Author's Note: I've always wanted to write a fanfic, especially one about our beloved Chair, but I've never had enough time, never this, never that (so being me I had to choose the busiest time of my school year to start seriously trying to work on something to churn out). I've stopped watching Gossip Girl for 2 months, or something like that now, because I really hate where they're going, not just because of the whole Ban fiasco but the general degradation of Blair's character…I nearly was going to change this to a Serena story, but, at the end of the day, the true Blair (and Blair and Chuck) has something that just does it for me, something I feel like other couples and characters don't have (though this season Serena comes very, very close). Anyway, it took me constant reruns of Real Blair (seasons 1-4, but most notably season 1-3.5 Blair) and lots of fanfic reading and Season of Love and With Me listening to become motivated enough to finally try and write something, but it's turned out to be just this amazing thing that makes my day and I really am loving every moment, in all honesty and it sounds cliché and cheesy and all, but it's true…and I'm hoping to make this quite multi-fic. Enough of the pointless rambling though, and I hope you enjoy it. I own nothing (not the show, not the characters, not Without You...I've just used them because I feel they fit in context to this story) except my imagination.

Updated Author's Note - as you can see, I started this pre-5x22 and now am motivated to write this again, most definitely about Blair Waldorf. Enjoy, and pretty please perhaps review so I know what I'm supposed to be doing? I really don't have a clue; I've never written a fanfic (let alone a multi-chapter fanfic or story) ever before ;P (but now with season finale (! CASINOS! THEY WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. PARIS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. WE ARE YOUNG WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. QUEEN B IS BACK! CHAIR IS BACK!) I just cannot over my chair love. PM me all you want - rant, rave, whatever - over our beautiful ship?) This chapter is more so of a prologue, a sort of introduction to what this story is going to be about, since it's decidedly rather AU, and I have to establish this UES world first before anything major happens - there will be more action after, I promise!

Polaris

Prologue:

Distinguishing Constellations

Tell me life is beautiful

They all think I have it all.

I have nothing without you -

All my dreams and all the lights mean

Nothing without you.

She doesn't quite remember the first time she saw each of them, but perhaps if you grilled her long enough about it, she'd come up with a vague, dusty memory, blurred and faded from time passed. That's the funny thing about the people who become constant constellations in your sky – they all start out as irrelevant dots, just another person you know, no different than the next or the last, but without realization, without you noticing, they rise in importance, rise in individuality – once you can see how different they are from one another, how different a Cassiopeia is from an Orion – and you wonder how you ever lived without them, how you'd ever not live without them, and just how much you are to them (how fixed you are in their skies, how much of a North Star you are in the endless mass of tiny glimmering speckles).

Of course, she remembers the first time she met Serena though – but then again, who didn't, Blair Waldorf or not? Serena was everything a girl could want to be; an Aphrodite, charming and bewitching in everything she did, a seductress yet an ingénue all at once, perfect yet so effortlessly undone, the object of fascination of every man who had ever caught a glimpse of those impossibly long legs and perfectly bowed mouth, and the enigma and envy of every female, whether they could afford Valentino or not (not that Serena ever wore Valentino – she preferred her Alexander Wang and Versace). And as if as further facticity of her it girl status if anyone were to refute it, Serena van der Woodsen had also been graced with a golden crown on her head. Granted, a golden crown of beachy, elusive done-yet-not waves, but nonetheless a personal insult, it always seemed, to the reigning Queen of the Upper East Side – and by default Manhattan, New York, and the rest of America (because who was stupid enough to not know that New York, and Blair Waldorf, was better than them?). It wasn't so much the fact that Serena was blonde and Blair was not – Blair had absolutely no desire, and would never, she was adamantly sure, to become anything close to a bleached blonde, Californian-surfing-babe-like character anytime in her life – she liked her glossy mahogany-chestnut curls, soft and immaculate, thank you very much, all juxtaposed delicately by her porcelain complexion and matched by her chocolate-shaded, glimmering eyes – No, it was more so the fact that cerulean-eyed Serena, who breezed through life, got everything and anything and anybody without needing to apply herself whatsoever, whereas Blair had to work her Dior-clad ass off for every little thing she wanted and needed, no matter how small. The crown only seemed like the cherry on top for all the rest of the things Serena hadn't needed to work for.

