**Chapter 2: Shipwreck**

The storm's fury had been relentless, tossing Iduna's ship about like a toy. She remembered clinging to the rail, her knuckles white as the waves crashed against the hull. Her advisors were scattered about the deck, struggling to keep their footing as the vessel bucked and heaved. The sound of the wind and the waves was deafening, and Iduna's ears still rang from the cacophony. As she looked back, she saw a massive wave building on the horizon, its crest blown off in a frenzy of spray and foam. The advisors shouted warnings, but it was too late. The wave crashed over the bow, sweeping Iduna off her feet. She tumbled through the air, her world reduced to a chaotic blur of water and sound. When she finally surfaced, she was alone, clinging to a piece of wreckage as the ship went down behind her. She saw her advisors struggling in the water, their faces contorted in fear and panic. Iduna tried to call out to them, but her voice was lost in the storm. One by one, they slipped beneath the surface, until she was the only one left. As the storm raged on, Iduna's thoughts grew cloudy, her body battered and exhausted. She knew she couldn't hold on much longer. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of being pulled under, the water closing over her head like a shroud. When she came to, Iduna was lying on a sandy beach, her head pounding and her body aching all over. She slowly sat up, taking stock of her surroundings. She was on a small island, surrounded by rocky shores and crystal-clear water. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the scene. A group of fishermen were gathered nearby, their faces etched with concern as they gazed at her. Iduna's memories came flooding back, and she realized that she had washed up on the shores of the Southern Isles. She knew not where she was or what lay ahead, but she was determined to find out. As she struggled to her feet, the fishermen approached her, offering help and support. Iduna's eyes met theirs, and she saw kindness and curiosity there. She knew that she was in the hands of strangers, but for now, she was grateful for their aid. One of the fishermen, an older man with a bushy beard, took her hand and led her to a small village. Iduna stumbled along beside him, her legs weak and unsteady. The villagers gathered around her, speaking in a dialect she didn't understand. The bearded fisherman, whose name was Grimbold, took Iduna to the local lord, King Westergaard. Iduna was ushered into the king's presence, her head bowed in respect. King Westergaard was a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression. He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing as he took in her bedraggled appearance. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice firm but not unkind. Iduna hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something about King Westergaard's manner put her at ease, and she told him her story, leaving out her royal title and her mission to Ahtohallan. The king listened intently, his expression growing more and more thoughtful. As she finished, King Westergaard nodded and gestured to one of his guards. "Take her to the castle," he said. "She needs rest and care. We'll learn more about her later." Iduna was led to a comfortable room in the castle, where she collapsed onto a soft bed, exhausted. She knew that she had a long road to recovery ahead of her, but for now, she was grateful for the kindness of strangers. Little did she know, her journey was far from over, and the fate of Arendelle and the Southern Isles would soon become intertwined in ways she never could have imagined.