Daeron Targaryen × Female Reader
(For the sake of the story let's pretend that angels are a thing in Westeros)
Summary: Daeron refuses to meet his potential betrothed in order to search for the woman of his dreams. What will happen when he discovers they are the same woman and that he is about to lose her to Aerion?
Contains: Some angst, drunk Daeron, Fluff, Daeron is completely in love with Y/n.
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Another day, another chance to make a fool of himself.
Daeron Targaryen lay in a puddle in the streets of King's Landing, a wineskin in his hand and his face smeared with mud. In his drunken state, he couldn't stand without losing his balance or utter two words without being overcome by the urge to vomit his stomach's contents. Still, it was better than reliving the horrible nightmares that haunted him every night.
He was doomed from birth. Daeron always knew his life was destined for suffering. All because of his curse.
There was a time, however, when, like an innocent fool, he believed the gods had taken pity on him and sent him a blessing that would break his cruel fate.
His angel, so beautiful and kind. On the few nights she appeared in his dreams, Daeron was able to sleep with a smile on his face. He eagerly awaited the nights to see her once more when he closed his eyes, to be enveloped in her arms as she whispered her love for him.
For the first time in his life, he wished his dreams would come true, but fate was so cruel to Daeron that he never found her, and little by little, the dreams of his angel faded away.
A melodious voice caught Daeron's attention. He struggled to lift his face from the ground and focus his gaze on the crouching figure before him.
Everything was blurry, and his surroundings spun, yet he recognized her: his angel, as perfect as the first time he dreamed of her.
"I..." Daeron couldn't form words; his tongue was numb from the alcohol.
"Oh, you poor soul." Even when he was covered in mud and his own vomit, she treated him with compassion. "Let me help you. Can you even breathe?"
Daeron fixed his blue eyes on her face, his mouth agape like a fool. He cursed the gods for sending her to him when he was at his lowest point; he wasn't even capable of appreciating the details of her beauty, much less asking her name.
"May I?" she asked, bringing a handkerchief to Daeron's face.
He didn't understand what she was asking, yet he nodded with what little strength he had left.
His angel gently wiped his face. He followed the movement of her hand, wanting to feel every part of her warm touch.
"Plea..." Daeron raised his hand. He didn't know what he was trying to tell her; he only knew that he needed her to stay by his side.
She looked at him with compassion.
"Can you stand, Sir?" his angel asked. "Will you tell me your name?"
Daeron tried. Never in his life had he tried so hard to achieve anything, and yet he failed miserably. All the wine he had drunk began to weigh heavily on his mind.
His vision faded. No matter how hard he fought to stay conscious, Daeron collapsed into his angel's arms.
Daeron woke up in an inn with a splitting headache, and his guardian angel was nowhere to be seen. The innkeepers told him the girl seemed to be in a hurry, so she made sure he was alright before paying for his stay and rushing out.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," the old woman said, mistaking him for a commoner. "The poor girl used all her money to help you. Judging by the clothes she was wearing, I can tell she needed those coins."
"Why did you accept the money, then?" Daeron was in a foul mood, and his hangover was killing him. "Did she tell you her name?"
"She left the coins on the table, and I didn't notice until she left," the woman defended herself. "Why would you want her name?"
So I can find her and spend the rest of my life by her side.
"How am I supposed to pay her back if I don't know who she is?" He grabbed the wall of the room to keep from falling. He shouldn't have drunk that much.
"She didn't tell me her name, but she left this handkerchief. It looks like it has an embroidered emblem. Maybe she works for a noble house."
Daeron looked at the handkerchief on the bedside table. It had a hummingbird atop a rose embroidered on it. He didn't know the emblem; perhaps it was a lesser house.
He picked up the handkerchief and carefully put it in his pocket. "Next time, ask for the fucking name."
Suddenly, Daeron Targaryen was a man on a mission: first, he had to get sober, and then he needed to find his angel.
He barely made it through the first few corridors of the Red Keep before being intercepted by his father.
"Where were you all night? You made me look like an idiot, again." Maekar grabbed his son's arm, forcing him to stop. "I asked you for one thing. You were supposed to stay sober for one night and put on your best smile in front of the L/N, and you didn't even come to dinner. Your engagement to Y/N is hanging by a thread."
"I don't give a damn about engagement." Daeron yanked his arm and broke free from his father's grip. "I'm not getting married."
He wasn't going to accept any woman other than his angel. She was the only one for him.
"Are you drunk again? We need the L/N's resources." Maekar lost his patience. "You'd better get yourself together and come to lunch, or Aerion will take your place."
Daeron chuckled. "You'd be doing me a favor."
Aerion could marry that Y/n girl. It wasn't that Daeron had anything against her—he didn't even know her—but he knew she would never be as beautiful and sweet as his angel.
"I'm doing you a favor by arranging a marriage for you with the best contender you'll ever have. Who would want to marry you?"
His angel. She would accept being his wife, even though she deserved someone much better.
Daeron didn't have time to lose; he had to find her before she left King's Landing.
