Hey Guys, so I'm really glad that you like the story, I'm enjoying writing it a lot. I'll try to keep posting chapters on a regular schedule, although I'm going on a 4 day backpacking trip tomorrow, so there'll be a short break. It will give me some time to write, though, so next time I post, I'll probably have several chapters finished. For future reference, any requests and/or questions will be responded to here, before the chapter begins. I've already got a couple, so I'll answer them now.

Q: :Is the king Aerys the so called mad king in this story if so can you put Rhaegar in Maybe hope update very soon

A: Sorry, no, neither Aerys nor Rhaegar is going to appear in this story. "The Hero of Old" begins during Joffrey's rule, just after Eddard Stark's Execution.

Q: Seems legit. I would recommend your dragonborn race to be a nord cuz I feel that they would be more useful when it comes to frost resistance like in the north. And because the nord would seem to fit in more.

A: I agree, being Nordic would be useful, but I decided to make Duraorn a different race. I created the name especially for him, because it fits the race he is.

Q: interesting start though i am wondering what race your dragonborn is.

A: Thanks for the compliment! I purposefully kept Duraorn's race a mystery, because I felt like I could better use the reveal somewhere later in the story. I decided to reveal Duraorn's race this chapter, although I made some tweaks to the race that I felt could make the story a bit more interesting.

Chapter 2

It took several days to reach Westeros on dragonback. On the fifth day, when the sun has just begun its descent, they saw land on the horizon. Later that day, they made landfall on an island not far from the mainland. There they rested for 3 days, and then once again they flew, making sure to stay high enough that no one would see them.

Odahviing flew Northeast across Westeros, and within a day, they saw King's Landing.

They landed in a large forest near the city, and Duraorn used a spell to conjure his horse from the realms of oblivion.

It was an incredibly large horse, to compensate for Duraorn's orcish size. It wore Daedric battle armor, as did he, and was completely black, with red eyes that glowed like coals and would frighten the bravest of men. This was no ordinary horse. This was a Night Mare.

As Duraorn rode through the gates, a hush fell over the city. He could hear whispers coming from the crowds that collected around him.

"Who is that?"

"He's even bigger than the mountain!"

Look at his horse! It's massive! And did you see its eyes?"

"Look at HIM! What kind of armor is that?"

Such things were to be expected, of course. There was only one race in Westeros - humans. And no human grew to his size, nor did their horses grow to the size of the Night Mare. The whispering about his armor were unsurprising as well. It was Daedric armor, and strange would be a massive understatement. His weapons were Daedric as well, and he had no shortage of those. He had 2 short swords, one strapped to each of his sides, as well as a greatsword on his back, with his bow and quiver strapped to his horse.

He rode ever closer to the Red Keep, being sure to keep his horse at no more than walking speed.

As the Orc rode up to the gates of the keep, the soldiers on guard told him to state his business. He simply looked at the one next to the lever to open the gate, and the soldier became terrified. Who could blame him? The Daedric helm's dark visor hid his eyes completely, leaving nothing to see but a dark void.

The soldier scrambled to open the gate, and Duraorn passed through.

As he approached the red keep, he dismounted his horse. Not wanting to scare the citizens much more than he already had, he simply said, "If you touch him, he will kill you", instead of sending him back to oblivion. The men standing closest to them went wide-eyed and stepped back at the sound of his rough, inhuman voice.

He approached the keep on foot, the soldiers staying well out of his way. Normally, they would attempt to stop anyone, no matter who they were, but Duraorn was unlike anything they had ever seen. Needless to say, he had no trouble getting into the keep. Once he was inside, he walked up to one of the guards in the hall, towering above the poor man, who looked as though he was about to soil himself, if he had not already. Duraorn simply said, "Throne room", not bothering to add an inflection. The guard nodded hastily, and pointed towards the east end of the hall.

"G-g-g-go down there a-and take a right. Big doors on y-your left", the man said meekly.

Duraorn nodded, and walked where the man had told him. As he neared the throne room, he heard people talking. One voice, in particular, sounded snobbish and arrogant compared to the others he heard. Knowing how Kings often were, that was probably who it was.

As he neared the door, the voices fell silent. No doubt they had heard his footsteps, stomping towards the door. When he opened it, he hear several people give out loud gasps. One girl, a red-head standing near the throne, looked like she was going to faint. Duraorn had that effect on some people, especially in his Daedric set. He looked to the end of the room, and on a raised platform sat a large throne, which looked to be made of many swords forged together. On the throne sat a boy. Presumably the king. Though he did not look to be kingly material. He looked arrogant, and carried himself in a way as though he was better than others. He also saw cowardice. The boy shrunk into the throne when he saw Duraorn, and he went a little bit pale. A king should not act this way.

Duraorn strode right up to the bottom of the steps that led to the throne, and stopped.

The boy had worked up some courage in the time it took the Orc to walk to the throne.

Who are you, to barge into my throne room unannounced?"

Duraorn remained silent.

The boy spoke again, with more conviction this time.

"I said, WHO ARE YOU?"

The boy was beginning to grow angry at Duraorn's silence. His face was starting to turn red. This boy obviously has a short temper. Duraorn had hoped that was not the case.

At last, the Orc spoke.

"I am Duraorn Agrolg. To whom do I speak?"

The boy stepped back a bit. He was clearly surprised by Duraorn's voice.

"You are speaking to your KING!"

Duraorn chuckled.

"What? Is something funny?"

"You are not my king." Was Duraorn's reply.

The boy looked taken aback. His shock turned to rage as he shouted "I am the Lord of the seven Kingdoms! King of the Andals and the first men and the one true heir to the iron throne of Westeros!" The boy-king was had practically turned into an apple by the end of his speech, his face was a bright red.

