Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any characters/places associated with it. Tolkien was a genius, I am a humble pretender. With no money, so please don't sue me.

A/N: This is my first crack at a LOTR fic, and I have to say thank you to Lialathuveril, twice, in fact. One - her writing is what inspired me to try my hand at Éomer/ Lothíriel. If you haven't read any, go do so right now. Two - a massive thank you for all her help in seeking out a beta reader. On that note, I haven't managed to find one yet, so if there are any obliging people out there with LOTR knowledge, please let me know in a review.

Right, on with the show, shall we?

Foresight and Future

Prologue

Imrahil sighed, looking to his wife. "Where is it?"

"What?" she asked with a frown.

"The Rothloth," he elaborated. "Where is it?"

A voice sounded from behind them. "Well, I'm here."

They both turned to see their youngest son, an innocent expression etched on his face. Imrahil wasn't fooled — innocent with Amrothos meant he'd just done something. The idea that he should tell Théoden to check he still had all his horses ran through the prince's head.

And if Roth had landed himself in trouble, normally Imrahil's only daughter was not far behind. "Where is your sister?" he asked.

Roth shrugged. "With Éowyn probably."

He did not sound all that pleased, but his father knew that did not come from any real dislike of the King's niece. Lothíriel and her twin were very close, even now when they were growing up, they hadn't grown apart. In just a few days, Imrahil and his youngest son would both lose their favourite women in the world — his own wife Mirima would remain in Lothlòrien, with Lothíriel as her nurse. The prince of Dol Amroth did not know if he would ever see his wife again, and if he ever laid eyes on his daughter … she would be a woman totally; a woman he would have no idea how to relate to. He knew Amrothos had been wanting to spend as much time as possible with his twin, but Loth couldn't really be blamed for enjoying some female company — with three brothers it was something she was mostly starved of. Since their arrival in Edoras a week ago, she and Éowyn had become fast friends; Imrahil had the feeling an age-mate was something the older girl had been missing as well.

However, neither young woman seemed particularly inclined to follow the more leisurely, traditional pursuits for women. In fact the greater the risk of injury or death the better.

Imrahil groaned, even as he heard the King of Rohan ask Mirima, "The Rothloth?"

She chuckled, then explained. "Amrothos and Lothíriel. They are so often in trouble together that we have taken to referring to them collectively."

"It sounds like some kind of monster," Thoéden smiled.

"Exactly," Imrahil agreed grimly.

The arrow thudded into the centre of the target neatly, quivering slightly. Lothíriel smiled at it, then lowered her bow. Next to her, her new blonde friend's mouth was yet to close. "I am so jealous!" she cried. "I would never be able to hit a target at that distance!"

The princess shrugged, indicating the sword that stood in the grass at Éowyn's feet. "Well, I would never be able to lift a sword, so we are even."

Éowyn grinned, then turned back toward the city. They were only a little way outside the walls, since there was nowhere they were able to practice archery Edoras, and certainly nowhere in Meduseld. "Come — I am hungry," she said, leading the way.

The two friends set off, entering the gates with smiles and greetings to the guards stationed there. "Will Greta mind, do you think?" Lothíriel asked. "It is not all that long since breakfast."

Éowyn's smile turned sly. "Not if you ask in Rohirric."

Lothíriel looked aghast at the idea. "Éowyn, you know I can't —"

"Nonsense," she said firmly.

In the short time she'd known her, Lothíriel was already very well aware that Éowyn was as stubborn as she was. It would do little good arguing with her. "Very well — what are the words?" she sighed.

A few moments later, Lothíriel pushed open the doors to the cavernous royal kitchens. The head cook, a woman named Greta who could have been any age between thirty and fifty, and would inevitably be here for probably generations to come.

"Greta?" she asked timidly — though kind, she was also stern. Much like Aunt Irviniel. Standing up straight, the dark-haired girl recited the words that Éowyn had taught her. Judging by the smile that spread over Greta's face, her pronunciation was definitely off, but the woman stood silent until the princess had finished, and then promptly gestured for the two girls to sit down while she place warm, honey-sweetened pot bread onto plates for them. They thanked her and then began eating.

At the first mouthful, Éowyn moaned in delight, then put it down once more, her expression suddenly miserable. "Oh, I wish you didn't have to leave today!"

Lothíriel nodded. "As do I."

"We'll both be so lonely," Éowyn sighed.

