So long and good riddance, he thought as Gangrel's filthy corpse hit the sands with a satisfying thud. The bastard was gone, he'd never have to see that disgusting face or hear that laugh again. The war was over.
But she's still gone. Hours after the last enemy fell, hours after they'd begun the trek back to Ylisse, she was still gone and Gangrel's death had done nothing to reverse it. An eye for an eye, they always said, but taking one eye out didn't bring the other back and all you were left with were two half-blind people who would never see right again.
Ylisse would survive. He'd promised his sister and his Shepherds and his future wife that he'd do his best to fill Emmeryn's shoes and he intended to keep that promise. Emmeryn had given her life to save him from making a difficult choice, and the least he could do was carry the torch she'd passed him without complaint.
But she still gave her life. As long as he lived, he'd never get that image out of his head. Gentle, perfect, wise Emmeryn walking quietly towards the edge of the cliff and gracefully falling to her death. Lissa's cry, Frederick's look of despair, Robin's guilt. She's still gone.
The war was over. They'd won, Gangrel was a corpse, Plegia and Ylisse would learn to be civil towards each other. He was going to be married to the woman he loved. His fellow Shepherds and everyone else who'd joined them along the way were safe, well and accounted for. Their ties to Regna Ferox were stronger than ever.
But she's not here.
Chrom had never felt less like celebrating anything in his life.