”
Gently heaving water glittered under brilliant sunlight. In the borrowed, mannish boat, rocking in the swell beyond the surf-line, the Noldo stripped off his tunic, beckoning Legolas to stand.
Very gingerly, Legolas came to his feet in the unstable craft.
“Balance is the secret of swordsmanship – now, come at me.”
Legolas squinted in the scintillating light, unsure.
“Learn to trust your body, not your eyes…”
He never saw the stinging slap that caught his sunburnt arm.
Legolas grappled the elf, slippery skin to skin…
“What are they doing now?” hissed Aragorn. Gimli stared through Imrahil’s far-sight glass.
“Looks like… wrestling?”