**Chapter 1: The Fateful Voyage**

The wind whipped through Iduna's brown hair, which was done up in a low braided bun, as she stood at the helm of the ship, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the waves as the vessel sailed towards Ahtohallan. Iduna, the queen of Arendelle, had been drawn to the mystical river by rumors of its healing properties. She hoped to find solace and guidance on her journey, especially with the recent passing of her husband, King Agnarr. As the queen, Iduna had always put the needs of her people first, but the loss of her beloved Agnarr had left her feeling lost and alone. Her daughters, Elsa and Anna, were still young and impressionable, and Iduna worried about their future without their father. Elsa, who was 16 years old, had been struggling to control her powers, and Anna, who was 14, was still coming to terms with the loss of her father. As the ship navigated through treacherous waters, Iduna's crew expertly guided it through the choppy seas. But despite their skill, the storm that brewed on the horizon seemed to grow in intensity by the minute. Dark clouds gathered, and the winds howled, threatening to capsize the vessel. "Captain, we need to alter our course!" one of the sailors shouted above the din of the storm. But it was too late. A massive wave crashed over the ship, sending Iduna tumbling overboard. She felt the icy waters envelop her, and her body was tossed about like a rag doll. She tried to swim, but the currents were too strong, and she was pulled under. When Iduna finally surfaced, she was exhausted and disoriented. She clung to a piece of debris, her body battered and bruised. As she looked around, she saw that she was alone, surrounded by an endless expanse of water. The storm raged on, but Iduna's thoughts were consumed by her family. She wondered if she would ever see Elsa and Anna again, or if she would be able to protect them from harm. As the sun began to set, Iduna's body began to succumb to the cold, and she lost consciousness. The next morning, a group of fishermen from the southern isles spotted a figure washing up on the shore. They rushed to her side, pulling her from the water's edge. Iduna lay there, her body cold and limp, her hair a tangled mess. The fishermen took Iduna to their king, Westergaard, who ruled over the southern isles with an iron fist. As they approached the castle, Iduna's eyes fluttered open, and she saw a group of stern-faced men and women gathered around her. She tried to speak, but her voice was barely a whisper. "Who are you?" King Westergaard asked, his voice firm but curious. Iduna's eyes locked onto the king's, and she tried to summon the strength to respond. But for now, she could only lie there, her body weak and her mind foggy. The king's expression softened slightly as he looked at Iduna, and he nodded to his guards. "Take care of her," he ordered. "I want to know who she is and where she comes from." As the guards moved to obey the king's orders, Iduna closed her eyes, her mind still reeling from the shipwreck. She had no idea that her journey was far from over, and that her fate was about to become intertwined with that of the southern isles.