Aelin Galathynius had raised an army not just to challenge Morath, but to rattle the stars.

Celaena walked and walked, until she found herself by the tree-lined shore of a lake, glaringly bright in the midday sun. She figured it was as good a spot as any as she crumpled to the mossy bank, as her arms wrapped tight around herself and she bowed over her knees.
There was nothing that could be done to fix her. And she was...she was...
A whimpering noise came out of her, lips trembling to hard she had to clamp down to keep the sound inside.
--
She vaguely felt the light shifting on the lake. Vaguely felt the sighing wind, warm as it brushed against her damp cheeks. And heard, so soft it was as if she dreamed it, a woman's voice whispering, Why are you crying, Fireheart?...
"Because I am lost," she whispered onto the earth. "And I do not know the way.

You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her

You could rattle the stars,' she whispered. 'You could do anything, if only you dared.

Her cheek against the moss, the young princess she had been - Aelin Galathynius - reached a hand for her. 'Get up', she said softly.

Where will we go?"
"I hear hell is particularly nice at this time of year.