The point is that this fic used to be M
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18 Jul 2018
He sits in vast halls of stone, a golden crown upon his head and capes of fur on his back. He sits, resplendent, on a high throne, with the Arkenstone behind his head. He rules Erebor with a fist of iron and a will of steel. He is the most powerful dwarf in all of Middle-Earth. He is King under the Mountain.
Erebor's gates have been sealed for years, and not a soul has been seen entering or leaving. The King under the Mountain has severed ties between him and all of Middle-Earth. He is mad with power, drunk on the sheer volume of what he possesses. The Elvenking Thranduil has vanished into Mirkwood; Bard, the Lord of Dale, has lost everything; and Esgaroth fell long ago. None would dare enter the Mountain, not while Thorin Oakenshield still lives.
But when unbidden, a sole person enters Erebor with a purpose and a motive that don't quite match, the tide begins to turn slowly but surely. Unbeknownst to them, they are about to step into the most dangerous game ever played—the game of chance.