Disclaimer:

I don't own the Teen Titans, though I sure wish I did. Or maybe just a pair of hot Tamaranian Princesses to give me a 'bath.' Yum-yum. Anyone who tries to sue me won't walk away with more than my entire life savings. Which, since I'm a poor college student and a freelance camera-man, isn't much. Five piestas at most.

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Summary:

A love that transcends time and space, linking two people, leads one to undertake a journey to find the other. Takes places after the events of 'Cyborg the Barbarian' and is something of my own personal response to the lack of Sarasim stories onthe website. Rated PG-13 just to be on the safe side, for some romance and violence.

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3000 B.C.

The Bronze Age, when mankind first began to fashion weapons of metals and make things both terrible and wondrous. A time when the first human villages began to sprout up throughout the landscape under the watchful eyes of their human builders.

One such city rested on the coastline of the great river, in the center of the known world (for it's inhabitants had never ventured more than a hundred miles in any direction from their home). It's name would one day be forgotten in the annuls of history, as would a great deal of it's people. They were just one of many villages, of many people who lived and died during this period of time. Noteworthy for their accomplishments as people, not as individuals. However, during this time, two had risen to fame. Such that their names could not be spoken aloud without everyone knowing instantly who they were.

The first was the Cyborg, who had fallen from the skies to save them from a great and terrible enemy. So mighty he was, the people of the village whispered, no sword could pierce his body, and he could call down the power of thunder to destroy any who threatened those he protected. Some said he'd had the strength of a dozen men, at least. Some said he had turned the course of a river with his bare hands. The veterans of the Great Battle spoke of such things to their children still.

The other was their leader, the wise leader, Sarasim. If Cyborg could destroy any foe with his strength, Sarasim could solve any problem with her wisdom. She too had fought in the Great Battle, many years ago. She was twice the warrior of any male in the village, and her wits were sharp as a daggers. Which was why she was their leader still.

But the children of the village heard a sadness when the two heroes were spoken of together, from any who fought in the Great Battle. They had been lovers, it was said, and when the Battle had ended, no sign of Cyborg could be found, as if he'd been swallowed back up by the earth itself. Some said he perished in the great battle, but no sign of his body had been found afterwards. His tomb lay empty, though the people had grieved for his loss.

Only Sarasim knew the truth of the matter.

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"Master Blacksmith."

"Come in," said the man, dark-skinned and bearded, taking a moment to wipe his forehead as he turned towards the doorway. "What can I do for… Lady Sarasim!"

She smiled, her beautiful face twisting into a faint grimace. "Please, I have never cared for that title. I am Sarasim only."

"As you wish," he replied, setting aside the tools of his trade. "What can I do for you?"

"You have already done much for this city, old friend," she said, addressing the older man affectionately, for she had known him for many, many years. "You and your son both have stood beside me and helped to build this city and protect it from outsiders. For that alone, I thank you."

He nodded his head at her words. "It is true, but I am glad to serve under such a skilled warrior as yourself."

"I fear that time is at an end," she stated quietly, drawing her cloak around her shoulders more tightly. Despite the heat of the warm summer night and the fire from the blacksmith's workshop, she felt a sudden chill. It went right down to the bone. "It is high time I stepped down… and allowed another to take my place as leader."

"Me?" he asked in astonishment.

"Is your son not already our newest champion? You have displayed your valor on more than one occasion, old friend, and your wisdom as well. You need not think yourself lacking. You and your family have been good to the village."

"Why?" he asked. "Why now?"

She hesitated a long moment before replying, as if wrestling with the answer herself. "I… I cannot go on," she stated simply. "There is a journey I must take… else I will never feel complete. Never whole," she said softly, her voice dropping down to a low whisper.

The blacksmith quirked an eyebrow at this. "You seek Cyborg…"

She nodded simply. "If he is dead, I must know, so I may properly mourn his loss… but if he lives…"

Her voice trailed off.

Nodding to himself, the blacksmith placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, that Sarasim was, despite all her wisdom and strength, a young woman. She'd been scarcely an adult when the Great Battle had come upon them. She'd borne the burden of leadership well. The burdens of the heart were not so easy.

