If Marmadoc had to be truly honest, their family's legacy extended farther back from before The Wandering Days. Gordenhad Oldbuck had began it all with his stubbornness, something his entire clan had inherited in spades.

"As you know," he began while eyeing the sword positions his only grandchild was practicing, "we Hobbits originated in the Vales of Anduin nearby the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood. When the rot started to appear along the borders of the Wood, many of our folk decided to take their chances and travel west to Eriador, or the Shire as you know it. But our ancestor Gordenhad believed our kind could persevere and our clan continued to brave the dangers along the Anduin until the dangers pressed too close."

"Is that why our family came after the Baggins and Tooks, Grandpa?"

"In a manner of speaking. By the time the rest of us crossed the Misty Mountains, we also brought a little extra with us. Erebor was still rather young, a mere mining community not yet in its prime, and a talented dam followed after our ancestor. She was impressed with his tenacity and motivation to improve the life for his clan and became his wife by the time the Thainship was granted to us Hobbits-"

"But that can't be right! Bella says that her Da says that Bucca of Marish came first and that-"

"Oh, that. Oddly convenient the distant cousin of our Gordenhad was," he continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "Bucca was wily enough to know how to brave the dangers of an untamed land. He was the only Hobbit with a head for plans and how to handle himself and our clan in a fight. By the time Gordenhad and the rest of our lot arrived in the Shire, he and his intended realized one very big problem with their courtship-along with those in a similar situation-and it was that they would live far longer than the average hobbit would. So Oldbuck and his bride founded Buckland and handed over the tile of Thain to the Tooks. And as for our name of 'Brandybuck' that was because-"

"I know, Grandfather," Luna sighed with a roll of her eyes. Everyone knew how their ancestor chose the name what with settling by the Brandywine River; it faintly felt of home after their people had left the Anduin.

"Don't you sass me, young lady. That was merely the introduction to the start of our legacy. Our ancestor and his dam sired many children; all 'Dwobbits' just like yourself. And of his youngest children came my grandfather-don't you dare open your mouth, I know what you're about to say-Gormadoc. He had earned his title as 'Deepdelver' because had better Stone Sense than the rest of his siblings. He was the one to excavate Oldbuck Hall while his siblings built Brandy Hall hence the epigraph given to him when he chose to inherit the title of Master." Considering their clan tended to produce many children, the 'Master of Buckland' only became the Master if he so chose to be; otherwise it would be offered to the next in line.

"Now just as his father did, he also chose a dam to be his bride. Grandmother Malva would have loved to have met you, my dear girl. The two of you are so alike in mannerisms and appearance. You've got her nose, did you know? Very subtle dwarvish trait we've all inherited. It was particularly strong in their three children, one of which was my father, Madoc. I'll tell you, but it wasn't his Craft, or lack thereof, that got him his bride who was-"

"-Is there a dam in every generation of our family?"

"Just about. My Ma, Hanna Goldworthy was a true sight to behold. A bold and cunning lass from the Iron Hills, she met my father when he volunteered to aid the Dwarves after they experienced a poor harvest and I don't know about you, but Dwarves are not the best of farmers. I'm not sure if my father chose to help because he felt the call of his One or simply because he felt it was the right thing to do. Either way, I would not be here, nor your father, nor you, if not for that decision. Excluding your late grandmother," he wasn't entirely sure since he knew the Bolgers tended to be massive flirts with anything with a heartbeat and eyes, "there has been at least one dam in our family at a time, so whatever buried talents each one of us has, it is because we are Dwobbits, my dear. We are just like you."

Luna's mind was blown the second he even mentioned their Dwarvish heritage. This certainly explained just why they were barely a part of the Shire. Hobbits only lived to be at least eighty years old and any longer than that would attribute to good health and a heaping dose of good fortune. One of the other Clans had to know; there was no way they wouldn't suspect a thing!

"Grandfather, do the Tooks know?"

"Oh, aye, of course they know. They'd have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to. Gerontius has always known; after all, he is fifty years my junior and I wouldn't doubt if he hasn't noticed just how slowly I've aged over the years. The Baggins have an inkling, but they wouldn't dare voice it. We're already too strange and different-minded for them to fully comprehend the truth. But there are stranger truths than our family."

"Stranger how?" She really didn't think it could get much stranger than that.

"Well, how about you for example?"

Luna's breath stopped in her chest and she struggled not to let her back stiffen in shock. "I...I'm not sure I know what you mean, Grandfather."

"Come now, Azaghîth," he barked with laughter, "Surely, you don't think I haven't noticed? Your eyes are older than even my own and you are far too fearless to have come from my blood alone. Are you a Changeling, then? A Fae child from the Tooks' legends and lore?"

Oh, Luna did not like that look in her grandfather's eyes. He was onto her and she really, really, really did not like lying to family.

"I'm afraid it's much more different than that, azaghâl belkul."

"Is it now? Well, I've told you my story and I do believe it's time you told me yours."

She told him nearly everything.

Her original birth, how she once was a magical being who could travel between worlds at magic's whim. The friends she had made and the loved ones she had lost. She told him of how she found her One and how much she had sacrificed just to try it all over again.

"...I was much closer to the Baggins than the Tooks or even the Brandybucks. But all the families of the Shire were always kind to me and made sure I always felt welcome to spend more time with them. Maybe that's why I was reborn as one of your kin? I seem to be the happiest in Buckland."

"Well, that and you're certainly the most reckless besides myself and your Da. Naturally, you'd fit right in. But what a sad tale you have shared. To have found your One and have it all quite literally ripped away from you. Such strength you have! And you said that you have Guides in this world, but they were not revealed to you before you started over?"

