Disclaimer: Tolkien’s tale, Kortirion’s small embroidered motif.
Big as a ballroom… not that Frodo had ever seen a real ballroom, but tales of dancing princesses, gallants, tables groaning with cakes… Bilbo had fired his imagination to picture lofty palaces, so different from cosy hobbit-holes.
Now here he was, in Rivendell, footsore, wounded… in the vast Hall of an Elf-lord. Yet it wasn’t daunting… it was wondrous, full of warmth, light, songs… maybe later there’d be dancing.
He sighed contentedly. Gandalf had the Ring now… finally, to sit by the fire, let fellowship enclose him in a ball of goodwill… that’s all he wanted… then he’d go home.