The first time Blair met Serena, they were probably three or four at the time, being rushed by nanny and maid respectively to their ballet class, dainty little Bloch slippers on their feet, and Serena had been haphazardly twirling like a woodland fairy into the studio. No one had felt the need to tell the entrancing little girl to stop, or that it was distracting the class. In fact, if anything, it seemed as though Serena was the class, and that the class was about her – something Blair Waldorf, who was used to being the center of attention, was most definitely not happy with. She'd furrowed her brow at the spotlight stealer, drawn herself up to full height despite her tiny frame, and marched over with a determined air. Tapping the blonde on the shoulder, Blair had carefully articulated, "No one wastes my time." Then, with stealthiness rare in a preschooler, she'd swiped a dainty leg in Serena's path while the other girl was mid-leap, effectively toppling her off balance when she landed. With an awkwardness seldom seen again in her, Serena had crumpled to the ground, a mess of long limbs, and smashed her face into the polished wooden planks. Blair had simply given her an icy glare. Needless to say, Blair Waldorf had been born a natural bitch.

The result had been a black eye, bawling Serena, hyperventilating nanny, incensed Lily van der Woodsen, and ultimately, a two hour long phone call between famous designer Eleanor Waldorf and aforementioned renowned socialite Mrs. van der Woodsen, which ended, like most minor Upper East Side problems, with an invitation for coffee at Dean and Deluca's for the mothers and a playdate for the children.

Upon cautiously entering the tastefully decorated Waldorf penthouse and finishing proper introductions as was necessary, Serena had bunched up her burgundy knit Burberry dress nervously under her slender fingers, and ventured timidly to ask, "Why did you trip me, Blair? Do you really hate me that much?"

The dark-haired, smaller girl had sighed dramatically, and answered simply, "I don't like you because you stole my spot as the center when I have to work so hard for it."

"So you really hate me?" Serena had whispered, large blue eyes threatening to spill with tears.

"Yes," Blair had confirmed resolutely, and Serena silently burst into tears, while Blair continued, "Because I wish I was you. My mother wishes I was more like you so I wish I was more like you."

"But I like you, even though you're mean to me," Serena had said in her simple Serena way, courageously adding a watery smile, "I think you're very brave for telling me to stop. No one's ever told me to stop before, even if it was mean of you. Mom's never around to tell me not to do anything, and the nannies let me do whatever I want even if I know it's wrong."

Flattery was a powerful weapon, but it was her last sentence which changed Blair's attitude towards Serena, and despite her young age, she finally comprehended and no longer saw the blonde as her enemy and the reason her mother wanted her to be different, but rather as another person who had been given the world, but not the one thing they needed – an unconditionally loving mother. Dropping the indifferent exterior, Blair had flashed the other girl a dimpled smile, and said shyly, "I think you're brave too, for not always listening to the rules. I always listen to the rules…" she trailed off here, frowning at the statement, then declared with a beam, "I want you to be my best friend. I've never had a best friend before, you know." She focused on a spot on the marble floor for a moment, before mumbling, "Sorry about being a bad person to you, I guess. I like you now. You're super pretty too."

Serena's entire face had lit up at Blair's statement, and with a large, endearing grin, she dramatically announced, "Blair Waldorf, you are my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever." She then promptly enveloped the smaller girl in a giant hug, and when Blair hugged her back tighter, they sealed their pledge of friendship, starting what was to be the most important relationship in each girl's life.

The second clearest memory was nowhere near as vivid as her first time meeting Serena, but she still remembered it quite in detail nonetheless.

It was the weekend before Grade 2 started, and she was over at the van der Woodsen apartment for the girls' weekly sleepover to avoid the overbearing and controlling Eleanor now that she was back for New York Fashion Week from summer with her husband - and Blair's father - Harold, in Paris, when Lily made her grand entrance – with company like usual, only she hadn't been out for dinner with Eric, but rather two males neither Blair nor Serena had seen before. Specifically, a stern looking, 40-something man who had one arm awkwardly around the former Mrs. Van der Woodsen's waist, the other stiffly at his side, and a mischievous young boy around their age, with hazel eyes which gleamed of secrets and trouble, and thick, near-black brown hair. He wore an ostentatiously gold bowtie with his dapper pale-pink suit, and introduced himself as Charles Bass, though Chuck was much more preferred, and did it all with a sort of pompous air of superiority. The strained man who accompanied Lily was Bart Bass, father of Chuck Bass, CEO and Chairman of Bass Industries, and owner of the Palace Hotel, the very building the van der Woodsen family lived.

