Disclaimer: I neither have nor claim any affiliation with the Jim Henson company or Lucas films. All characters are property to their creators, none of which are me.

Note for the reader: It's been a long while since I've written something like this. Please forgive me if it feels a bit blocky at times. This story was inspired by Heather Dale's song "Changeling Child". Please enjoy your read.

The Faerie Bond

Sarah's hands trembled as she lowered the letter they held to her lap. Her face was pale and tight, alerting the man who stood across from her to the letter's ill content. In two strides he was before her and he snatched up the letter. She did not even blink as he did or look up as his brown eyes scanned the content of the letter. With a growl of aggravation the letter was crumpled in his hands and hurled across the room as though it, a mere piece of paper, could do some significant damage to whatever it collided with and in that way alleviate the pain of the woman who sat on the couch, her face now buried in her hands, or him who now ran his fingers back through his hair.

"I'm sorry," the woman finally said as her hands lowered. There may have been more forthcoming but the man cut her off.

"God damn it, Sarah! Stop apologizing," he snapped at her. She pressed her lips together into a thin line. "It's not your fault. At least not this time."

Sarah stood from the couch, her brows slanting down sharply in anger, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man swept a hand sharply away from himself, a dismissive gesture, "Never mind! Just never mind!"

"No," Sarah retorted, her voice deep and thick with sarcasm. "Tell me what you mean? Are you referring to last year when we were turned down by the four adoption agencies? Or the year before that when the IVF didn't take? Or the three years before that when we couldn't get pregnant on our own? Is that what is my fault?"

"Jesus, you just can't let shit go can you, Sarah?" Her husband responded as he stormed away from her. She followed.

"I don't let shit go? I don't?" She demanded, gesturing emphatically toward herself despite the fact that he was turned away from her. "You're the one blaming me for our not being able to have a baby. The last time I checked it was our fault not my fault. What happened to being in this together? What happened to not giving up?"

He spun around, his hand on the doorknob of the front door, "I'm not giving up," he said, his voice calm and emotions collected. "I'm going to work." He slammed the door open, making Sarah flinch from the jarring contrast between his voice and his actions, and stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut again behind him.

As soon as she heard the car pull out of the driveway, Sarah broke down weeping. Crying was something she felt she could no longer do in front of her husband of nearly six years. It wasn't that the crying itself made him angry; it was that he was completely powerless to change the situation which made her cry. There had been a time when she would cry and he would put his arms around her and they would cry together and promise each other they would overcome the hard road to parenthood they faced. Now he just got angry, and his anger made her defensive and angry. Now they just yelled at each other or didn't talk at all.

Sarah moved back into the living room and picked up the crumpled paper to uncrumple and smooth it out. It was a letter of apology, hand written which, Sarah felt in her pained numbed mind, was at least thoughtful of the girl who had been Sarah's last chance at being a mother. The girl was in high school and had gotten pregnant. She'd privately sought out a couple to give her baby to and had found Sarah. Now the girl was having second thoughts, wanted to keep the baby for her own.

Sarah closed her eyes and let the letter fall from her hands. She left the living room, her feet taking her upstairs on autopilot as her mind raced through a myriad of emotions. She couldn't say in good conscious that she blamed the young woman. Sarah wanted a child so badly, how could she fault any woman who wanted to keep her own baby? She was carried into the bathroom by her feet, undressed by her hands which also very kindly turned on the shower for her. She stood beneath the falling water, her forehead pressed against the tiled wall. Her thoughts running again and again through everything she and her husband had tried in order to have a child: natural conception, artificial insemination, in vitro fertilization, adoption, private adoption. Nothing was working. Nothing panned out.

Sarah stepped out of the shower. Sometime in the midst of her thoughts she had actually managed to clean herself. She wrapped a towel around her body and wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror with one hand. She stared at her reflection but didn't really see herself. She touched the mirror's surface.

There was one thing that she hadn't tried.