//------------------------------//
// Does it know any nursery rhymes? 
// Story: Guessing Games, or, How Many Changelings Fit In A Breadbox? 
// by ErraticOverlord 
//------------------------------//

	The interrogator taps a hoof on the table, narrowly missing a trickle of blood falling off of it. "Well, I do believe  I've found somepony with less accessible information than changelings, I'm surprised once again."

Edward stares listlessly at the interrogator.

"The changelings at least had some references, a few myths about their origin, bedtime stories, but this," The interrogator gestures at the scattered papers in front of him, the edge of one soaking up the blood coming from Edward. "This is something else. Somepony supposedly this important to magic history and he gets one mention and one description, and that's it? A mention as the father of a branch of magic as a footnote in a book about branches of magic and a description in a fashion book of the period? It's like he's mocking me."

Edward shifts, slightly. "Don't underestimate fashion." He forces out the words between breaths then chokes out a wheezy laugh.

The interrogator looks at him with disdain. "This is getting us nowhere. If I truly want to find this pony I'll need a source. I need to find a pony who knows more about him than a factoid about magic and what he supposedly wore." The interrogator waves a hoof at the glass and the two guards trot in to take Edward back to his cell. "I need to find somepony who knows something about this, 'Starswirl the Bearded'."

The guards take Edward away and throw him, still bleeding, into his cell.



(*)



The interrogator chuckles softly as he looks through the papers in front of him.

Edward stares at him, gloomily. "Doesn't it strike you as odd your Princesses lock away information relevant to alicorn ascension?"

The interrogator stops chuckling and looks up. "What do you know about it?" He asks.

Edward smiles. "Only what I've been told."

The interrogator glances at Needler. "What have you been told?"

Edward rocks back and forth in his chair, swaying to some invisible music.

"Jealous jealous Loony lady
Pretty Princess cry.
Bigger sister Sunny shady
Had a little lie.
He's dead
She said
The girl was crushed
Her face was very gray.
I saw myself her face was flushed
That sunny Summer's day.
When she saw her mistake
The Princess did take
All the books away."

Edward laughs, finishing.

The interrogator frowns at the song and his brows furrow. "Princess Luna and Princess Celestia," he says.

Edward looks surprised then laughs again. "Right you are. It's the first line of a ballad about Nightmare Moon. Different than the ones you ponies have but that's not really any surprise."

The interrogator taps the table again, in thought. "You seem quite fond of these songs, you've said a number of them since you've been in here. Tell me, what's the next verse?"

Edward stops laughing and starts shaking his head in mock thought. "Now let's see, I can't quite remember."

The interrogator shrugs. "We can always go back to talking about the book of stars."

Edward rolls his eyes. "If you're going to be like that about it."

The interrogator sighs. "Just do it."

Edward grins and starts swaying again, eyes closed.

"The Princesses sat down for tea
And watched the fillies play.
The Sun took Loony's memory
And locked it safe away.
But the memory did kick and scream
At being treated so
And the loony mare who dealt in dream
Had nothing she did know.
A creature of hate was born anew from the captured memory
And the numbers dwindled few
Of ponies who did see.
But changeling eyes did behold the wily Princess' act
And they wrote down her parting words perfectly and exact.
'I know you're upset my Loony dear
But you should not fright or fret.
While he is gone you should not fear
Of danger or of threat.
You cannot convince me else I shall defend
Till you return I will insist no alicorn shall ascend.'
With a final parting spell she shot her to the moon
To meet again in one thousand years
And not one moment too soon."

The interrogator rubs his temples, feverishly. "Who wrote this ballad?" he asks.

Edward shrugs. "One of the changelings of old I suspect. It's something like a nursery rhyme or bedtime story passed down through changeling generations."

The interrogator nods. "Do you thinks it's accurate?" he asks.

Edward smiles. "History is written by the victors. The truth is written by the spies."

The interrogator nods again. "According to the ballad, Celestia lied about somepony being dead; do you know who that's supposed to be?"

Edward leans closer. "If you find that out then you might understand why Sunny hid the books away."

The interrogator grinds his teeth together. "Who knows something about Starswirl the Bearded?"

Edward looks to both sides and leans over, conspiratorially. Needler shifts, looking slightly nervous. "I might go asking about some of the smaller towns near Canterlot. I heard somepony from there dressed as Starswirl the Bearded a few Nightmare Nights ago."

The interrogator nods at the glass and the guards take Edward back to his cell.



(*)



You've gotten docile. Have you suddenly decided to be cooperative? Needler's voice comes through.

Edward wakes up. I'm sending him on a wild goose chase. He won't find anything even if he gets to Ponyville.

Needler furrows her brows, the action communicated through the link. We need him to stop finding things out.

We need time. Contrary to popular belief, Awakening can happen when we're not there. I don't know about you but I don't want to be the first swarm to miss an Awakening. Edward shakes off her concern.

Her voice comes again, quieter this time. And Jill?

Edward shrugs. I don't make it a point to understand Strikers. If she's somehow not dead then I have no idea where she is. Lie low. I don't want anything happening when we're this close.

Each for us,

Changelings all.

Goodnight, Edward.

Goodnight.



(*)



Edward sits in the interrogation chair, quietly scratching away at its surface. He looks around the room and his eyes fall on the interrogator's empty chair. He turns toward Needler. "You know, it's impolite for the interrogator to stand up the prisoner."

Needler blinks. "I wouldn't know," she says.

A silence ensues.

"I could've waited in my cell, you know." Needler nods. Another silence. Edward turns to the glass. "So, why am I here when he's not?"

No response.

"Hello?" Edward hears a shift occur behind the glass and some hurried hoofsteps coming closer. The door opens to reveal the interrogator. "You're late."

The interrogator trots up to the table, breathing heavily. "Y-"

Edward interrupts him. "By a lot."

The interrogator glares at Edward. Wordlessly, he reaches into his saddlebags and pulls out a book, faded and leather bound with stars printed on the cover with some kind of sinuous thread. He sets it on the table and slides it toward Edward until it comes at rest in front of him. Edward looks up and smiles. "How  about that?" He says.

The interrogator sits down and there's another silence. "How about that, indeed."