I'm just gonna get the boring technical stuff over with right at the beginning.

Around the early 1800's, trouble was brewing in Europe. Big surprise. Not really. In a simple explanation, France and Britain were fighting again and were using their naval powers to create a trading blockade, and that also caused Britain to halt American ships from trading as well. America didn't like that very much.

So, after a few years of pent up anger, America decided to invade Canada as revenge against Britain for being such a bloody wanker and because they felt that Britain was supporting First Nation in her attempts to halt American expansion. That, and some Americans thought that an invasion would be welcomed by the Canadians, like back in 1775.

When the American bosses got to talking about where to invade, they found problems. The Atlantic colonies were left out simply because, well, Britain's navy was nothing to sneeze at. Lower Canada was also a no-no because of the stronghold of Québec.

That left Upper Canada, which they thought would be the least amount of trouble. Unfortunately for the Americans, fortunately for the Canadians, Ontario was more ready than they expected despite being young and less experienced than his brothers and sisters...and it was all because of the allies that had been made before.

First Nation sits in front of her longhouse, humming a tune as she weaves a new basket in her lap. The livelihood of her people sound around her like a choir, soothing her troubled thoughts. Every now and then, her dark eyes flicker upwards to outside her home. She knows that it won't be long now.

Sure enough, a call rings out from one of the men watching the border. She looks up, setting aside her work as she gets to her feet and takes a deep breath. She doesn't move from her spot, watching and waiting as she hears the oncoming footsteps of her men.

The warriors appear in her sight line, flanking both Britain and Ontario. Seeing them next to each other, she's struck by how much they look like brothers. They have the same eyebrows, the same eyes...although Ontario's hair is less unkempt.

"Greetings," she says as they come to a stop in front of her. She glances to her men. "Leave us. I will call if help is needed."

They bow their heads and leave the Englishmen with their leader. She rests a hand on her hip and eyes them, scrutinizing their moods and attempting to guess just why they're here. Of course, it doesn't take much. Britain stands as tall as he can, shoulders stiff and rigid, eyebrows and face creased with stress and anger. Ontario has the same sort of annoyance plastered across his face, although he looks more sheepish and less, well, mature than his older brother.

It's about America.

"I'm sure you've heard about America," Britain starts.

She hides a smirk. I knew it.

"Yes, he's giving you trouble again, Arthur?" she inquires.

"Much, yes. I want to discuss the chance of—"

"Not here," she utters, raising her hand and silencing him. "Please, inside will be a lot more private."

She turns to the door to her home and opens it, gesturing for the men to follow. Britain hurries forwards and holds the door open for her, still not smiling. She nods at him in thanks before entering, disappearing into the home. Ontario sighs and shuffles closer, almost feeling his brother's eyes fall on him.

"Must we ask her for help?" he almost whines. "She's so...meh..."

"She's a strong woman, Oliver. It'd do you some good to remember that," Britain says, the sternness in his voice only because of the stress of America's imminent invasion. "Without her people, Canada is doomed. Do you want that?"

Ontario shakes his head. "Not at all. I'd rather be Canadian than some Yank."

"Jolly good then, now go in and try to look pleasant."

Ontario mutters something under his breath and walks inside, closely followed by Britain. The door shuts and they glance around the tidy home, then at First Nation. She waits near the far wall, seated on a mat with her hands folded in her lap. Ontario notices Métis seated nearby on a bed, also watching the two Europeans closely.

Britian shows no sign of discomfort, whilst Ontario has to muster every bone in his body to keep a straight face. The two men walk to First Nation, who wordlessly offers them the seats in front of her. They sit down, Ontario shifting around trying to get comfortable. Britain sighs heavily and waits for him to finally stop.

"Must Adalene be in here?" the younger colony mutters to his brother.

"We are the guests. Be polite," Britain returns in the same quiet tone. He straightens up and looks to the Aboriginal leader. "As I was saying outside, I want to discuss the chance of getting your support in this fight."

First Nation frowns a little, but it's more sad than angry. "How bad is it out there?"

"So far, we've had a few skirmishes...nothing involving Canada too much. There were a few problems in Chesapeake."

Ontario raises his hand a tiny bit. Britain glances his way, then at First Nation. She nods and gestures to the younger province.

"The administrator over at my place has been preparing for an attack over the last five years," he says. "All we need is to know that you're on board with helping us."

First Nation doesn't respond right away, shutting her eyes as she takes a deep breath. Her long black hair waves as if pushed by a gentle breeze. Métis glances at Ontario sparingly, wondering whether he's just being cocky again or if he really has been preparing.

"I am aware of what you've been doing," she says, noting his relief when she believes him. "Many of my people are ready to support you. I also know of Major-General Sir Isaac Brock," she adds, her words slow and calculated.

Neither Brit moves to talk, not wanting to assume anything or act too fast. First Nation opens her eyes, pursing her lips for a brief moment as she runs her fingertips along her knuckles.

"The Shawnee chief, Tecumseh, will help you," she says. "He's a great man and a great warrior. I will send him word of the alliance. Have your officers speak with him as well, just to be sure that our people are seeing eye to eye."

"You'll ally with us?!" Ontario exclaims, overjoyed at the idea. Britain cuffs him over the head, making him shut up rather quickly.

First Nation only smiles. "Yes, I will. I will be sure to meet with Canada and the others soon as well so that we may talk more about the alliances."

"Thank you, First. We appreciate it deeply," Britain says, getting to his feet and bowing his head towards her. Ontario scrambles up after him, imitating the bow.

First Nation rises gracefully as her lips turn up a little at the sides. "You're welcome. Again, find the Shawnee if you wish to speak with Tecumseh."

"We will. Thank you," Britain says. "Come along, Ontario. We have a war to prepare for."

They take their leave of the house, Ontario casting a backwards glance at Adalene before he disappears out the door. The Métis girl sighs and looks to her mother, a frown settling on her face.

"So now you're going to fight, but I still can't?" she asks.

"Adalene, you're still too young," First Nation says, her tone smooth and gentle.

"I've been on this planet for over two hundred years," she retorts. "I'm not a child. I want to help you. I want to help Matthew."

First Nation walks to her daughter's side and rests a hand on her shoulder. A tiny laugh shakes her slender frame as she brushes a loose hair from Adalene's face. The girl refuses to smile.

"I have been here for as long as I can remember, all the way back when Nanaboozhoo survived the flood and created Turtle Island," she says, still running soothing motions along her daughter's hair. "I have seen my people grow, die, love...and you have but touched the surface of what that is."

"Mother..." Métis whines, becoming more and more fed up with the well-meaning stories and such that her mom always seems to do.

"I said no, Adalene. You will have your own battles to fight one day. I want to spare you from war while I can," First Nation says. "I must prepare. I will see you soon."

The woman turns and walks from the house, letting the door swing shut behind her. Métis slumps back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling for a long while. She can't help but feel that her mother is hiding something from her, but what that would be...she isn't sure of that either.