"Go," he said simply. "You will be missed, Sarasim… and we will never forget you. Or our champion."

She nodded, brushing away the hot tears suddenly forming at her eyes. "Thank you, old friend… I… I intend to go tonight, in the darkness of the new moon… you will tell the others?"

He nodded, and she gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek as a sign of her gratitude before stealing away into the night, the hood of her cloak drawn up to conceal her features as she skirted away as silently as a shadow.

"Let you find what you're looking for, Sarasim," intoned the older man, watching her go.

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Sarasim crept over the high wall of her home, and immediately made her way in the darkness towards the river at the edge of her former home. The source of it's power and it's prosperity. She carried only two belongings with her. A short sword that rested at her hip, sharp and deadly (for whatever dangers lay out there for her). And around her neck lay a thin leather cord. At the end of which was secured a small rectangular rock of blue, silver, and white. A piece of Cyborg's armor Sarasim had found after the Great Battle.

As she walked, her mind drifted back into her memories, and she could see it all as clearly as if it happened the other day…

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… "I may have failed you as a hero," growled Krall, making his way towards her in huge, earth-shaking steps, his new sickly green body rippling with power as he drew closer to her. "But I shall triumph as your conqueror!"

Triumph was not yet yours, thought Sarasim, activating the hidden switch in her gauntlet to allow her wrist-blade to slip out and lock into place. Quickly, she lashed out with her arm, hoping to run Krall through, but with seemingly no effort at all the great giant grasped her hand in his own, stopping the attack.

Krall's own mighty fist reared back, then struck with the speed and force of a battering ram. Sarasim cried out as she seemed to fly backwards, slamming down hard against the ground. The blow had shook loose her bronze helmet, which clattered to the ground a dozen yards from her position, though she praised the Gods she had worn it. Without it, she was sure at the very least, her skull would have been fractured by the blow.

As it was, she found she couldn't move. She lay there, stunned, unable to fight back. Utterly helpless.

"NO!"

She heard the cry go out, recognized the voice. Cyborg. He was coming to save her.

"Get out of my WAY!"

The sounds of battle erupted more fiercely than ever somewhere to her left, and she could hear the greet sword Cyborg wielded as it clanged heavily against the armored hides of the beasts Krall had loose upon them all. He was tearing his way through a sea of them, or so it seemed, to save her.

Whether or not he would be in time was another question.

Krall reached down and grabbed the front of her chestplate, hauling her up into the air as if she weighed no more than a mere child. She reached out, grasping his wrist, but was unable to pry him off, and her legs remained weak from the first blow. She had no more strength left to fight him, and she watched in horror, bright blue eyes wide, as Krall drew back his fist once more...

A strange noise filled the air, carrying over the sounds of battle as clearly as if it's source stood right beside her. The strange whirr and click of Cyborg's armor. "Sarasim! Don't move!"

Time seemed to slow.

Her eyes widened in shock and she turned her head to see her knight in not-so-shining armor being carried away by a black wave of the creatures. No doubt they were intent to keep them separated instinctively (or perhaps by Krall's orders). Cyborg's right gauntlet had been torn clean off and his hand had... changed... into the strange object he used to call forth the thunder. She had seen him use it many times before, but he said it drained him. And with so little energy left in his body…

And then she knew.

He intended to sacrifice himself… to save her one last time. And there was nothing she could do.

The whirr of Cyborg's arm grew louder, and she could see it in his eyes too, he knew it was a desperate gamble at best, and it was the only way he could save her. She saw too, in his eyes… both of his eyes… the strange red one and his pale gray one… she could see he would not hesitate to do it either.

He loved her.

And she him.

Then something… unexpected happened. As the bright glow of blue lightning coalesced around Cyborg's arm, at the mouth of his device, there seemed an odd whirl in the air above his head. Only Sarasim saw it, not even Cyborg noticed the rift until a bird's claw of dark energy lashed out and grabbed a hold of Cyborg, yanking him suddenly up and out of the reach of Krall's beasts and towards the rift...

"Noooooooooooo…!"

