Chapter 30:

[Setting: The royal bedchamber in Dragonstone, where King Aegon VI and Queen Rhaella prepare for sleep. The room is dimly lit by flickering candles, casting shadows on the stone walls. A crib sits near the bed, holding newborn Princess Daenerys, while one of the five dragon eggs rests nearby, its surface shimmering faintly. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs can be heard through the shuttered windows.]

Aegon VI: (sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples) Half a year of war, and still no end in sight. Rhaegar refuses to yield, Robert refuses to listen, and the realm bleeds for their pride.

Rhaella: (brushing her silver-gold hair) And yet, here we sit, waiting—for Elia's child, for the eggs to hatch, for this madness to end.

Aegon VI: (glancing at the crib) At least Daenerys gives us hope. The first Targaryen born with living dragons in over a century.

Rhaella: (smiling faintly) A blessing amidst the chaos.

[Suddenly, a faint crack echoes through the room. Both turn sharply toward the egg beside the crib.]

Aegon VI: (standing abruptly) Did you hear that?

Rhaella: (eyes widening) The egg—

[Before they can move, the door bursts open. Prince Viserys, still in his nightclothes, barrels in, his own dragon egg cradled in his arms.]

Viserys: (breathless) Father! Mine's cracking too!

Aegon VI: (striding to him) Let me see.

[Viserys holds out the egg, its golden veins pulsing brighter than before. A tiny fissure runs along its surface. Aegon exhales sharply.]

Aegon VI: (whispering) Two eggs hatching at once…

Rhaella: (rising) The dragons return when Targaryens need them most.

Viserys: (bouncing) Does this mean I get to ride it tomorrow?

Aegon VI: (snorting) Not unless you want to be thrown into the sea.

Rhaella: (placing a hand on Viserys' shoulder) Patience, sweetling. A dragon bonds in its own time.

[Another crack—this time from Daenerys' egg. The fissure widens, revealing a glimpse of shimmering scales beneath.]

Aegon VI: (softly) Gods…

[The door creaks open again. A servant hovers nervously.]

Servant: (bowing) Your Grace, Princess Elia sends word—her labors have begun.

Rhaella: (exchanging a look with Aegon) Of course they have.

Aegon VI: (dryly) Because why should one miracle happen at a time?

Viserys: (grinning) This is the best night ever!

Rhaella: (shaking her head) Go back to your chambers, Viserys. And do not try to climb into the egg.

Viserys: (defensive) I wasn't going to—

Aegon VI: (raising a brow) Liar.

[Viserys scampers off, still clutching his egg. The servant withdraws, leaving Aegon and Rhaella alone again.]

Aegon VI: (staring at the cracking eggs) Two dragons… and possibly another Targaryen before dawn.

Rhaella: (leaning against him) The gods mock us. They give us dragons while our family tears itself apart.

Aegon VI: (wrapping an arm around her) Or perhaps they're reminding us why we must endure.

[Another crack splits the silence—this time from both eggs at once. The first dragon since Fenrir and Tiamat is about to be born. Fade to the sound of waves and the distant cries of a newborn—whether dragon or babe, the night does not say.]

[Setting: The sunlit common room of Dragonstone Palace, where the morning light streams through tall windows, casting warm patterns across the stone floor. King Aegon VI stands near the hearth, watching as Queen Rhaella cradles newborn Daenerys, her tiny fingers curling around her mother's thumb. Prince Viserys kneels on a plush carpet, stroking the golden-scaled Viserion, his newly hatched dragon coiled sleepily beside him. Across the room, Princess Elia Martell sits in a cushioned chair, her newborn son Prince Aegon VII swaddled in her arms, while young Princess Rhaenys peers curiously at the second newly hatched dragon—a silver-and-crimson creature nestled near Daenerys' crib.]

Viserys: (grinning as Viserion nips playfully at his fingers) He likes me! Really likes me!

Rhaella: (amused) Just don't let him too fond of your fingers, or you'll lose one.

Aegon VI: (smirking) A one-handed prince would certainly make court life more interesting.

Viserys: (gasping, pulling his hand back) Father!

Elia: (soft laugh) He's teasing you, sweetling.

Rhaenys: (pointing at the unnamed dragon) Why doesn't hers have a name yet?

Aegon VI: (gentle) Because names are important, little sun. Daenerys will choose when she's ready.

Rhaenys: (pouting) But I want to name it!