Apparently, Lily had been waiting for another date to arrive at the downstairs bar one night a few weeks ago, but she'd ended up talking to the admirable Mr. Bass about the wonderful decoration, and talking had turned to drinks, and drinks had turned into food, and food had turned into dessert, and dessert had turned into, well, something else. Only Chuck seemed to know what "something else" was, for he grinned like a Cheshire cat and mumbled delightedly about "babies", "careful", and "proper protection", all of which had confused the girls completely at the time but made perfect sense as something the heinous Basstard had once said when one was looking back at it all.

Regardless, a few months later, the summer before Grade 3, Lily van der Woodsen had become Lily Bass at a festively grand ceremony of white and petals and golden bands in the Hamptons, and Serena had returned back to the city with a new father and brother. The newly acquired brother attended St. Jude's now, and Serena's home became a busy one, and a happy little family of sorts, though Lily and Bart were away together most of the time, allowing the neglected but content children to run wild in a sort of carefree bliss full of limos and Franklin-faced bills and pretty little dresses and handsome stiff bowties.

Whenever Blair went over to the van der Bass home and Chuck was around, he'd always flash her a smirk and boast of a girl he'd kissed recently – and not just a silly peck either, he'd say as if sharing universe-altering news, but one that involved tongue and an older girl – and then he'd smarmily loop his arm around her waist and ask her if she wanted a go with him too. Blair, ever the society darling and good, prim girl, would delicately wrinkle her nose, and if nobody was watching, give him a much deserved kick on the shin. If someone was around, though, she'd merely verbally gut him through and through, but Chuck was quick to retort every time, and it became some sort of a game – a game of wits, perhaps, though both knew that even without the game and the mutual take-downs and schemes, they'd still spend time together, and that deep down they really were pretty good friends.

As for the rest of them, she met them later, when she and Serena were in Grade 4, firmly attached at the hip by now. They were still very much the same people as they'd been five years ago, only whereas Serena was still the It Girl, Blair no longer vied for the position, no longer seethed in green-eyed rage over the title of Golden Girl. No, Blair Waldorf knew her destiny now; she desired a different power, a different path, and it was to be Queen. And the best part about being Queen was that it was nearly effortless for her – she'd never be able to fully skip through life like Serena, but she'd well accepted and welcomed that fact by now – and she delighted in knowing that she had all of elementary Constance in the palm of her hand, and that a single word from her ruby lips meant excommunication or instant success, social suicide or gained power. But most importantly, she knew that what she said was law. She was worshipped, revered, feared, admired, whatever you name it, and she relished every second of it even at the age of ten.

Serena had been the first to hear of the arrival of Nathaniel Archibald to St. Jude's and Georgina Sparks to Constance Billard. Both girls knew those last names well enough from gossip at Sunday teas – Nate Archibald of the Vanderbilt family, son of Captain Howard Archibald and Anne Vanderbilt of the political powerhouse the Vanderbilt family, and Georgina Sparks, daughter of business mogul and technology giant Kevin Sparks and two-time actress Leticia Sparks – and though both had talked to the boy a few times at elegant dinner parties they were accustomed to, neither knew Georgina. As for Chuck…he and Nate had bonded exceptionally well the first day, so Serena and Blair saw much of the golden-haired and blue-eyed little UES prince around, and they got to know him better – and as for Georgina, the dark-copper-haired girl seemed to almost be like a combination of Blair and Serena – she was charming enough and sweet enough, but she was hellishly manipulative and commanding too. After some hackle raising and fang-bearing from both parties, the two brunettes managed to see past their minor disputes to discover that they were much more similar than they seemed, and begrudgingly, Blair admitted that Georgina wasn't that bad to have around, and Serena had clapped her hands in glee, since she and Georgina had become friends too in the past few days.

