Chapter 270 - Drogo Weighs the Dragons

Qyburn walked into the Throne Room to find Drogo already seated on the Iron Throne.

His posture was more relaxed than usual. Right leg crossed over his left knee, one hand resting on the armrest, the other held palm-up, cradling the pale violet hatchling.

Ao Bing lay curled in his palm, body rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths. The tip of one wing twitched now and then, like a leg kicking in a dream.

Qyburn's eyes lingered on the dragon for a beat longer than necessary. Then he dropped his gaze and walked forward.

"You came," Drogo said.

Qyburn stopped a few paces from the throne.

"My king. What do you require of me?"

Drogo raised the hand holding the dragon. "Do you know how much Ao Bing weighs?"

Qyburn studied the curled hatchling. It hadn't woken yet. The line of its body traced a small arc against his palm.

"I don't."

"1.4 pounds," Drogo said. "Not as heavy as a hen."

Qyburn's gaze came back to Drogo's face. "What can I do for you?"

Drogo shifted in his seat.

"I want to weigh Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. Any ideas?"

He wanted to track the dragons' growth, to map the relationship between Ao Bing's Growth Bond and the weight gains of the other three.

Qyburn lowered his eyes and thought for a moment. "Give me a sturdy enough lever. That would do it."

"Like a balance scale. Dragon on one side, counterweights on the other. Once it levels out, you read the weight."

Drogo looked at him. "And how exactly do you plan to get the dragon onto your giant balance scale?"

Qyburn opened his mouth. Closed it again. Something in his expression sank, the look of a man who had been stumped but wasn't ready to admit he'd just proposed something unworkable.

Drogo waited. When it became clear no answer was coming, he spoke slowly.

"A ship. Find a large ship, have the dragon land on the deck, and mark the waterline on the hull."

"After the dragon flies off, you load stones or copper ingots until the ship sinks back to the same mark. Then you weigh what you loaded."

"That's the dragon's weight."

"If you already had a solution," Qyburn said, his voice carrying a thread of carefully contained bewilderment, "why ask me?"

"I was testing you," Drogo said. "I was also considering restoring your maester's chain. But judging by your performance..." He tilted his head. "Not especially useful."

Qyburn's jaw shifted.

"The fault is mine. The ship method is far cleverer than the lever."

"Then go do it. Find a large ship, locate a stretch of calm water in Blackwater Bay, and mark the waterlines clearly."

"Drogon first, then Rhaegal and Viserion. I've set the order. You just need to get the workers and the weights ready."

Qyburn bowed and left.

Blackwater Bay lay flat as glass.

An old cargo ship was towed into the shallows near shore. Hull emptied, deck bare.

Drogon circled twice before landing. The moment he touched down the ship lurched, and the waterline dropped hard.

Servants rowed a small boat alongside and painted a black mark on the hull.

Drogon stood on deck for a moment, then lifted off. The ship rose. Rhaegal came down next and they painted a green line. Rhaegal flew off, Viserion landed, and a gold line followed.

Three lines on the hull, one above the other.

The black line sat highest. The green and gold were close together, nearly touching.

Qyburn signaled to the workers on shore. The laborers, who had been waiting, started hauling stones up onto the deck.

The stones went in a pile at the center. The ship sank with each load.

The man watching the waterline kept his eyes fixed on the hull until it reached the black mark. "Stop."

The workers stopped. The ship floated steady at the black line.

Then Qyburn had them start unloading. After about half an hour the hull rose to the green line. He called a halt and had that batch of stones set aside on the bank.

They unloaded more. When the hull reached the gold line he called another stop, and the second batch was placed separately.

Three piles now on the shore: what remained on the ship, the first batch off, the second batch off.

Qyburn weighed the stones still on board and went to Drogo with his numbers.

"Viserion: 2,161 pounds."

He weighed the second batch removed and added them in.

"Rhaegal: 2,258 pounds."

Then all three batches together.

"Drogon: 2,809 pounds."

Drogo stood on the shore, looking up at the three dragons turning slow circles in the sky.

They were big now. Elephant-sized, by the look of them.

"A full-grown elephant runs about 5 tons," Drogo said. "Drogon's already that size, but he's only a quarter of the weight."

Qyburn watched him. When he spoke, there was something careful in his voice, like a man eager to speak but wary of the step.

"Your Grace. If you want to know how large they can grow, I may be able to use Balerion's skull — combined with Drogon's current weight — to estimate what he might weigh at full maturity."

Drogo looked at him with something close to surprise. "You can actually do that?"

"It would only be an estimate," Qyburn said. "Too many variables — food, climate, space, how far they range, the individual dragon's constitution. Any one of them could throw the result off. But if you only want a rough figure to work from, I can calculate it."

"Do it," Drogo said. "How long?"

"Before sunset."

That evening, Qyburn knocked at the door of Drogo's bedchamber.

Drogo was sitting by the window. Ao Bing lay across his knee, wings spread open, tail hanging past his kneecap and swaying faintly in the still air.

Qyburn carried several sheets of paper dense with figures. "I have the results."

"Give them to me."

Qyburn set the papers on the table. "Balerion. The Black Dread. The largest dragon on record. Skull length: 32 feet."

"Factoring in estimated age and bone density, I put his weight between 400 and 500 tons."

500 tons. Drogo turned the number over in his mind. What kind of wingspan would it take to get something that heavy off the ground?

He imagined it moving across the sky, the shadow of its wings sweeping over the land below, swallowing a whole city whole.

"Will all three of them grow that large?"

"The black one might," Qyburn said. "Everyone who has studied the matter says he is Balerion reborn."

Drogo leaned back and eased Ao Bing up onto his shoulder.

"You can go."

Qyburn said nothing. He turned and pulled the door shut behind him.

Drogo stayed where he was, one hand resting against the hatchling on his shoulder. Outside, the light was going. His outline blurred slowly as the room darkened around him.

400 tons. 500. To reach that, a dragon might need decades. A century. Maybe more.

He had no idea how much Ao Bing's Growth Bond could shave off that time.

➤ Next: The Lion's Choice