Elia: (smoothing her daughter's hair) You'll have your own dragon one day.

Rhaenys: (crossing arms) When?

Aegon VI: (exchanging a glance with Rhaella) When the dragons decide to stop being stingy with their eggs.

Viserys: (proudly) Viserion is the best anyway.

Rhaella: (raising a brow) Says the boy who screamed when his egg first moved.

Viserys: (flushing) It surprised me!

[The adults chuckle as Viserion chirps, stretching his wings before flopping back onto the carpet. The silver-and-crimson dragon near Daenerys shifts slightly, its tail curling protectively around the crib.]

Elia: (gazing down at her son) Aegon… a strong name.

Aegon VI: (softly) A name for a king.

Elia: (quiet) Let's hope he inherits more than just the name.

[A weighted pause. Rhaella meets Aegon's eyes—both knowing the unspoken tension. Rhaegar's obsession with prophecy, Elia's fragile health, the whispers that this child was a miracle against all odds.]

Rhaenys: (breaking the silence) Can I hold him?

Elia: (smiling) Gently.

[She carefully shifts the newborn into Rhaenys' small arms. The girl beams, rocking him slightly.]

Rhaenys: (whispering) He's so little.

Viserys: (scoffing) You were littler.

Rhaenys: (sticking out her tongue) Was not!

Aegon VI: (watching them fondly) And now you're both terrorizing the nursery.

Rhaella: (dryly) Like father, like children.

Elia: (suddenly thoughtful) Do you think… Rhaegar knows? About the dragons? About Aegon?

[The room stills. Even Viserion lifts his head, sensing the shift.]

Aegon VI: (measured) He will. When the time is right.

Elia: (bitter smile) Or when he finishes chasing his ghosts.

Rhaella: (reaching over, squeezing her hand) He'll come home.

Elia: (quiet) Will he?

[Before anyone can answer, the silver-and-crimson dragon suddenly stirs, lifting its head with a curious chirp. Daenerys, as if sensing its movement, lets out a tiny coo in her sleep. The dragon's eyes—deep violet, like the child's—seem to glow in the light.]

Viserys: (whispering) …She's dreaming about it.

Aegon VI: (watching, awed) Or it's dreaming of her.

[The moment hangs, fragile and bright, as outside the walls of Dragonstone, the tides turn—and somewhere, far away, war rages on. Fade to the sound of dragon wings rustling and the distant cry of gulls over the sea.]

[Setting: The cozy common room of Dragonstone Palace, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. King Aegon VI sits by the crackling hearth, watching as Queen Rhaella gently rocks newborn Daenerys in her arms. Prince Viserys kneels on the Myrish carpet, playing with his golden dragon Viserion, while Princess Elia Martell nurses baby Aegon VII nearby. Little Rhaenys giggles as she tries to coax Daenerys' unnamed silver-crimson dragon to chase a ribbon. The peaceful domestic scene is shattered when a frazzled servant bursts in, panting.]

Servant: (bowing deeply) Your Grace! Urgent news from King's Landing!

Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) Did Prince Daeron finally lose an argument with Tywin?

Servant: (still catching breath) No, Your Grace! The eggs—the last three dragon eggs—they've hatched!

[Complete silence falls over the room. Even the baby dragons lift their heads curiously.]

Rhaella: (whispering) All three? In one night?

Elia: (clutching Aegon VII tighter) That's... not possible.

Viserys: (jumping up excitedly) I TOLD YOU! I told you they'd all hatch! Now we can have dragon races!

Aegon VI: (ignoring Viserys, pinching the bridge of his nose) Let me guess—Daeron's claiming this means the gods favor us?

Servant: (nervous) Actually, Your Grace... Prince Daeron said to tell you "the damn things woke him by setting his curtains on fire."

[Elia snorts into her baby's blanket, trying to hide her laughter.]

Rhaella: (deadpan) How very... dragon-like of them.

Aegon VI: (sighing) And the riders?

Servant: (counting on fingers) Prince Daeron's dragon is black with red markings—he's named it Drogo. Prince Daemon's is bronze—calls it Smaug. And Princess Alyssa's is... (hesitates) well, she says it's "speckled like a drunkard's nose" so she named it Meraxes.

Rhaenys: (giggling) Uncle Daemon's dragon sounds scary!

Viserys: (puffing out chest) Not as scary as Viserion will be!

