It was still fresh.

Narmer had never been an angry man by nature. At birth, and even as he was growing up, his brother and family would attest to the younger boy's pleasant, eager to please manner. Rare as it was, he was one of the few second born son's who did not see the need to outdo his older brother or even try and vye for the position at the head of the Hei. Instead, Narmer had been quite content with his position as second born, eager even, to improve on his military skill so he could provide his brother with quality assistance when it came to a time necessary.

So how was it, that he had ended up with the Head position?

He was never meant to take it. He had spent his life happy to help Narutt, and even five years down the road, Narmer still found himself angry at the Gods, and Fate itself was taking Narutt away, and leaving the Hei in the hands of an inexperienced thirteen year old, his gentle wife, and three children. While he occasionally saw the fact that it was irresponsible, Narmer couldn't bring himself to return.

Upon the conclusion of Narutt's funeral, the younger Haikaddad had left after leaving a note to his sister in law to trust her stewards in what they did. He couldn't bear to remain in a residence where his father and brother's memory lingered, in a way that reminded him of what big shoes he'd have to fill, what a legacy he'd have to see to fruition. The stress ate at him, gnawed at his sanity, and leaving seemed to be the only way he could think of.

Five years later, he had yet to return.

Occasional visits had happened, but Narmer had never stayed for longer then a year, before the memory of leaders before him haunted his nightmares, and he would up and leave again. Something about travelling through Egypt, taking up training with various other Hei's and Harakat's distracted him enough so he could sleep at night, at least for a few hours. And at least, if he took up drinking as the sun dipped below, he would not have to worry about setting up a bad example for his younger nieces and nephews, the very ones he knew Narutt would trust to Narmer to raise with his wife.

He was terrified of failing his brother's trust.

He took a swig of thehenqet he had in hand, his fourth mug of Egyptian beer that was more common throughout the taverns around the ports, places that only sailors and merchant's frequented. It was rare to see a nobleman among these ranks, which was why Narmer did his best to blend in. Instead of the rich, gold woven cloth he grew up with, the young eighteen year old was dressed in simple simlah in common brown colors, a white shawl around his neck that would be used should the sandstorms kick up while he was out. The tavern simply grew noisier as the night drew on, and by the time the sun had disappeared, Narmer had ordered his fifth mug of henqet. He was fully aware that he had a heavy buzz in his head going on by now, but Narmer didn't really care. He needed sleep, something which eluded him as long as he was sitting still with no one to distract. And the ladies of the port did not interest him today.

So he either had to get drunk, or he had to get himself knocked out, in order to find that one place of zen other's got in the dead of the night.

Grabbing the mug as a server headed up, the buzz in his head made his world swirl, and before Narmer could control his own limbs, the dulled senses due to the excessive alcohol consumption made his grip slip, and the next thing he knew, the full mug of liquid flew in the air in the direction of the unassuming people he shared the tavern with.