A child of the Golden Wood, Erathuil whiled away many of his fledgling years embracing a lighthearted lifestyle; the ever-present lessons of his people's past punctuated by revelry in all it's forms. Those he grew alongside slowly became representative of all the world he knew. Youngling friends and companions, he felt happiness among them and discovered love in their company. He did not, however, as many of the others did, take to learning of the past and present with the reverence often granted it, instead choosing to understand Arda only as it existed within his forest sanctuary. Gradually, he became distant from the elves he knew so well in years past and found himself quite isolated in his own universe, though not unpleasantly so. His frivolity was tolerated, but Erathuil's connection to his people become more symbolic than concrete.

As years came and went, he began to notice and deeply feel a lack of the same. It ate at him, so much so that familiar places and faces, even memories, took on stunted and stark new meanings. Glades where he sang and danced were now melancholy. The taste of favorite wines soured. What was missing? The question drove him to consider, and eventually proceed with, a journey away from his home in search of a meaningful identity. And so he studied for a time with sentinels, learning the archer's art, and with lore-keepers, to better understand the land. On the day he left, a profound transformation had begun to take place, one that would continue to define him for long years ahead.

He traveled west, to the lands of Eriador, a place so unfamiliar and alluring at the same time. Countless days and nights would find the young elf alone by a stream, fishing for supper, or walking through new and wondrous forests, or staring wistfully skyward as the dusk turned to dawn. Many did he meet in these travels, though never so near as to see a town or city. Some proved good company, offering knowledge of the land in exchange for tales of Lothlorien, others tested his skill at arms, all of them teaching a thirsty mind what they might. 

When at last Erathuil had nearly forgotten the doubts that drove him from the woods of his first summers, a new question, a new purpose even, presented itself in the form of rumors and hearsay. There were those who held strongly to traditions he had come to admire: protecting one's home, furthering and disseminating understanding, and preserving the bonds of friendship that make the free peoples of Middle Earth mighty as they are. He would offer himself to such a cause, and found it in a group of elves who named themselves the Flower of the Havens, the Loth-i-Lonnath.