**The Fateful Voyage**

Queen Iduna stood at the prow of the ship, the wind whipping her brown hair into a frenzy as she gazed out at the horizon. Her coronet braid, a testament to her royal upbringing, was secured at the nape of her neck, but a few stray strands had escaped to dance in the sea breeze. The vast expanse of Ahtohallan stretched before her, its icy waters glistening in the pale sunlight. She had set sail from Arendelle with a singular purpose: to understand the source of Elsa's powers, to find a way to help her daughter control the gift that had become both a blessing and a curse. As she scanned the horizon, Iduna's thoughts turned to her daughters, Elsa and Anna. Elsa's powers had been growing stronger, and Iduna was determined to find a way to help her daughter master them. She had heard that Ahtohallan held the secrets of the ancient magic that flowed through Elsa's veins. The crew, seasoned sailors from Arendelle, scurried about the deck, their voices raised in a cacophony of shouts and warnings. Iduna's eyes narrowed as she spotted the storm brewing on the horizon, its dark clouds boiling up from the sea like a living thing. "Captain, alter course!" she cried, her voice carrying above the din of the wind. "We must avoid that storm!" But it was too late. The ship was already caught in the storm's deadly grasp, its timbers creaking and groaning as the waves crashed against the hull. Iduna stumbled, her feet slipping on the slick deck as the ship pitched and yawed. She clung to the rail, her knuckles white with fear, as the storm raged on. And then, in an instant, everything changed. The ship lurched violently, sending Iduna tumbling to the deck. She felt a searing pain in her head, and then...nothing. When Iduna came to, she was lying on a sandy beach, her head throbbing with a dull ache. She sat up, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar landscape. The southern isles, she realized, her mind foggy with the memories of the shipwreck. A group of locals, their faces bronzed by the sun, stood over her, speaking in hushed tones. One of them, a young woman with a kind face, knelt beside Iduna and offered her a cup of water. "Drink, Your Majesty," the woman said, her eyes filled with a deep respect. "You've been washed up on our shores, battered and bruised. Our king will want to see you." Iduna's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with questions. How did they know who she was? And what did they mean by "our king"? The woman helped Iduna to her feet, and together they walked towards a nearby village. Iduna's legs trembled beneath her, but she stood tall, her dignity intact despite her battered body. As they approached the village, Iduna caught sight of a towering figure, his face chiseled from granite. King Westergaard, the ruler of the southern isles, stood on the steps of his palace, his eyes fixed intently on Iduna. "Ah, Queen Iduna of Arendelle," he said, his voice dripping with courtesy. "I've heard a great deal about you. Welcome to our humble shores." Iduna's eyes locked onto the king's, a spark of curiosity igniting within her. What did he want from her? And what lay in store for her in this strange, new land?