Disclaimer: I own nothing...neither Pushing Dasies or the Lord of the Rings. But if Bryan Fuller is looking to recreate Pushing Daisies I am so totally up for hire as Ned's younger, quirkier sister...who is a french crepe maker...just throwing that idea out there.

I apologize in advance for the ridiculous nature of this fic...actually I'm not sorry...I couldn't help myself. It just happened and I loved every minute of it...so sue me!

This story is for all those who ever dared to wonder...*chortles*

1. A Case of Amnesia

The facts were these…Ned was dead, or in a coma, or suffering a severe case of narcolepsy, or he'd eventually cracked and was experiencing delirium. In any case, he was definitely not in the Pie Hole, nor was he in any other district which would be at all familiar to him. He was in fact, in a forest, a rather ominous forest, the type of forest where one would expect heinous crimes to be committed. Crimes such as; murder, or dismemberment, or at the very least weird cult rituals involving creepy alternative types, and Ned never really understood 'alternative' type. In fact…you know what…screw the facts! There was nothing logical or understandable about walking up on the sodden, water logged earth, in the midst of a forest that he had never laid eyes on in his life!

"This is a dream, a trippy, hallucinogenic dream," The pie-maker thought aloud and frowned at the treetops from his still sprawled out position in the leafy mud. "It's just a dream; I probably should not have had that cheese concoction before bed. I mean that was some strong gruyere, maybe it had some of that homeopathic antidepressant in it? I should really get Chuck a separate refrigerator; at least until I learn some sort of cheese tolerance level…maybe I am allergic? I could be dying from some sort of toxic over cheese consumption disorder, and no one would know! I need to wake up…right…breathe…think wakeful thoughts."

So for several minutes Ned attempted to conjure up all manner of 'wakeful thoughts' but none of them useful. Except the one where he accidentally fell on Chuck, that one caused him to experience what could only be described as a mild stroke. Once he recovered from the unspeakable daydream – day-mare – non night nightmare in the middle of the day dream – Ned realised that if that did not wake him up then there was the possibility he was not dreaming, which didn't exactly help his nervous disposition and niggling paranoia. Before the humble, and currently highly distressed, pie maker could come up with any further explanations, the unmistakable sound of barking echoed through the wood.

"Digby?" Ned asked in a mixture of shock and relief, as she sat up and stared in bewilderment in the general vicinity of the barking.

There, in the great green wood, stood Ned's trusty companion. The retriever wagged his tail excitedly, much relieved that his master was indeed awake. Digby was not quite sure how he would have roused Ned, since licking would have caused his untimely death, and the smart canine had considered poking him with a stick if the giant spider had crawled any closer. Ah yes, that is right, at this precise minute a giant spider was curiously scrambling towards the dazed pie maker and his canine companion. Digby barked urgently again, and pranced about in a display of panic, in the hope of alerting Ned to his forthcoming doom. Mercifully the pie-maker twigged on in just in the nick of time;

"Aaaarrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!" Ned cried out in an extremely undignified and admittedly slightly womanly manner. Falling over his feet several times Ned eventually found his footing and brandished a large twig, whilst staggering backwards from the entirely monstrous and impossibly large creature.

It was at this point that Ned became aware he was not in his usual attire of a tee, and comfortable but practical trousers and converse. He was also missing his apron, and this made him feel oddly insecure, at least he usually had a rolling pin stashed in there and everyone knows a deftly sung pin is a deadly weapon. However these thoughts were side-lined because the majority of his mind was drawn to the fact that he was wearing a…dress? No, not a dress…a robe? A fancy, silver, heavy and extremely uncomfortable robe thing, with…STRIPPER BOOTS?

"What the hel-" The pie-maker almost cursed, before he realized he was indeed being hunted by a giant tarantula. So deciding to question the knee high boot trend later, Ned rolled out of the way of aforementioned attacking beastie, only to get a mouthful of bleached blonde hair. Scrambling to shove the hair from his eyes, he became aware the immaculately kept locks – that could have rivaled Olive's – were in fact, his. This was a very bizarre, very sensory dream, in which Ned clearly believed he was acting out the character of a flamboyant, transgendered, stripper…what was in that cheese?

Another hiss and snap from the dangerously close dinosaur sized tarantula, had Ned yelping again and abandoning his grand plan of heroism. He didn't have his rolling pin, and therefore he didn't feel quite prepared for his battle. Turning to run from the creature, the clumsy pie-maker discovered that it is was not so easy retreating at haste in a long frock, or in ridiculous pinchy toed boots. Catching his newly acquired polished heels on the hem of his dazzling robes, Ned found himself getting all caught up in the fabric and unceremoniously face planting the ground.

Now, if Digby could have face-palmed himself at this point, he surely would. He was well aware that his master did not quite look like himself, but then again Digby was never one to question some of Ned's previous disguises, he had just assumed it was part of the plan. Whatever those plans were, Digby was uncaring as long as he got his ears scratched by the handy back scratcher. However, the intelligent canine could not fathom why his beloved pie-maker did not just use the sword, which came with his new get up, to kill the over-sized spider?

It was at this point that Ned did discover he had a sword, but due to the fact that he had toppled over himself and could not quite fight his way out of his fancy dress…this knowledge was a bit useless. The great hissing spider crawled over the trembling bundle of opulent material, and Ned audibly whimpered…death by spider was not how he envisioned departing the world. In the tense moment, Ned saw his life flash before his eyes, and considered the irony of such a strange death. He also considered Chuck, and how much he loved her, and imagined hugging her close for the last time. But it was in this bittersweet thought that the pie-maker found his courage, because quite frankly he wasn't going to die without a fight, for Chuck would have done the same for him. So bravely he grappled with the rather heavy sword, and the heaps of material he was buried under, slicing and dicing until he had freed himself and with a shriek of defiance he threw himself at the approaching spider. There was a deadly hiss, and the spine tingling sound of something animalistic dying, and then…nothing.