A week passed, and Daeron lost hope. He spent every day searching for the emblem in the library and asking around the streets if anyone had seen his angel, but he found no answers.
He lived in his own world while rumors grew in the Red Keep that Lord L/N's daughter would soon seal her betrothal to Aerion.
"This is your last chance." Maekar intercepted Daeron in the gardens. "I can't keep making excuses for you."
"I didn't ask you to." Daeron clutched his angel's handkerchief in his hand. It was the only proof he had of her existence. "Why do you care that it's me? Aerion is a better option than a drunk."
"Aerion is impulsive, to say the least." Maekar sighed and glanced sideways at his son. "I haven't seen you drink in days. Maybe you're not the drunk you think you are after all."
His father was wrong. Deep down, he was a drunkard. Only the angel of his dreams could cure him, and if he didn't find her, he would once again wallow in the filthy streets, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
"Do you recognize this emblem?" Daeron showed the handkerchief to Maekar; his father was his last hope. If he didn't recognize it, no one would.
"No. Where did you get it?"
"It doesn't matter." Daeron choked back tears and put it back in his pocket. "You should go. I thought you had an engagement to arrange for Aerion."
Maekar walked away without another word, leaving Daeron to his suffering.
Why were the gods so cruel to him? Giving him a glimpse of his angel only to take her away was the worst thing they could have done. Perhaps they were laughing at Daeron, at how miserable and weak he was.
Then why did they send him such beautiful dreams if he couldn't have them?
"If she is my destiny, please help me find her," Daeron pleaded, gazing at the sky.
A beam of light blinded him before moving past him. Daeron followed it with his eyes, intrigued by the perfect timing.
It was then that he saw it: a servant carrying a laundry basket from which hung a sleeve bearing the same emblem as the handkerchief.
"Wait!" Daeron ran after the servant.
"My prince." The lady bowed. "How may I assist you?"
"This emblem, to which house does it belong?" Daeron held out the handkerchief with his trembling hand.
"A house? Oh, no. It's just something Lady L/N likes to embroider on her clothes."
His heart leaped; his angel, he had finally found her. Lady Y/n L/n, the girl he loved, the love of his life.
The lady who was about to get engaged to his brother.
Daeron didn't stop to consider how inappropriate his actions were. He rushed desperately to Lady L/n's chambers and opened the door without even knocking.
"My lady, I beg you, don't marry him." The little dignity he had left vanished as he threw himself to the floor and hugged Y/n's feet as if his life depended on it.
"Leave us alone," Y/n said calmly.
Daeron raised his head, the admiration and love he felt for his angel overcoming his embarrassment at being seen by the servants. After all, it wasn't as if witnessing the drunken prince making a fool of himself was anything new to them.
"You." Recognition flashed across Y/n's face. "You're the man I found in the street. What are you doing here? Get up; the cold floor can't be comfortable."
"My lady, I am so sorry you had to see me in such a deplorable state." Daeron stood up, his legs trembling uncontrollably. He felt like a filthy animal in the presence of a gracious goddess. "I am truly grateful for your kindness; no one has ever stopped to help me."
Standing tall, in the formal attire he had worn all week to impress his angel should they meet, Daeron looked like the prince he was.
"My prince, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you before." Y/n bowed her head, noticing the brooch bearing the Targaryen sigil.
"No. Not you, my angel." Daeron tentatively reached Y/n's chin and lifted her face. "I'm the one who should apologize for disrespecting you and your family. I know it doesn't erase my wrongdoing, but if it's any consolation, I was busy searching for you to return this."
He released Y/n, took the handkerchief from his pocket, and offered it to her.
"An unfortunate misunderstanding, I see." She smiled and took the handkerchief, her hand brushing against his more than necessary. "I thought you were just a drunken man."
"And I thought you were a servant of a noble house."
"I wanted to see King's Landing, but my father insisted it was too dangerous," Y/n explained. "I never meant to deceive you, my prince."
"I imagine it was never your intention to find Prince Daeron the Drunken, living up to his name." Daeron looked down at his hands, embarrassed. "A truly memorable first encounter with your potential betrothed."
"As memorable as a lady pretending to be a commoner after escaping the castle."
Daeron smiled for the first time in a long time. They had barely exchanged words, and she had already warmed his heart.
"I've made many mistakes. I'm used to spending all hours of the day drunk, and I'm ashamed to admit that I know every whorehouse in King's Landing. I'm a terrible candidate, I know, but I'm willing to do anything to make you accept me." Daeron knelt and took her hands. "Please, I beg you, give me one last chance. I can't bear the thought of you becoming my brother's wife. Be my betrothed, that's all I ask. If after a month you want to break off the engagement, I'll let you go."
"I'm not the only one you need to convince." Y/N squeezed his hands. "But you have my yes."
"Really? You mean it?" Daeron brought Y/N's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Even if I’m the most pathetic prince that ever lived?"
"I highly doubt that's you, my prince."
She smiled, and Daeron forgot how to breathe.
"I promise you won't regret it," Daeron swore.
He was willing to be a better man for her.
