I don't own Lord of the Rings... Tolkien does... sadly.
It was irritating, looking down into a party, but being unable to join it. From her position on the hill, Ireth could just see the warm orange of party lights. With a sigh, she propped her head on the little fence and watched her feet dangle over the cliff. Far down below, little hobbits bustled in and out of colorful tents like ants on an anthill. Gandalf's fireworks were long over. From the party they must have been dazzling, but something about being forced to watch from a far off hill dimmed them.
Ireth imagined the music had started up again. Was hobbit party music like human music, all glorious war songs, or maybe elvish music, mournfully reserved? From afar, hobbits looked warm and lively, but Gandalf had never let Ireth talk to an actual hobbit. With a sigh, she ran a finger over a pointed ear. "Reasons for everything," she muttered.
Flopping backwards onto the grass, Ireth reached for a handful of twigs. Lazily, she picked one from her hand and held it against the stars. The spindly brown almost vanished into the deep indigo. "Naara," she whispered. The little twig lit fire, glowing against the inky night sky. Smoldering away slowly, warm ashes drifted across eleth's pale face, until there was nothing left. Ireth reached for the next twig. "Naara." Gandalf would scold her for it later. "Naara." He could probably feel it now, the little waves of magical disruption she was sending. "Naara." Ireth winced as tiny flames singed her fingers. But then, what did Gandalf expect her to do as she waited for him while he chuckled away at his hobbit party? Fingers throbbing, Ireth stared up at the stars, the stars that probably looked much brighter at the bottom of the hill.
Naara: burn