Cyborg's final cry still echoed in her mind, on occasion, when she felt despair most keenly. But his efforts had not been in vain, she saw. Just as the rift drew closed, a bolt of blue shot forth from it, speeding towards her. She closed her eyes, having full faith in Cyborg and his magic. He had boasted to her once before that he never missed. She believed him.

Her faith was well rewarded. The blast missed her by scant inches, to be fair, but she emerged the blast without a scratch.

The same could not be said for Krall. The blast impacted fully against him, striking him in the chest with the full fury of the armored hero behind it, and sent him flying through the air, much as she had, moments earlier. He landed with a bone-crunching thud on the ground, so hard it seemed the village shook from the impact. She landed and immediately went into a roll, minimizing much of the impact. Her armor absorbed most of the damage, but she would be sore for a week, at least.

What happened next was a blur, but she dimly recalled lifting herself up and making her way to Krall, who was dead by the time he'd hit the ground. With their leader dead, the green beasts had fled, and Sarasim stood atop of the defeated conqueror's body and threw up her sword, as her people issued a victory chant.

They had few casualties, which was fortunate, mostly bruises and broken bones here and there. But of Cyborg, there was no sign. Only the strange piece of his armor, broken off during the battle, remained...

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… a sigh escaped her lips, and Sarasim took a moment to mourn Cyborg's loss. She had done so many times in the years since he had vanished. Not dead, no, she did not believe that. Her hand instinctively came to the talisman around her neck. The only piece of him left. No, he was not dead… she was sure of that. They were bound by forces stronger than magic or technology or circumstance.

They were bound at the soul, as if they were in fact a single one that had been split in half.

But now they were separated, and having met him, Sarasim would never be content here in her home. She would be left with a void in her, incomplete, unwhole. She needed to find him to fill that void. To be complete once more.

And thus, her journey had brought her here.

The people of her village knew of and feared this place, and perhaps rightly so. She had learned of it from an underling of Krall's who had the good mind to leave the village shortly after his destruction. It was a mountain range, black spires and forbidding chasms. The river had led her this way, though in the dark, her steps grew slower and more cautious, and her hand rests on the hilt of her sword as she made her way forward, aware of the dangers of these black rocks. Nor was the environment the only danger. Here, the shadows were alive and breathed, and seemed to watch her as she past. A chill ran down her spine, but she stubbornly ignored it.

Finally, she found the cave she'd been told of. It was not easy to mistake. An eldritch blue light lit up the walls, illuminating it dimly despite the thick, ever-present fog. It was also cold... far colder than it should have been. The chill of death lingered in the air.

Steeling herself, Sarasim called out bravely, "Witch. Show yourself."

A harsh intake of breath made the warrior maiden whirl around, hand on her sword hilt, legs spread in a defensive stance. However, when no sudden attack came, she allowed herself to relax a little.

The Witch stood before her.

Her age was impossible to determine, but ancient would not be an inaccurate term to describe the sickly woman who stood before Sarasim. She was bent and withered with age, shuffling forward towards her as if she required all of her will not to crumble to ash then and there. Her eyes were yellow and seemed sightless, but her gaze locked on Sarasim, telling her such was not the case.

"Greetings, Sarasim," she hissed out, her voice as raspy as sandpaper. It grated on Sarasim's nerves, but what truly chilled her was the fact that the creature knew her name, despite them only meeting for the first time. Could she read another's mind with her magic, she wondered idly? She was certainly powerful enough.

A bitter smile twisted the cracked lips of the crone. "You needn't fear me probing your thoughts, warrior," she said. "Krall spoke often of you... he coveted more than just glory and power, you know. Had my powers been up to the task, he would have asked me for you as well."

Sarasim felt another shudder ripple up her spine, but this was from disgust, not the cold. "Krall is dead now, witch. You have no one left to serve."

"Mmm," the Witch replied with a nod of her head. "Very true. But you seek me out, because of my power. You wish for something as well, don't you?"

"Information first," replied Sarasim darkly, taking a step back. "I've heard all about you and your bargains, Witch. The 'prices' for your power."

