For the LiveJournal tolkien_weekly "Potter's Wheel: Mould" challenge.
Aragorn and Eomer meet amid the Pelennor's carnage, breathing hard, and clasp arms; smiling grimly as comrades do who have much death yet to deal ere the dayís won. Rohanís King gestures down the field. There, in the front rank - his quiver spent - Legolas is at knife-work; Gimli guards his flank, great axe steadily hacking the legs from under any who threaten to get past the Elf's dancing white blade.
"I thought -" Eomer gasps - "legend said - perpetual enmity and mistrust between their peoples?"
Aragorn chuckles wearily.
"My friend, when the One had finished making those two, he broke the mould."