"No," Luna sighed and rested her head on her grandfather's shoulder, "that's the worst part! I don't know who would remember me or even if they can remember me at all," she felt tears gathering in her eyes and she sniffled a bit. "I've never felt more lost than the time I had to guide King Thrór to Aulë's Halls. The line of Durin has no sense of direction-"

Marmadoc threw his head back and laughed before slapping his granddaughter on the back good naturedly. "My dear, you do realize that technically we are also descended from the line of Durin? My mother came from the Iron Hills, you see." He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and he ducked when his unruly grandchild threw an apple at him.

"Hey now, don't go wasting the traveling rations!"

"Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves," she grumbled under her breath and went to retrieve the apple she had carelessly thrown.

"I wouldn't get into too much of a snit if I were you. We are rather close to New Belegost and we don't want to offend anyone. Maybe we'll find someone who remembers you."

"I doubt it. I really don't recall much about this area during my visits to Middle Earth. Geographical history wasn't something I was particularly interested in."

...

New Belegost was carved from the side of the mountain, rather than almost completely under it like its prior location and the guards stationed at the entrance did look rather intimidating. She hoped her grandfather knew what he was doing since she didn't really recognize these dwarrows from her trips to Market Day-

"Good day, fine sir! Do you happen to know if the visiting Lord from Erebor is still in town?"

Luna almost fell out of the cart. That really wasn't the best of ways to approach a guardsman based off her prior knowledge of having to deal with them in her past life.

"Oh, aye. He's here alright. Who is requesting his presence?"

Her grandfather grinned and it was all teeth before he bowed with a flourish. "Marmadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, at your service."

The guardsman's eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline before he grunted and bowed respectfully in return. "You gave me quite the surprise, Master Brandybuck. You look the same as you did forty years ago and I had assumed that hobbits aged quickly during that time."

"It's alright Arvûl, she knows."

Arvûl, the intimidating guardsman, let his shoulders drop in relief and a sheepish grin peeked out from under his beard. "Och, well. I had to make sure. We've been keepin' this a secret since her birth."

Luna could feel her eye beginning to twitch. She had patience for several lifetimes, yes, but this was starting to push her limits. What, does everyone know?

Marmadoc gave his old friend a dismissive wave and smiled. "I have business with some folk in town. Would you be so kind as to escort Luna to the visiting Lord? She wishes to know more of our kin's culture."

He's knows something, Luna thought to herself while keeping a straight face. Oh, but if looks could kill… Her grandfather knew far more than he should have and he had also been too accepting of her story. That, and as Arvûl led her away, her grandfather's conspiratorial grin and accompanied wink only increased her ire against him.

She was brought to a grand hall and then further into what she assumed was a receiving room of some kind. It was hardly luxurious, but it was comforting all the same. The guardsman let her know that the Lord was currently in a meeting, but he would come to speak with her as soon as he finished.

"That's alright. I'm sure I'll find something to amuse myself with…" she trailed off as her eyes caught sight of a large tapestry hung from across the door. Oh, her heart stuttered in her chest, this is a sight.

It was a map of Middle-Earth and it showed mostly just the Dwarven settlements, but what caught her attention the most was the attention to the detail of each Dwarven city; especially Erebor. She didn't even hear the guard excuse himself nor the door that closed behind him. She reached out and traced the stitching that spelt out Ered Luin , past the Shire, and further east to the Misty Mountains.

She hadn't even realized she had been humming an old tune that would not exist in this lifetime. It was becoming harder to breathe and her eyesight grew hazy with tears. She had not heard or spoken of the old song; not since she left her old world behind and harassed every verse out of a tipsy Glóin.

Her heart heavy, she began to sing quietly:

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep, and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

Her hand still traveled slowly until it settled just over the Lonely Mountain and she gripped the fabric of the tapestry in a fist.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

Oh, how she could remember playing in those halls as a young witch filled with the excitement of the world around her.

For ancient king and elvish lord,
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

The first time she met Thorin before he had gained his epithet, she must have shocked the life out of him to just appear and disappear out of the blue like that. How she missed Thrór and his family! There was a time when so many exceptions were made for her; very few could claim the right to sit on the mighty King Thrór's lap and hide their head under his beard.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

She could have saved so many if she had only known how. Why, she would have gladly fought down the dragon if it meant sparing her loved ones the pain. Unfortunately, even she knew that if Smaug had not come, she would not have met her other friends across Middle Earth.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

"Now, there's a song I never thought I would hear again. At least not in this world, as changed as it is." A soft voice spoke from behind her and her heart leapt up into her throat.

Reluctantly, she released her hold on the tapestry and turned to see a Dwarf she had not seen in nearly an Age.

"Hopefully," she cleared her throat to suppress her rising sobs, "Hopefully, there will never be a cause for it to be sung with so much longing."

"Aye, that is a thing to hope for. You know, lassie, you're much shorter and younger than when I saw you last." His kind eyes crinkled at the corners, much like his son's eyes would do the same.

"W-Well, you were also d-dead at the time, s-so it's safe to assume that your m-memory is shoddy," she gave a watery chuckle before her expression crumpled and she ran into his waiting arms.

"Fundin!"

The remainder of The Misty Mountains Cold lyrics:

Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him

Translations:
Azaghîth -Little warrior
azaghâl belkul -mighty warrior

A/N: I would like to thank those who have patiently waited for me to write out this chapter. You guys are the best and as always, you are more than welcome to message me about questions or possible theories you may have. Just knowing that someone enjoys my progress so far is enough to motivate me to keep writing. Thank you so much!