**Chapter 2: Wreckage and Rescue**

The stormy night had passed, leaving behind a eerie calm. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon, casting a pale light over the rocky shores of the Southern Isles. The locals, rugged and weathered from years of living in the harsh coastal environment, emerged from their homes and began to survey the damage. The shipwreck lay scattered along the beach, a testament to the fury of the storm. Among the wreckage, a figure lay motionless on the sand. Iduna, the queen of Arendelle, was half-buried in the debris, her long brown braids tangled with seaweed and her clothes torn and battered. The locals, accustomed to the sea's fury, quickly gathered around her, concern etched on their faces. One of them, a grizzled old fisherman, knelt beside her, feeling for a pulse. Satisfied that she was alive, he nodded to the others, and they carefully lifted her onto a makeshift stretcher. As they carried her to their village, Iduna began to stir, her eyes fluttering open. She was taken to the castle of King Westergaard, a fortress built on a rocky outcropping overlooking the sea. The king, a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression, was informed of the stranger's arrival. "What's this?" he growled, his voice like thunder. "A woman, half-frozen and battered, washed up on our shores? What does she bring to our kingdom?" The castle's seneschal, a nervous-looking man, trembled slightly as he replied, "She appears to be of noble birth, Your Majesty. Perhaps a traveler from a neighboring kingdom?" King Westergaard's eyes narrowed. "See that she's taken care of. I want to speak with her as soon as she's able." Iduna was taken to a small, but clean and comfortable room, where a warm fire burned and a soft bed awaited. A servant, a kind-faced woman with a gentle smile, helped her out of her wet clothes and into a warm gown. As Iduna drifted off to sleep, she was vaguely aware of the woman's words, "Don't worry, Your Majesty. You'll be safe here. The king will see to it." The king, meanwhile, stood in the castle's great hall, his eyes fixed on a map of the surrounding kingdoms. He was a just ruler, but fair and firm. His people respected him, but also feared his wrath. His mind was preoccupied with the recent rumors of a possible threat to his kingdom's security. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the castle, when King Westergaard made his way to Iduna's room. He found her sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Your Majesty," Iduna said, her voice still hoarse from her ordeal. King Westergaard's expression softened, and he nodded. "Rise, Your Majesty. I am King Westergaard of the Southern Isles. And you, I believe, are Queen Iduna of Arendelle." Iduna's eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? She had not told anyone her identity. The king smiled, a small, enigmatic smile. "I have my ways. You are welcome here, Queen Iduna. You will stay in my castle until you are well enough to return home." As he turned to leave, Iduna called out, "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am in your debt." The king nodded, his expression stern once more. "You are not in debt, Queen Iduna. Yet." He left the room, leaving Iduna to wonder what the future held, and what King Westergaard's true intentions were. The warm glow of the fire, and the soft rustling of the servant's clothes, as she tended to Iduna, were a comforting presence in the cold and unfamiliar castle. Iduna closed her eyes, feeling a sense of relief wash over her, and let the gentle sounds lull her into a well-deserved rest.