It started with a bump.
It was a bump that wasn't that large nor that small. It didn't bulge and it didn't fade away. It was simply there, its presence heeded but unwelcome. The king at the time was Henry the 7th, a kind and intelligent man who had returned stability to England. Like several monarchs before and after him, England and he were friends, and when England broke the news he was surprised when Henry reacted like a woman would to another woman's pregnancy, and congratulated him.
But when time passed and the bump grew, Henry seemed to realize what predicament they were both in. He finally got the courage to ask, "Who, exactly, has fathered this child?" to his country. "Was it Spain? Or..." The look in England's eyes was enough for him to realize. France. "France, France, England... what is the matter with you? Of all those you choose to -" Those green eyes, lush as a field but burning, finished the tale.
Rape was never a good way to bring a child into the world.
"Is this going to mean an uprising?" He asked one day. "Is this the declaration of a new country, from us?"
England looked at himself for a moment longer. "No. This is for the new world." Italians, under a contract from Spain, were preparing for a trip there soon, an exploration voyage... soon after, Arthur declared that he was going with them, whether he had to be a stowaway or an honored guest on their ships. Richard Empson was the man chosen for the job of escorting England there, and soon after, they left.
The months were counting down. When a small chain of islands was reached, Richard showing him around them, what beautiful land, what adoring sky... England looking unimpressed. And when the wind blew from the north, he looked at its source, and smiled.
North it was.
Richard, Arthur, and the few soldiers they had brought with them made the trip. "What beautiful land," England said bitterly as they rode through. "What adoring sky, ha."
He stopped by a grove of trees, dismounting his horse, walking to the edge. Richard watched curiously, his nation running thin fingers along the heavy bark, watching as if it would burst into something marvelously beautiful if he did. Nothing happened for several moments, but when England turned to them and said 'here', so plainly, it was evident that this was it. He walked inside without another word, Richard did not question him, and followed. His nation stopped when he was deep inside the forest, nestled in the heart of the trees, turned to him, and told him to leave.
"England," He said softly, "I am not allowed to leave you here. It is wild here, the natives are savages, the animals -"
"Will not hurt me."
"What could you possibly mean? Of course they would, if they got the chance."
"No. I am your country. You are a servant under me, and you will heed my orders and leave." Richard could not argue.
Henry received news of the birth months later. "Boys," Richard had told him happily. "Twin boys. America and Canada." They rejoiced, even as England had stayed behind, a small cabin built for him amongst the trees.
But the day he knew would come came too soon. He only had one crib, and while it could hold both of them, neither wanted in it, and would only sleep if curled up at his chest. Arthur re-read books or wrote letters during this time, the few small, peaceful hours during the sunset that were his... this day was different. It burned into him.
There was a knock at his door, and a pang of fear hit him like a stone. The soldiers bringing supplies did not knock, they called their names and business. He didn't take a moment to think about who it was. He knew.
After a moment the door opened, and France stepped in. "Bonjour," He greeted, and England held his boys closer. The eldest nation chuckled. "Angleterre, you wouldn't think I came to hurt you, would you? You wound me."
The second rape was less forceful than the first, the one that had created his beautiful boys. Perhaps it was this that made it all the more painful. France grabbed him and pulled him to the floor. On the bed, America screamed loudly, the much more quiet Matthew huddling up to his brother with a shiver. And when France was done, he went to inspect them, England pulling his clothes back on slowly.
"Stay away from them," he said softly.
"Ah, he has my eyes," France stroked America's warm cheek, the child shying from him with a whimper. "And this one," He pat Canada gently, "My beautiful hair. Don't you think?"
"I said stay away."
"They are as much mine as they are yours, Angleterre," France scooped up Canada in his arms, the boy curling into himself.
France left that day without a child, a little closer to being totally neutered than he was before. England knew he was delaying the inevitable, that France would come for his boys sooner or later, with troops that would force them from his hands. At least for now he could hold them in his arms, listen to their baby breaths slow as they fell asleep... and pray that day wouldn't come until he was ready.
The first explorers landed in the southern islands of America, Cuba, I believe, around the very late 1400's. Henry the 7th, of the Tudor house, was king of England at that time. Richard Empson was one of his most trusted advisors. As far as I know neither of them ever went to the new world.