Okay, let’s talk about this scene for a minute. We already know that it’s foreshadowing Thorin’s downfall, but can we consider for a minute that it’s not foreshadowing the things that it’s meant to be foreshadowing?
Gandalf accuses Thorin of holding on to the past – how do we learn how to react to future difficulties except by using past situations as an example? The last time Thorin went to the Elves for help (remember the flashback? Remember our desperate dwarf prince screaming for help at an indifferent-seeming Thranduil? Good because a lot of people don’t), none came. This was about something huge, there were injured terrified refugees coming out of that mountain with nothing. And Thranduil didn’t lift a finger. Didn’t even tell them where to find clean drinking water.
Sure, Elrond and Thranduil are completely different people, but Thorin doesn’t know that. At best, he thinks they’ll be turned away, at worst he thinks that Elrond will actively work against him to stop the quest (he’s not wrong about that last part, even if it was Saruman who wanted to call a halt).
Gandalf accuses Thorin of being proud, but is that pride? Once bitten, twice shy after all, can Gandalf honestly expect that Thorin is going to forget or lay aside all his misgivings (which are valid) just because he said so? Gandalf never tries very hard to convince Thorin that Elrond will be helpful, he just expects Thorin to take him at his word.
To me, this is part of a larger pattern in this film and in the book of other races and beings not taking the dwarves seriously. Everyone is patronizing toward them (except for Elrond, he’s pretty great, but again Thorin doesn’t know that). Gandalf gives orders and expects obedience (would he talk to Aragorn this way? Theoden? Even Bilbo?), Bard acts as if he knows more about the sacking of Erebor and Dale than Thorin does, (“Have you forgotten what is in that mountain?” Um, no, Bard, considering the fact that he lived through it.), Thranduil locks the dwarves up because they won’t give him gemstones that he’s demanding – not in exchange for “help” as he says, but to secure their release after they were arrested without cause. And then, in the end, Gandalf, Bard, and Thranduil, stand against Thorin, using a stolen relic of his people as a bargaining chip. A relic they had no right to, they threaten him with force and steal from him and all the whole we’re hit over the head with the idea that Thorin brought this on himself. Why? Because he’s a proud, stubborn dwarf. And we’re supposed to accept that explanation, having allegedly seen evidence of it here.
Yeah, this foreshadows the Arkenstone debacle. This foreshadows Men, and Elves, and Hobbits, and wizards not giving a fuck about the dwarves’ rights to their own property. It’s a pretty beautiful metaphor for the dwarves’ entire existence, they only exist because of the indulgence of Illuvatar and by the indulgence of Iluvatar’s children they are permitted to keep their kingdoms. It’s all well and good when they’re mining mithril for the Elves or trading with Men, but the second a dwarf does something they don’t like, or they encounter a problem that would put the lives of other races at risk, all of a sudden they’re greedy, they’re prideful, no one wants anything to do with them.
Just listen to Gandalf here. “I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.” That key was fashioned by dwarven hands to open a door carved by dwarven masons to enter a dwarven kingdom. That map was created by dwarves to enter that same kingdom. It was retained by a dwarven king to give to his son – yet once Gandalf has it, it’s suddenly his map. Thorin has no right to it except by Gandalf’s deigning to hand it over. Who’s proud, again?
Yeah, someone is very wrong in this scene. But it’s not Thorin.
And doesn’t this speak to exactly the problem of Gandalf’s actions here? He doesn’t help the Dwarves because of empathy, or pity, or even justice. None of that comes into it. He seeks Thorin out, gives him his father’s key and map when HE has decided the time is right – and why? Because he needs Smaug out of the way before the rising of the Dark Power. Because he cannot have Smaug allied with Sauron.
The Dwarves, and their entire quest for their homeland, are nothing but chess pieces for Gandalf. Is it any wonder that he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by their losses?
They moved slowly north. They would stay a few days at an isolated farm to help bring in the harvest, a week in a village to help with a construction job. They labored at digging ditches and weeding fields – anything so they could earn a little money or the day’s meals. They never stayed long anywhere – the places they risked entering were small and secluded and not what either of them wanted for life. And Boromir wouldn’t stay long anywhere that had his brother looking worriedly over his shoulder the way Faramir did when he thought his brother wasn’t looking.
There were many nights they slept rough on the roads. They set their bedrolls close, and Boromir held his brother protectively through the night. He slept little those night – someone should keep watch against brigands, and he wouldn’t have Faramir lose his sleep.
They spent almost a year wandering steadily north. Their clothes grew patched and threadbare from use and they replaced them with rough things that wouldn’t stand out to those they encountered on the road. They still had some symbols of their birth, but those were well hidden in their packs. They passed a small city on a lake, half doubting their eyes, and saw a mountain looming to the north. They made their way toward it – mountains familiar for both good and I’ll from Gondor.
As they neared it, they saw a road and people moving in and out of the mountain. Boromir grabbed a traveler near them and pointed. "What’s that all about?“
The man pulled roughly away. "Going into Erebor,” he answered, accent of the north heavy in his voice. "Greatest Dwarf city there ever was.“
“Dwarf city,” Faramir repeated dreamily when they were alone again. "That would be something to see.“
Boromir smiled and turned their course to lead them up the road into the mountain. He enjoyed his brother’s excitement, the increasing shiver of anticipation making his step more like a skip. They followed the road, standing aside to let horses and carts pass them, until finally they reached the entrance to the mountain.
"Stop!”
They stilled, a Dwarf guard barring the way in front of them.
“What is your purpose here?”
Boromir paused, because ‘my brother wanted to see a Dwarf city’ didn’t seem like an answer that would be good enough. "Looking for work,“ he said finally.