Carter entered their lives a year later. He was a less intense but more leering version of Chuck and a sleazier version of Nate, but both boys seemed to have welcomed him with open arms, and Georgina and Serena the same, so Blair was more or less forced to comply. Blair didn't have a fondness for Carter Baizen like Georgina, or find him as amusing as Serena did or as interesting and friend-worthy Chuck and Nate made him seem, but she had to admit he could be fun to have around for all he was worth. Plus, despite how much she hated him sometimes, she did hold him dear too.

And somehow, as time passed, the six of them grew closer and closer, finding a sort of comfort in each other and trust that they didn't find with any of their minions or admirers, making up for their lack of parental love by accepting each other unconditionally, and through all the clever cut downs and banter and snide comments, they began spending more and more time together - and then they didn't seem so different anymore, but all rather similar inside, though they still were impossibly unalike on the surface.

Yet another year later, when everyone had had his or her fair share of first kisses (except Blair, who had opted to stay some sort of an Yves-Saint-Laurent-wearing nun among the group), Carter and Georgina lost their virginities to each other on a drunken night of one too many poorly made martinis that their still low-tolerant bodies couldn't handle, and Georgie had giggled the day after and described it as a blur of stars and light and glitter and it had only hurt a teeny bit, to which Carter had said nothing – something extremely queer for his usual unctuous self – and when Chuck had joked that Carter had fallen in love with his best friend, Carter had uncharacteristically choked and excused himself from the conversation entirely.

In seventh grade, when everyone had forgotten about Carter's little thing for G and he'd started bedding sophomores and Georgie a junior once, Chuck decided that he was way behind, and took Georgie the day after Carter had boasted of his fortieth conquest.

The event seemed to have been much less grand and exciting as the times Georgie and Carter happened, but Carter's face had clouded up nonetheless when he caught wind of the debacle and the boy spat on Chuck's new Pradas in the courtyard and sneered at G, "Slut, that's all your worth. You think we even meant anything? The only reason I did you over and over again was to get in between those easy legs when I couldn't be bothered to even lift the pistol to shoot the fish in that shitty little barrel."

Georgina's face had transformed as a hurricane of emotions hurtled and flashed their way across her face - anger, rage, hurt, disbelief...it was the broken image of a girl too young still to be broken like this - and her perpetually pouting mouth gaped as her jaw slackened, but she didn't say a single word as she stormed away into the shelter of a cab.

The next day, Constance had issued a formal letter to Mr. and Mrs. Sparks on their deepest sadness regarding the mid-school-year departure of Miss Georgina Sparks to the established Institut Le Rosey, and sincerely hoped that Miss Sparks would perhaps entertain the thought of graduating from Constance Billard in the future.

With the sort of sixth sense possessed by a child's startling ability to perceive situations accurately, no one ever mentioned Georgina again in front of Carter's face after that day, and she slowly faded into the back of their memories, stored no doubt for further use when the day came that they would need it again - but for now, they lived on like the glamorous girls and boys born into the plush lap of luxury that they were, filling the hole that was Georgie Sparks with newer memories and clearer cherished moments, even more expensive shoes and finer spirits.

And this group of Upper East Side royalty, as the years went past, became even more sublime excellence; worshipped, utter perfection, indefeasible superhuman enigmas in their own ways, polar opposites – cold where one was hot, icy aloofness where another was warm familiarity, prim and proper while the others were the definition of sex, debauchees to no end – yet so similarly carved, so humanly faulty, angels and sinners alike, that there was a sort of romanticized vulnerability and complex, ugly darkness to them all that they all ignored and pretended didn't exist inside of them – because which girl who only wore Louboutins, which boy who only drank Dom for champagne, which child surrounded by tasteful opulence their whole life, was born without being fucked up after birth? The more perfect their smiles, the more astounding the trust fund, the more daddy and mommy issues, the more twisted their once naïve hearts became, and they became paradoxical contradictions – more vulnerable, yet less too, more easily wounded and affected, quicker to rile up, yet progressively more detached and indifferent to the constant criticism, less able to expose their hearts out from the layers of expensive silk and years of damage they deemed normal. Such was the life of the now five princes and princesses, future kings and queens of the East Coast kingdom of an island they called home.

A/N: So, do you want me to continue? Are you bashing your face against the keyboard yet from my ornately flowery language at times and occasional overwhelming love for commas? Or should I continue? ^_^

to each their own,

valentinosilkflowers