The old woman laughed at that, and her laugh was horrible to hear, like a raven choking. She spread wide her robed arms and smiled at Sarasim. "You may ask what questions you like, child… some carry no price… others… well… you shall see…"

Sarasim nodded, having expected as such. And she was no stranger to negotiating either. Ruling a people meant more than sword-rattling and head-bashing, after all.

"Do you know why I am here?" she started with.

"No," replied the witch, startling Sarasim. "But I can easily guess your reasons," she added, her malevolent gaze drifting down from the warrior-maiden's blue eyes to the talisman around her neck. Instinctively, her free hand clapped over it. "You seek your warrior... the one I brought here."

"At Krall's behest."

"Krall asked for the strength to defeat the monsters I unleashed upon your people," replied the witch. "It is not always I who decide the price of my magic," she added, seeing Sarasim's confused look. "Fate also determines the price."

"I wish to know where he is… how to reach him," Sarasim said after digesting that piece of information. Bargaining might be harder than she thought, if even the Witch couldn't deliver a set price.

"I have the means," the Witch replied enigmatically, drawing herself up to her full height and folding her arms. "Have you what is required?"

"I have little of value," replied Sarasim carefully, which was true enough. "That which I value… is what I seek… how can I pay you with what I wish to obtain?" she asked.

The Witch laughed again at this, throwing back her head and letting her cackles echo throughout the cave. "A wise answer," she replied, a smile gracing her lips once more. "To that, a simple price to pay… and I shall reunite you with your warrior."

"Name it."

"To grant you what your heart desires… I would have you fulfill -my- heart's desire," replied the Witch, with a wicked grin.

"… you… wish for… money? Power?" asked Sarasim, the last very nearly making her draw her sword from it's sheath. But the Witch shook her head, and her hand remained where it was.

"Look around you… what use have I for money? Power? I have more at my fingertips than I care for, and even my power has a price," she said bitterly.

"What do you want then?" spat Sarasim.

"… to rest," replied Witch, closing her eyes a moment and giving a weary sigh. "To sleep once more. Krall awoke me from my slumber, and only he could send me back… with him gone, I require another."

The two women locked eyes, yellow and blue orbs gazing at one another as they took each other's measure and found what the other needed, they possessed.

"Deal."

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The wind picked up suddenly, very nearly knocking Sarasim over as she drew up her cloak and used it to shield herself from the worst of it, grimly pressing on across the desolate wasteland.

"My power is not such that it will pluck you from time, as I did with the warrior," the Witch had said. "But I know of a place where time lies still, while the world around it passes it by. Go to this place, and drink this elixir I have prepared. Do so, and you shall sleep… and awaken in the time of your warrior. The rest is up to him."

So had been the Witch's instructions. And thus, with the ceremony completed, Sarasim had put her to rest. She would threaten no one else with her sorcery and her prices. She had obtained her own heart's desire, to sleep untroubled by the changing of the world.

Very soon Sarasim would too. But she did not intend to slumber forever. She wanted to awaken… when the time was right. She admitted to having only a vague understanding of the Witch's talk of time and space, and knew only to find her way to Cyborg's home, to Cyborg himself, she would need to put her trust in the Witch's magic.

So she traveled, day and night, to the place the Witch had spoken of. An unspoken price here as well, for it was a long and hard journey, many miles. Always with the rising sun at her right and the setting sun at her left, always in the same direction, across whatever terrain barred her way.

The elixir lay in a pouch at her side. Only a dozen or so drops in a small waterpouch. She was very careful not to let any harm come to it.

The terrain was not her only trouble for the long journey. It began to grow colder as well, the further she traveled. Not just with the ending of summer, but the climate as well. Soon she was trudging through snowy mountain peeks and icy plains in the self-made furs of a bear and some wolves. Still she trudged on.

Finally, she came to her destination. The Witch had described it perfectly for her. A crevice in the ice, split into three parts like a bolt of lightning. There could be no two others like it anywhere in the world.

And so she descended into the depths of the earth, and vanished from the eyes of the world, never to be seen again… for nearly five millennia.

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Author's Notes:

Happy New Years!