The Dwarf snorted. "Give me that sword,” he barked, and Boromir reluctantly handed it over. "Where did you steal this?“
"It is mine!” Boromir protested.
“Come with me.”
They followed, Faramir staying close by Boromir’s side as they were led through winding passages deep into the mountain. Finally, the way opened up into a grand chamber. In the center was a throne on a dais, and on it sat a Dwarf of great majesty. His long beard was intricately braided, but his hair – more silver than black – was loose under a crown of two Ravens in flight.
“Caught these two entering the front gate with this,” the guard said, handing over the sword. Boromir couldn’t head what was said after, but the guard left and they were herded closer.
The king looked the sword over carefully, and Boromir thought he saw a hint of a smile on his lips. When he was finished, he laid the sword across his knees and addressed himself to the Men. "What is your name?“
"Boromir,” he answered. There was a pause as the Dwarf waited for an extension on the name, but Boromir locked his lips and set his jaw against it. He would not claim any names but that.
And yet he almost wanted to. He had never seen so clearly the difference between one who demanded respect and one who didn’t have to.
“And what is the Steward of Gondor doing here?” They gaped up at him. "This sword I made for Ecthelion when he was only a youth. If it is not with his get now, that is a theft indeed.“
"It is mine,” Boromir said again, fists balling at his side.
“So I repeat, why is the Steward of Gondor so far north?”
“Don’t blame Boromir! It was my fault!”
“Fari, no.”
The younger brother stepped forward. "I’m the one who is never good enough. Boromir is only taking care of me.“
"Tell me, child,” the Dwarf king said, voice warm, “how could you do nothing but ill?”
Faramir straightened slightly, and Boromir felt he might do anything for the man who did that for his brother. He stepped forward, settling a hand on Faramir’s shoulder. "We are the sons of Finduilas, late wife of Denethor of Gondor,“ he said, because his father could choke on his own bile, but Boromir would not deny his mother. "Denethor was….” How to say everything he meant without bringing dishonor to the home he had been raised in. "…no fit guardian for my brother, so we left that place.“
The king nodded, and Boromir thought he heard every word not spoken. "Dwalin,” he called, causing a grey haired warrior to step forward. "Find them a room.“ He passed Boromir’s sword to the other Dwarf, and nodded the Men away.
Thranduil looked at the supplies on the table in disgust. He was a business major. Why was a lab science a general education requirement? He had sat down next to his roommate, who was at least familiar, but he hated the idea of getting his hands dirty and said as much.
“At least it’s chemistry,” Arathorn said with a shrug.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Thranduil demanded caustically.
“If it was bio, we’d have to do dissections,” Arathorn pointed out and they both shuddered. "At least this way if we get bored we can blow something up.“
“What?” Thranduil asked, his voice rising.
“Chemicals,” Arathorn answered as though Thranduil were stupid. "Just mix things until kaboom.“
Thranduil’s head dropped into his hands. Not only was he in a class he already hated, but the likelihood of living through his first semester of college had just halved.
1. The types of magazines each species creates is different (and mostly fairly stereotypical). Dwarves are big on science and geology, jewelry and other crafting. Elves tend toward the new age-y. Hobbits are where you get all your farming and food related needs. Men are more travel guides and anthropology (national geographic) types. 2. Bilbo is a reporter for a farming magazine and is working on a piece comparing different fertilizers. In his research, he’s come across some alarming stories and anomalous information about a particular fertilizer. Since he knows little about chemistry, he has to go and find someone who can tell him what’s causing the problems. 3. This leads him to the Dwarves. They have the skills to break down and analyze the fertilizer, and Bilbo provides lab space for them. 4. It turns out that the fertilizer has dragon poo in it. This makes plants grow really fast, but also has all kinds of nasty side effects on the plants in question and also is bad for people to be around. (I mean, usually you think that it’s a bad idea to be around dragon poo because that probably means a dragon is nearby, but no. It’s really just no good for you.) 5. In the ensuing examination of the Smaug Company, they discover at least one dragon being held captive. They are also using scales and claw trimmings in their various products and the dragons are in poor shape. They free them and take them in, protecting them because Smaug’s treatment of them has left them very vulnerable. But they are still really good at starting forge fires and protecting valuables like gold and babies. 6. Bilbo wins an award for his article.
Nori like his comfort. When on the road, he spent as much time as possible sleeping and eating at inns. Much as it pained him, he didn’t steal in winter. He found himself a home for the season or headed south where it was warm. When at all possible, he was in Ered Luin with his brothers.
Dwalin did what he needed to. Sometimes this meant traveling into the heat of the desert to keep a caravan safe. Sometimes it meant being a point guard and plowing through feet of snow to enable his group to get to safety. He slept on the ground and ate what he could forage and every penny he didn’t have to spend got saved to give to Thorin and Dís.
The first time they had to do a patrol together in winter, Nori whined for hours. He was bundled in layers – one of Dori’s big sweaters under his coat, a pair of Ori’s fingerless mitts pulled over his gloves, distinctive hair hidden under a warm hat, a long scarf wrapped around his neck and face at least three times.
They didn’t pause often – it was too cold to stop moving – but they had to catch their breath midday. Nori saw how Dwalin was amused at his discomfort, so he thought to get back at him by making his complaining pointed.
“I’m horny, and with all these layers I can’t even kiss you,” he grumbled, knowing how much Dwalin loved kisses.
Dwalin just laughed, breath puffing out in white clouds from behind his own scarf. He stepped close, leaning down. "This is how we kiss in the cold,“ he said, rubbing his cold, red nose against Nori’s.
Starting down the trail again, Nori felt unaccountably warmer.
There's a Mirror on the Wall 