"Nonsense!" Lothíriel insisted. "You will have plenty of things to keep you occupied."

"Yes," her friend allowed, "but until Éomer gets back I will have no one to talk to. And you, off to live with Elves!"

It was Lothíriel's turn to seem depressed. She dropped her bread onto the plate, no longer hungry. "I would give almost anything not to be going," she said said quietly.

Éowyn put an arm around her shoulders in awkward comfort, but before she could think of anything to say, the doors creaked open. Lothíriel's mother stepped in, her face lighting in fondness and exasperation upon seeing them. "There you two are! King Théoden was about to dispatch a search party!"

Lothíriel stood immediately. "Sorry, Mama. I'm just coming now."

As they passed the door, Éowyn decided to plead her case with the elder princess of Dol Amroth. "Can't you stay even one more day, Lady Mirima?"

She shook her head with a smile. "I'm afraid not, my dear." Her smile faded a little, went distant. "Besides, I have a feeling that soon, you will not miss Lothíriel all that much."

"What do you mean?" the young noble asked, frowning.

"When we go, keep watching the east," Mirima said, leading the two of them outside. "Your brother is returning."

Instantly, Éowyn's pale face brightened as she grinned excitedly. "Éomer, really?"

Mirima smiled at the teenager's enthusiasm. "Yes."

Éowyn dashed over to the top of the Meduseld steps, looking eagerly eastward. Lothíriel went to stand by her friend, blonde hair mixing with black as they both floated in the breeze. Mirima watched her daughter, content that her daughter had the happy talent to make friends easily, but sad, too, that this new friendship could not last. They would be on their way all-too-soon, and she did not see how they would be back.

Her husband's hand found hers, and he smiled at her, knowing where her thoughts were going. "It is not your fault, Miri," he murmured. "You know that."

She nodded. "Yes. But we have taken so much of their childhood from them."

"Middle Earth has done that," he said firmly. "Now come. We must go."

She nodded, called to her daughter. "Loth."

Her daughter turned, eyes huge and — naturally — turned on her father. "Ada, can't we —"

"No, Loth," he said gently. "We can't."

Sighing, the young princess turned toward them. Suddenly Éowyn grasped her hand. "Lothíriel, look!"

She looked in the direction Éowyn was pointing; the blonde girl must have only been able to see the glitter of shields, but Lothíriel could see far more clearly than she. They were a little over five leagues away, but she could still make out helms and the faces under them clearly.

"Can you see him?"

She shrugged. "What is his helm like?"

"It has white horsehair at the back," Éowyn said, sounding excited.

Lothíriel scanned, but she could see nothing like what Éowyn described. "I'm sorry," she shrugged. "I'm sure he's there, though."

Éowyn nodded, a disappointed expression on her face. "It's a shame. I would have liked you to meet him."

Before Lothíriel could reply, her mother reached out, tugging gently on the end of her braid to remind her that it was time to go. Suddenly, though, the world around her shifted. Still the steps of Meduseld, and still her daughter — but her daughter a decade older. Her daughter still here, still waiting for this same man. Her daughter with a child in her arms. A blond little toddler settled on her hip.

"Mirima!"

Lothíriel was whispering to him, her head inclined toward her son but eyes on the column of men coming through the gates of Edoras — on the man at its head in particular.

"Mama!"

Mirima didn't want to leave this little scene. It was too perfect. But still, she felt the voice pulling at her.

"Mama!"

As the young family embraced and Lothíriel kissed her husband, Mirima felt the tug of Lothíriel's true voice increase, and could ignore it no longer.

She blinked, and found herself looking into her daughter's concerned green eyes. "Mama?" she asked. "Are you …?"

Mirima nodded. "Yes." She saw her husband and daughter share a concerned glance, and knew why they were worried. Now that she had seen the future once, she would continue to do so — the visions would become more fractured, more patchy, and more violent. Happy futures were few and far between. This was why they had left Dol Amroth, after all.

Still, she found a smile from somewhere as the Dol Amroth party began to mount and prepare to leave Edoras. After saying farewell to Théoden and thanking him for his immense hospitality and the wonderful horse he had gifted to her, she turned to where Lothíriel and Éowyn were saying their goodbyes. After Lothíriel had mounted, Mirima spoke to Éowyn.

"Do not worry, Éowyn. You will be seeing one another again."

I have seen it.

A/N: Review please!