Elia: (suddenly serious) And Rhaegar?

[An uncomfortable silence falls. The servant shifts nervously.]

Servant: (quietly) Prince Daeron said... the prince remains the only one without a dragon.

Aegon VI: (rubbing his temples) Seven hells. Just what we needed—to give my nephew another reason to be obsessed with prophecies.

Rhaella: (stroking Daenerys' hair) He'll see it as a sign.

Elia: (bitter laugh) Oh, he'll see it as more than that. "The dragon must have three heads," wasn't it?

Viserys: (confused) But we have FIVE dragons now! That's more than three heads!

Aegon VI: (dryly) Yes, but your brother Rhaegar has a particular talent for ignoring math when it contradicts his dreams.

[The silver-crimson dragon suddenly flaps its wings and lets out a tiny shriek, startling everyone.]

Rhaenys: (gasping) She agrees!

Aegon VI: (watching the dragon carefully) Or she's hungry. (Turning to the servant) Tell Prince Daeron we'll return to King's Landing within the week. And warn him to keep those dragons away from the tapestries—I'm not replacing another set.

[As the servant bows and exits, Viserion and the unnamed dragon begin playfully tussling, their tails knocking over a vase. Rhaella sighs as servants scramble to clean up.]

Elia: (murmuring to Aegon) This changes everything, doesn't it?

Aegon VI: (watching the dragons, his expression unreadable) Either it's the beginning of a new age... or the spark that burns down the realm. Again.

[Fade to the sound of dragon wings flapping and Viserys cheering as he "trains" his dragon to fetch... much to everyone's dismay.]

[Setting: The sun-drenched courtyard of the Red Keep, where Prince Daeron of Summerhall stands with his siblings Prince Daemon and Princess Alyssa, watching their newly-hatched dragons tumble across the flagstones. Drogo (black with crimson markings), Smaug (bronze), and Meraxes (speckled gold-and-green) snap playfully at each other's tails. The air smells of smoke and charred meat from their recent feeding.]

Daeron: (crossing arms) Well, this is going to make Small Council meetings interesting.

Alyssa: (grinning as Meraxes belches a tiny flame) You're just mad because Drogo already set your favorite doublet on fire.

Daemon: (patting Smaug's head) At least mine has taste. Only burned the boring tapestries.

[Before Daeron can retort, a harried servant rushes in, nearly tripping over Drogo's tail.]

Servant: (panting) My princes! My princess! Word from Dragonstone—Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys' eggs have hatched!

Alyssa: (blinking) All of them? In one night?

Daeron: (dryly) Of course. Because why should anything happen at a reasonable pace in this family?

Daemon: (grinning) So little Viserys is a dragonrider now? Bet he's insufferable already.

Servant: (nodding) And—forgive me, my prince—but this means Prince Rhaegar is now the only one of the king's children without a dragon.

[A heavy silence falls. Even the dragons pause their tussling, sensing the shift.]

Daeron: (grimacing) Oh, that's going to go over well.

Alyssa: (sighing) He'll take it as some kind of divine slight.

Daemon: (snorting) Or proof he needs to kidnap another Stark.

Daeron: (pinching the bridge of his nose) Don't even joke about that.

Servant: (hesitant) His Grace also sends word he'll return within the week.

Alyssa: (muttering) Just in time to explain to Rhaegar why the gods gave dragons to babies but not him.

Daeron: (watching Drogo gnaw on a charred bone) Maybe we can… lend him one? Temporarily?

Daemon: (deadpan) Yes, I'm sure Smaug will love being handed off like a borrowed horse.

Alyssa: (snickering) "Here, brother, have my fire-breathing lizard of doom. Try not to brood too hard on it."

Daeron: (exhaling) Fine. Then we hope Father's dragons mate soon.

Daemon: (raising a brow) You want to tell Fenrir and Tiamat to hurry up?

Alyssa: (grinning) I volunteer Daeron.

Daeron: (flatly) I'd rather face Robert's warhammer.

[The dragons, as if sensing their riders' moods, suddenly perk up. Drogo flaps his wings, sending a gust of ash into Daeron's face.]

Daeron: (sputtering) Seven hells—

Alyssa: (laughing) Look on the bright side. At least now when Rhaegar writes another melancholic letter about prophecies, we can burn it properly.

[Fade to the sound of dragon screeches and Daeron's long-suffering sigh as the courtyard descends into controlled chaos.]