"Did I get it…is it dead?" Ned heard himself asking aloud, from behind his mass of new blonde locks and ruined frock. He was not entirely expecting Digby to answer, so it was slightly disconcerting when he did, but considering his day so far he wasn't that surprised;

"Your Majesty, the beast is dead, are you injured?"

"Your Majesty?" Ned blinked robotically, and lifted his hands to part his extremely long hair from his eyes in a fashion not dissimilar from drawing a pair of curtains. He narrowed his gaze and tilted his head to observe the strange man with equally shiny long hair – brown this time – and faintly medieval clothes. He absently considered that he was a very, very, pretty man too; maybe he was in some sort of drag convention - although a creepy forest was a weird choice for a drag convention? Well maybe not weird if it was medieval drag convention? Maybe Emerson and he had been on a case, and he'd been hit very hard on the head, and now couldn't remember a thing…maybe this guy was the murderer, after all the spider was now very much dead. By an arrow, and not the sword, it appeared all Ned had successfully managed to hit was a tree. Although that would not explain why his lovely blonde locks appeared to be all natural and attached to his head…and not a wig….he suddenly felt a little faint.

"Your majesty, are you well? You look…a little pale?" The pretty man, with strangely pointed ears directed the question to Ned again. His expression one of slight alarm, and concern.

"Um…who are you?" Ned asked shyly and fiddled nervously with the sliced up hem of his robes. "And…um….I think you've got me confused with someone else. I'm not a majesty, I'm a pie-maker, and I seemed to have lost my way. So maybe you could point me back in the direction of the party, maybe to a big guy, African American, goes by the name of Emerson…Emerson Cod…has a tendency of being sarcastic and a little unfriendly? Yes? No? You haven't seen him sure you haven't?"

"My lord, I fear you have sustained a serious injury," The oddly posh, pretty man preceded to launch into a flurry of activity, hurriedly checking Ned over for any damage. "Did you receive a blow to the head, or a poisonous wound from the spider?"

"Ahh…please don't touch me," Ned clamped his hands protectively around his chest and squirmed away from the overly anxious man. "Nope…I don't think I have hit my head or been poisoned today. So there is absolutely no need to get all touchy feely…come on we barely…erm…what are you doing?"

"Checking you fea for trauma?" The pretty man explained, as he seemed to do some sort of deep personal space invading and creepy staring technique. "We were so worried my lord, when you never returned from your morning stroll we thought something horrific had happened. Your son will be so relieved to know you are alive, he has been searching frantically."

"Whoa…eugh…can you…can you not stand so close, I have a very large personal space bubble," Ned shuddered as he strained away from the pretty man who just seemed to ignore the request and followed after him; "Seriously…boundaries man…wait…son? Now you really have the wrong person."

"Yes, your son…my lord…I believe you are suffering from some sort of amnesia," The pretty man continued on his assessment, clearly unconcerned with the pie-maker's fraying nerves, seriously the guy was about two seconds away from an out and out anxiety attack. "We must get you to a healer as soon as possible, come now, I will help you."

"Wait! Wait one second, I am not going with you into the woods, you could be a killer and I know guys like you. All innocent and helpful, but actually cold hearted killers, nope, no way, forget it!" The pie-maker stood his ground, and bravely scurried behind the nearest tree…just in case the pretty man really was a murderer.

"Your majesty you are obviously severely traumatized, and I am just trying to help," The pretty man charmingly graced Ned with a sympathetic and encouraging look; "My name is Galion, and I am the elf that serves you, my King. I am not a killer; there is no need to be alarmed."

"Elf? King?" Ned found that his mouth had dried up considerably, and he was having great difficulty remembering to breathe. "No, no, my name is Ned and I am a pie-maker, you've got the wrong guy."

"No, your majesty, your name is Thranduil, you are the great ElvenKing of Mirkwood," Galion, the pretty man…elf…proceeded to explain in slow and soft words. "Now, sire, I must insist you come home with me and we will straighten all this out."

"N-n-nooo…Digby!" Ned cried for his trusty companion, who bounded protectively up to his master and sat defiantly beside him. "No see, this is my dog, Digby, my name is Ned and I'm a p-"

"A pie-maker, yes so you have said sire," Galion nodded slowly with one of those smiles, that Ned considered was only reserved for mentally unstable people in institutions. "It is okay we can take Dig-by with us, but my lord we really must get you to safety."

"Well…your gonna have to carry me," Ned breathily reminded the pretty man named Galion, as he clutched his head to stop it from exploding…metaphorically of course.

"Why my lord?"

"Because, I'm gonna f-ff-ain-"

The pie-maker landed with a ungraceful thump on the forest floor, leaving a very confused pretty elf man named Galion to consider how he would carry him all the way back to the King's Halls. The only one more distraught about the whole situation was Digby, who wondered if these pretty elves stocked his favourite doggie treats?

It was complete nonsense...I may write more...if peeps want to read more. I just had inspiration and well...I've always wanted to know how Ned would cope being Thranduil.

I thank Rousdower for encouraging this...and my friend that introduced me to Pushing Daises all those years ago.

See if you enjoyed let me know...and if you wanna read more you can drop me a review and leave any ideas too. I may use them. :)