"You misunderstand. I am not of Westeros."

The boy-king looked slightly calmer, now that he knew one of his subjects was not saying he should not be king.

"You are from Essos, then?"

"No."

The boy-king's face was suddenly flooded with confusion. If this giant of a man was not from Westeros or Essos, then where could he possibly be from?

"Well, then. Where are you from? Beyond the wall, perhaps? Are you a wildling?"

"I know of no wall or wildlings. I am not from this continent. I am from a distant land, across the sea. I hail from the great province of Orsinium, in Tamriel."

"Tamriel? I have not heard of it." The boy-king said as he put down his wine. "By the way, take of your helmet. It is rude to wear it in the presence of a king."

Duraorn was silent.

"Did you hear me", the boy king spat, obviously angry that his command had not been obeyed, "I said, remove your helm!"

"You will not like what you see," Duraorn said grimly. He knew how humans in Nirn reacted when they saw an Orc for the first time, but these humans had most likely never even heard of Orcs.

"I don't care", the boy-king said. "Take. It. Off."

"Very well."

As the Orc removed his helm, several of the people in the room gasped, it was like when he first walked in. The king especially looked terrified, and the red-head actually did faint this time.

After the king got over the initial shock, he spoke again.

"W-what ARE you?"

"I am an Orsimer, an Orc."

Duraorn was an impressive specimen even for an Orc. He had tough green skin, large tusks at the corners of his mouths, and his face was decorated with red war paint. His hair was white as snow. One of his eyes was blood red, with a pitch-black pupil, and the other was as white as his hair, with a large scar running down from above his eyebrow to his cheek, going right through his eye. On top of all of that, he was absolutely massive. Standing at 8'9", he towered over all men, and was noticeably taller than most orcs.

"Y-you're a monster! MONSTER! Guards, kill it! KILL IT NOW!"

The kingsguard ran at the massive Orc, who simply picked one up and used him to render the others unconscious, before throwing him at a wall and knocking him out, too. He then turned back to face the king.

"You listen here boy", he spat. "You do not matter to me at all. I have killed kings before, and I won't hesitate to do now, especially a king like you. So you will tell me what I want to know, and then I will leave, peacefully. Or, you may try to stop me, in which case I will kill every man who tries to get in my way. That includes you, boy. Am I clear?"

The boy-king looked furious and terrified at the same time. His pride would not let him back down though, and he said,

"How DARE you speak to me in such a manner?! I'll have your head for this!"

Duraorn had run out of patience. He grabbed the boy-king by the neck, and lifted him off his throne as if he were a feather.

"You are testing me boy, and I do not think you will like what you find if you continue to do so." The boy-king suddenly went white as he realized what could happen. "Now, are you or are you not going to tell me what I want to know?" The boy-king began nodding furiously.

"Good. I am going to drop you, and if you try to run away, you will die."

The Orc let go of the boy-king, who scrambled back towards his throne while gasping for breath.

"Who else has a claim on this throne", Duraorn asked.

The boy-king looked up at him, obviously scrambling to gather answers in his mind.

"There are 3 others who have claims on the throne, though I am the only true king of Westeros!"

Duraorn shot the boy-king a dirty look, and the young man went back to telling him about the others with a claim on the throne. "There are my uncles, Stannis and Renly Baratheon, each of whom have independent claims on the throne, then there is Daenerys Targaryen, with her damned dragons, across the narrow sea,"

"Dragons? Did you say Dragons?"

"Yes, that Targaryen filth has 3 of them", he spat. There was hate in his voice. "Why? What do you care?"

"How does she control them?" Duraorn asked.

"The Targaryen's have always been able to control the dragons. It is 'in their blood' or so they say. There is also Robb Stark, the 'King in the North' as he is being called. He is not fighting for the throne, he is fighting to make the north its own nation, separate from the other 6 kingdoms."

"Very well. You have served you purpose"

The boy-Kong closed his eyes and held up his hands, expecting a blade, but no blade came. He sat on the floor of the throne room, his kingsguard around him, all out cold like the imbeciles that they were. He heard shouting outside. He ran to the window and saw the man - no, not a man, a monster - the monster who had interrogated him riding out of the city. Just then, his mother and uncle ran into the room, and his mother ran up to him.

"What happened? Are you okay? Oh, my poor baby..." She said as she embraced him.

"Get off me, mother." He spat. "I'm not a child."

"Yes, of course you're not. You're the one true king of Westeros."

"That I am, but I will appear weak if someone can simply stroll into my palace, dispatch my guards and interrogate me without hindrance!" The boy-king said. "We must hunt this intruder down, and kill him like the monster he is."

*The Kingswood*

Duraorn rode up to Odahviing, who asked "What did you learn, zeymah?"

"There are 3 others fighting for the throne, and a 4th fighting for the northern territory's independence. The boy-king who lives in the Red Keep is not fit to be king, so I can see why there are multiple rebel groups. One of them interested me especially, though. Her name is Daenerys Targaryen, and she has 3 dragons."

Odahviing snorted, his eyes widening. "She has three dovah?"

"Yes," Duraorn said, "I'm not sure whether they are allies, or if she controls them with magic."

"I have not heard the power of the thu'um in the air of this land," the dragon said, "They do not bend do its power. It is something else."

"Well, then," Duraorn said, "let's go find out what 'something else' is."

"Indeed, dovahkiin, let us fly to Essos."

Duraorn mounted the great red dragon and Odahviing drove his wings down, thrusting them upwards until try were well above the trees. Then they turned, and flew east once again, this time towards Essos, and the so-called "Dragon Queen".

Hey guys, so if you didn't notice, the thing I changed about orcs is that, in this story, they are larger than men. The reason Duraorn is so huge will be explained later, but for now, you'll just have to use your imagination.