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It had started before the War, and came to be seen as a boon both during and after. With the number of Wardens destroyed, it comforted some that to know that a collection of Warden semen and eggs had been collected. To know that there would be almost-certain to be magical babies that would grow to be magical adults - hopefully Wardens. Babies that the White Council could easily track when they were needed, and ready.
Except two.
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Ivy is eight years old when she first starts menstruating. That's quite young, she knows, but not alarming. She looks after herself, eats well, exercises the right amount. Otherwise it's just biology. It's not alarming; she sends her PA Amber out for sanitary towels, adds them to the monthly shopping list and that is that. She goes back to writing up peace treaties in crayon.
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At age ten, Ivy is looking at her own fertilised eggs - that is to say, she is looking at the stomach of the woman carrying her two fertilised eggs. A boy and a girl (reading genetic code is as easy as computer code). She has an heir, kind of. She's not sure how to feel. It's rational to have a contingency plan (a part of her balks at this view of her daughter), and her very early ascent into Archive-hood concerns people, she knows. It is best that it not happen again. It is best that she have daughters as quickly as possible, and the technology exists now that she need not have to carry and birth them (a near impossible and very dangerous feat, at her current level of development).
When she meets Denise's gaze, the woman smiles at her, a little shakily. Denise has always wanted children, Ivy knows. Has 3 failed IVFs in her medical history, a caring and supportive partner, a three bedroomed house in the suburbs. Denise had cared for Ivy as a babe. She will be a good mother to them, Ivy knows. Better than she could be. The Archive knows motherhood inside and out - but Ivy is a child herself. A child who struggles with her own identity, own mental stability without the emotionless Archive as a crutch.
Research has demonstrated that children need to know that they are loved to develop well. Ivy is pretty sure she loves them, even though they are only developing genetic code yet. She is also pretty sure she doesn't know how to show it.
Ivy will be their mother in the most stripped back, unfeeling, biological sense of the word. The thought brings pain, but also relief. She's not ready to have dependents. She thinks of her own mother. She may never be ready.
"Take care of them." Ivy says to Denise.
"I will." Denise promises, hand rubbing her abdomen.
Ivy nods, as close to settled as she has been since this plan was put forward. She turns to leave, to go back to work and the life she knows.
"Archive- Ivy," she turns again to Denise. Denise, whose eyes contain a sudden intensity. "Ivy." She says again, relishing the name. "You will name them. I will raise them as my own, love them, prepare them for the future. But they are yours. You will name them."
Ivy inhales, thinks, nods. "Yes," she agrees.
When the twins are born, the boy and then the girl, Ivy is across the world working with the Jade court. In the sanctity of her appointed office, she smiles at the photos she has been sent. Smiles at her children.
"Welcome to the world," she murmurs, "George and Kimberley."