Work Text:
Agave’s biggest regret was always not serving. She’s Sown, damn it all; what else was she born for if not that? Logically, she knows how it’s done; you need an heir, to continue the family line, and a spare, in case it all goes sodding sideways. She knows it works better in theory than in practice, too; still, in her worst moments, she’s not sure it’s worth the sacrifice.
So when the Egyptians ask for Pentheus, there is some part of her—some traitorous, cowardly voice deep in the very catacombs of her soul—that wails you have buried three children. You have buried the other half of yourself. They have no right.
It’s not true; they have every right. Furthermore, she has a duty to give it. So, she considers it almost her penance. She never fulfilled her duty with her family on the line, and now she’ll never get one. Balance, in this as in all things.
So when the serving-boy runs to tell her that Pentheus is gone, she does not weep. She sets her shoulders and tells him to fetch Phaidros Heliades; and that tiny voice in the catacombs of her soul shatters on the anvil.