**Chapter 1: The Castaway Queen**

The stormy seas had ravaged the ship, tossing Iduna about like a rag doll. She had clung to the wooden planks, her fingers numb and aching, as the vessel splintered and sank beneath her. The cries of her crew and the shrieks of the wind still echoed in her mind as she washed up on the foreign shores. Dazed and disoriented, Iduna slowly sat up, assessing her surroundings. The wreckage of her ship littered the beach, and the skeletal remains of trees stretched towards the grey sky like bony fingers. Groggily, Iduna stumbled to her feet, her gaze scanning the desolate landscape. The air was crisp and clean, with a hint of salt and seaweed. She took a deep breath, feeling the sting of the ocean air in her lungs. As she looked down at her clothes, she realized they were torn and tattered, her royal finery ruined by the merciless sea. Iduna's thoughts turned to her husband, Agnar, and a pang of sorrow struck her heart. She had been traveling to Ahtohallan to find the truth about the ancient magic that flowed through the fjords, and Agnar had insisted on accompanying her. Now, she was alone, and he... He was gone. The weight of her grief threatened to overwhelm her, but Iduna steeled herself, focusing on survival. As she stumbled along the beach, Iduna spotted a group of islanders approaching her. They were dressed in simple, practical clothing, their faces weathered from the sea and sun. One of them, a stout man with a bushy beard, called out to her in a language she didn't understand. Iduna shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. The islanders exchanged concerned glances, and one of them, a young woman with a kind face, stepped forward. She spoke in broken, but understandable, Arendelle dialect, "Welcome, traveler. We mean you no harm. Come with us, and we'll tend to your wounds." Iduna hesitated, unsure of what to do, but her exhaustion and injuries won out. She nodded, and the islanders helped her to her feet, supporting her as they led her to their village. As they walked, Iduna caught glimpses of the island's rustic charm: thatched roofs, smoke drifting from chimneys, and the sound of laughter carrying on the breeze. The villagers ushered her into a cozy cottage, where a gentle-faced healer tended to her wounds. Iduna winced as the healer cleaned and dressed her injuries, but she was grateful for the care. Days passed, and Iduna slowly regained her strength. The islanders, it turned out, were subjects of King Westergaard, a just and fair ruler who took a keen interest in the mysterious castaway. When Iduna was well enough, the king himself visited her, his eyes narrowing as he studied her features. "Greetings, Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and respectful. "I am King Westergaard. I believe you may be... someone I have heard of." Iduna's heart skipped a beat as the king's words sparked a glimmer of recognition. "Who am I?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The king's expression softened. "You, ma'am, are Queen Iduna of Arendelle, if I'm not mistaken." Tears pricked at the corners of Iduna's eyes as she nodded, a sense of wonder and trepidation washing over her. She was alive, and she would find a way to reclaim her throne, to protect her daughters, Elsa and Anna... and to make a new life for herself, free from the shadows of her past. Little did she know, however, that her journey was only just beginning, and the fate of Arendelle hung precariously in the balance.