Who the Hell is Emrys?!
Merlin didn't expect the spell to go so absolutely, magnificently wrong. So of course it did. And now apparently every magical being in all of Albion could see the stamp of ownership - clear as day - on one Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. And even worse, now there was a very pissy Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, searching far and wide for the sorcerer Emrys.
Now, wading his way through fake Emryses, woodland elves, Gwaine's alcoholic tendencies, the stocks, a damned chicken suit and Arthur's bed, Merlin must find a way to remove that bleeding mark before it's too late, and the prophecy is forever lost.
Or: the story where George's little heart goes out one too many times, and Gwaine loves the Camelot red a bit too much.