One for the high airs of Manwë, one for Ulmo's deep waters, and one for the green earth, beloved of Aulë and Kementári, which nurtures us, Galadriel had said. Three rings, for three wielders, and the three elements they should command. Three, and no more. Earth, Air, and Water. He would have done as she wished, but for a faint memory which he still nurtures—the memory of fire.

Disjointed words, confused images—those are the recollections of his earliest days. But he remembers the orange heat of the forges, and his grandfather's strong arms holding him. He remembers a laugh like the ring of steel, and a red gem pressed into his small hand. Is it not beautiful, Tyelperinquar?

Two rings lie on the table—one of silver and diamond, the other of sapphire and gold. A third is unfinished, and on this ring he has laboured longest. Beside it rest two jewels: an emerald, and a ruby which shines as if with a living flame. He hesitates no longer, but takes the ruby and sets it into the ring. Fire, to kindle hearts and hopes.

"I name you Narya, and you shall be the greatest of the Three."