[b]Loura, Friend-Ally – A Serious D2 Short Story[/b] [spoiler]Trust: to rely on; faith placed in someone or something. -Unknown[/spoiler] Of all the things I thought would never happen—the Red War, communication with the Darkness, a Prophecy, an alliance with the Blackguards—a Hive Guardian was number negative ten on that list. And yet, here I stand, trying my hardest to not look like a dork in front of the latest of the Traveler’s gifted. “My name is Loura,” I greet him, extending a hand. He clasps his crusty hand in mine and nods. “A pleasure, Hunter.” Heath stands next to him, watching me closely. His eyes bore into my thoughts like they usually do. I hate it when he does that. It both annoys me and makes me wish I hadn’t fallen so hard for him. I notice these things too often. “He needs an outfit overhaul,” Heath tells me slowly. “I know you can give it to him.” “My superiors won’t like—” “Forget about them. Just do it.” His tone is forceful, almost desperate. I pause, and turn back to Faeradûn. “Could you give us a moment?” I don’t wait for his reply before I grab Heath's shoulder and shove him to the other side of the room. “I don’t see the problem,” Heath whispers. “Give him some new clothes, maybe a gun or two and boom. No one has to know.” “Except when Hána gets back she’ll DEFINITELY notice the fact that my stock went down a few items. She’s REAL particular. What in the Light are you thinking, Heath?” “I have a feeling about him.” I frown. “You said that about Variks, and look where he is now. Off somewhere, frolicking with an ex-Guardian!” “That’s not the point. Faeradûn has the key to beating Savathûn, bringing us one step closer to ending Darkness. Zavala won’t take my word for it.” I scoff. “And he shouldn’t.” “…so I have to bring Faeradûn in without him being shot a million times. He wouldn’t get within a mile of the City without getting a bullet. You know this.” “Yep. I’m still not giving him free clothes.” “Loura! Please!” My frown deepens, hard. But I can’t resist his gorgeous grey eyes or that amazing black hair. Ugh. Traveler did good with him. “Fine,” I seethe. “But you’ll owe me for this.” “Name your price.” I suddenly smirk, now pleased with the short transaction. “I don’t have one…yet. I’ll let you know.” “I don’t doubt it.” An hour later, Faeradûn pulled aside a curtain and showed off his new, simple brown robes, as well as a helmet to conceal his face. “Looks good,” I compliment. “The City wouldn’t dare shoot you down now.” “Agreed, small one,” the wizard replies, admiring his outfit. “Why don’t you come with us?” Heath suddenly asked, not even turning to me. My stomach flutters. “Is that your idea of a date?” “No. It would be good to have a full Fireteam, though.” My face burns. “Of course.” Faeradûn glances at me, his face unreadable beneath the mask. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to read it anyway. “In my culture, when someone helps any member of the Hive, they are given the title of friend-ally. Heath is the first Guardian to have this title. You shall be the second.” He bows gracefully. Of all the things I didn’t think would happen, this was number negative eleven. [i]-From the memories of a lonely Guardian[/i]