I must admit I'm quite surprised that so few fanfics have been written for this amazing novel. So I'm going to write one. Hopefully a few more of you will be inspired to do so – every fanfic community has to start somewhere
Elantris stood tall and proud, it's shining buildings a beacon to everyone nearby. Not a speck of dirt could be seen on any of the beautiful, tiled streets, and there were no beggars or loiterers that seemed to be the curse of every other city. For Elantris was the city of the Gods, and no harm could befall any who lived there.
At least, that was what they all said.
Thoren was 3 when he first visited the city. His older sister had fallen and broken her arm badly, but his father said the Elantrians could heal her. He took the entire family into the city that Thoren had admired for so long. As Thoren had stumbled down the streets, his young brain had failed to fully comprehend the splendour of what he was seeing. But the memory had stuck in his mind – a city that seemed to glow with pure goodness and power.
At the age of 7, Thoren visited again, this time because his father was ill. This time he began to notice other things about the city – how there were no wells, how the lights seemed to hover above the ground, how everything was spotless but nothing was being cleaned. He took in the majestic form of the Elantrians and made up his mind – they were Gods, just of a different sort to the ruling Powers of the universe. He couldn't see how a race so amazing could be anything else.
But the Elantrians were not infallible. When Thoren had just turned 10, his father died. His sister, Phelia, and his mother Elöen just seemed to accept it – it had been coming for a long time, they said – but Thoren didn't really understand. This was the first time he had had to deal with death, and the concept was alien to him. Alone, he ventured into Elantris to try and seek the help of those who had helped before.
He stepped into the room e had stood in twice before and gazed upon the beautiful decorations. On the walls, pictures hung, depicting scenes of the great city. In one corner was a spiralling shelf containing books written in a foreign tongue – symbols he could not fully understand. The entire room was lit by a chandelier of light that seemed to follow you around, sensing where you needed it most. It was a beautiful room but the feel was alien – as if it didn't truly belonged. Thoren couldn't help but think it felt slightly less welcoming than it had last time.
When he told the Elantrian – he couldn't remember his name – what the problem was, the Godly figure sighed, and sat down next to him. He explained that his father had passed on into a different place, a different world that he could not be fetched back from. "I expect it's very nice over there." The Elantrian had said, "And someday, you'll go there to, and be reunited."
Thoren had sat and listened, but inside something had died. His father could not come back. The Godly Elantrians, who Thorne had hero-worshipped for so long, had failed. They could not bring back his father, the man he loved. They could not make his heart whole again. The Elantrians might be able to look all-powerful, but really, they were just like everyone else.
That was the reason why, when Elantris fell, Thoren had believed it was a curse. It had pretened to be powerful. Burt, just like everything else, its weaknesses doomed it to fall one day.