**Chapter 2: Wreckage and Rescue**

The sound of waves gently lapping against the shore was a soothing melody that Iduna woke up to. She slowly opened her eyes, groggily taking in her surroundings. She was lying on a makeshift bed, crafted from rough-hewn wooden planks and soft furs, in a small, rustic cottage. The air was thick with the smell of salt, seaweed, and woodsmoke. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. As she tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through her head and neck, making her wince. She gingerly touched her forehead, and her fingers came away sticky with dried blood. Memories of the shipwreck began to flood back, and she recalled being swept overboard by a massive wave. Her mind racing, she wondered if she was the only survivor. The cottage door creaked open, and a weathered fisherman, with a bushy beard and a kind face, entered with a steaming bowl of liquid. "Ah, you're awake, Your Highness," he said, his voice gentle. "Welcome to our humble village. I'm Grimbold, and these are my friends, Einar and Ragnar." Iduna's eyes widened as she took in the concerned faces of the fishermen. "Where...where am I?" she asked, her voice hoarse from disuse. Grimbold set the bowl down beside her. "You're in our village, on the Southern Isles. We found you washed up on the shore, half-frozen and injured. We've been tending to your wounds." As Iduna looked around, she noticed the rustic furnishings of the cottage, the woven baskets, and the fishing nets hung from the rafters. The villagers' simple, yet warm, surroundings made her feel a pang of gratitude. Einar, a stout man with a bushy beard, spoke up, "We were out fishing when we saw you struggling in the waves. We pulled you to safety, and our healer, Sophia, has been nursing you back to health." Iduna's gaze fell upon a wooden cup on the nearby stool, adorned with intricate carvings of sea creatures. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the craftsmanship. Ragnar, a lanky man with a quick smile, handed her the cup. "Drink this, Your Highness. It's a special tea, made from the herbs of our island. It'll help with the pain and the shock." As Iduna sipped the tea, she felt a warmth spread through her body, and her senses began to clear. She took stock of her injuries: bruises, cuts, and a throbbing headache. But she was alive. The villagers exchanged worried glances, and Grimbold asked, "Do you remember your name, Your Highness?" Iduna nodded, her mind foggy but slowly clearing. "I...I'm Iduna. Queen Iduna of Arendelle." The fishermen exchanged surprised glances, and Einar exclaimed, "By the gods! We've heard stories of your kingdom, far to the north. We'll get you back on your feet, Your Highness. Sophia will help you recover, and we'll figure out what to do next." As they spoke, Iduna's thoughts turned to her family. Were they safe? Were they searching for her? The not knowing was a gnawing anxiety, but for now, she was grateful for the kindness of these strangers. Grimbold stood up, his joints creaking. "We'll let you rest, Your Highness. Sophia will check on you soon. In the meantime, we'll prepare a meal for you. You must be famished." As the villagers filed out, Iduna closed her eyes, feeling a sense of hope and trepidation. She had no idea what lay ahead, but for now, she was alive, and that was all that mattered. The sound of seagulls outside and the crackling fire lulled her into a fitful sleep, as she drifted between dreams of her family and the unknown dangers that lay ahead.