AN/ I'm aware my drabbles are a little longer than 100 words... I'm working on it! This entry fits well with my image of a young Prince Imrahil: a dashing thrill-seeker tired of the the confines of court life.
"We've spotted a Dol Amroth ship just past starboard, Captain!"
Imrahil jolted into readiness from his position on the upper deck, where he had been reviewing stocks with his Chief Officer, the fourth son of the Lord Alasgil of Anfalas. Both men exchanged wary, panic-stricken glances before hurrying to the starboard side of their unmarked clipper, The Lady Míriel. Just like the grizzled deckhand had said, a magnificent frigate sporting the blue and white of the Dol Amroth fleet was steadily sailing their way, and Imrahil needed only a second to scrutinize it in order to identify the vessel. It was his father's flagship, and it was approaching fast.
Without a second thought, Imrahil roared for a windward change of course, so that the wind would hit the sails directly and send The Lady Míriel flying up the coast, as agile as the Pelargir whore she was named after.
Though he feared the implications a late delivery would cost, Imrahil dreaded his father's rage even more. To Adrahil's knowledge, the only heir of Dol Amroth was going for a three-month sailing expedition North to the ports of Mithlond, with a few friends from court. With a shudder, Imrahil imagined his father learning of the smuggling business he'd picked up on the way. Already, he'd carried multiple barrels of opium between Gondor's chief ports, earning a fortune, and perhaps picking up a few bad habits, in the process.
Imrahil knew that he was on the brink of capture, and the cold dread that doused his limbs at the thought was enough to make him reconsider his line of work.
Well, almost enough. Nothing could beat the thrills of the Opium business. Besides, Imrahil had at least another decade before he could claim the title of Prince. Might as well live while one still can, right?