There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud. Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. "You woke the dragon," he screamed as he kicked her. "You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon." Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was a dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found her, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid . . .
This dream clearly seems to herald the birth of Dany's dragons at the end of the novel. The ripping sound would be the tearing of her body in the stillbirth of her hideously malformed son and the great fire would be the pyre in which the three eggs would hatch.