"Definitely not. Unless we decide to visit and they haven't finished cleaning," she muses.

"Let us make a note not to do that."

"I don't think the dwarves are so bad. Might be better to visit the Hobbits, though."

"They are fairly insular, I understand. They may not appreciate us."

"The hobbits? Russet seemed to think me showing up'd be fun."

"You and she share similar ideas of 'fun'."

She grins. "She said if I can't make it soon, I should still really try to come for her birthday, because turning away birthday guests is just horribly rude. Otherwise, she thinks her family would be delighted to host me for tea some day."

Heh.

"Keep the date in mind, then."

"I will! It's the twenty second of September - which was just after we killed Smaug, actually, so it's a whole year before the next one. Gives her time to get home, though - especially since she turned down my offer to fly her home. Said she wants to revisit some friends on the way back."

"Well enough."

Off towards the western entrance.

Brisingr follows along.

This part is less thoroughly developed - fewer dense networks of houses and markets and shops, though there's a bloom of city around the western gate. The west part of the city seems designed for more than just dwarves, doors often having handles at two heights, artfully crafted flowing benches that could easily accommodate a short dwarf beside a tall elf. Far more of it's designed to be brightly lit, with more attention to artificial lighting (including some still-glowing magical lights) and carefully introduces shafts of sunlight or moonlight that fall on the remnants of small gardens. The architectural design's different, too, a distinct blend of angular classic dwarven lines and flowing shapes. The ceiling of the broad main avenue is an exact replica of the sky outside thousands of years ago, softly glowing crystals in place of stars.

The west gate is shut, and includes a mixture of two scripts - Elvish and Dwarvish, by the look of them - engraved into the arch over the doors. It, too, is designed to be held against invasion, but the paranoia is distinctly less than the kill corridor of the east gate.

The west gate opens at a touch - not, apparently, locked from the inside, though no latching mechanism is actually visible.

"It seems there was trade at this end."

"Yeah. Wonder who with? Not much of anyone lives in those lands anymore."

"Whoever this other script belongs to, at a guess."

"Elves, I'd guess."

"Elves, then. Whether they moved on or died out," she shrugs with her wings, "it matters little."

"Yeah. Might make for a good tale if any dragons were involved, but I doubt it."

Perhaps the outside has further clues. She'll leave the door propped open.

There's a lake, dark and still and somewhat foul, which seems to have eaten much of the path to the gate. There's ruins, remnants of buildings that once spilled around this valley.

The doors, where the moonlight catches them, have silver images of two entwined trees, Elvish script arching over them.

That seems symbolic. The context is, alas, unknown to her.

Brisingr coils out, looking around. The path around the lake is narrow, so she crawls up onto the mountain.

"Something smells weird here..."

"In what way?"

Sniff. "Dunno. Slimy?"

"Hm. Let us not make our bed here, then."