In our world, there were a series of nationalist revolutions in Europe in 1848. Most were unsuccessful, and it would be decades before the nation-states the people desired then came into being. However, what if some of these revolutions had been just a bit more successful, and Italy and Germany found themselves united in 1848, rather than the 1860s and 1870s? And what if it was all portrayed with Hetalia characters?

That is the essence of this fic. By changing just one moment in history, the fate of the world is completely rewritten. What happens after the end of it all? Even I don't know that yet.

In any case, with that said, I hope you enjoy the story.

...

It was winter, in late 1847. In the Imperial palace of the Russian Empire, a man lay behind the curtains of a four-poster bed, his body wrecked by disease. By his bedside stood a single man, a scarfed, grey-haired giant. "Ivan..." The man in the bed could only murmur weakly.

Tugging away the side of the curtain, Ivan's violet eyes fixed themselves upon those of the bedridden figure. "Da, your highness?"

Tsar Nicholas coughed briefly before replying. "Ivan... You have served... me well. But... I fear my time is drawing to a close..."

Russia's blue eyes soon filled with silent tears as he spoke up, his childlike voice echoing through the room. "Nyet, my Tsar. Dont say such things." Though Russia was quite the bully to his neighbours and subjects, he held a child-like admiration for Nicholas, under whom he had grown so strong in recent decades.

The moustached emperor shook his head. "Regardless... of what happens to me, Ivan, for now you... you and the empire will be left to my advisors..." Nicholas used what little strength he could muster at that point to force himself into a half-sitting position, to get a better look at Ivan's face. "And... should I slip from the mortal coil, Alexander will take care o-" Suddenly, the Tsar entered a violent coughing fit.

Ivan quickly tended to the emperor with a handkerchief, but, as he pulled it away, a fresh bloodstain on the rag came into view. "Your highness..." Ivan's psyche slowly began to fall apart as the realisation of his boss's mortality truly dawned on him. His entire body began to shake like a leaf as he set down the handkerchief. Though he had lost many rulers over the years, this time, something seemed different – like life would never be the same for him and his country.

The emperor forced a weak smile. "Thank you." Slowly, he allowed himself to slink back down onto the bed, lying down beneath the covers. After a few moments, he spoke up again. "Ivan... could you stay... here, for a while?"

The nation merely nodded. "Da, your Highness." Ivan continued to stand dutifully by his emperor's side, keeping him company. As he did so, the nation began to muse to himself. "I have this feeling that something terrible is about to happen. Why... Why did the boss have to get sick now?"

...

Historical note: Russia, during the Revolutions of 1848, was considered the Gendarme of Europe, the go-to-guy (or country) for when the rest of Europe needed someone to keep things from changing too radically. But in this new history, Russia's tsar has fallen ill, leaving the country without effective guidance, unable to do anything particularly useful outside its own borders. What will the rest of Europe get up to with Russia no longer looming over their shoulders?