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He is Ra, he is a God, the ruler of all the Gods, none can compare to him or his power, none are truly worthy to be in his presence, certainly none could hope to capture his heart, and yet…
There, on his forearm, wrapped delicately in the language of Abydos are the words “I was dead.” It should be impossible; the Goa’uld didn’t have soul-mates. Once a body was possessed the soul-mark faded from it, so for these words to appear upon his person, then they were meant for him. For Ra. Out there somewhere, just newly born, his soul-mate waited.
He finds himself over the years, carefully checking on the words, carefully hidden beneath thick make-up or jewelry; it wouldn’t do to let anyone know that he had a potential weakness.
A few decades later, when he has all but given up the fleeting, irritating thing called hope, he appears. Ra is a collector of beauty and perfection, and this one, the one who comes before him, bearing his symbol, is beautiful. A bit of proper training and he would be perfect. Already Ra’s fingers long to run themselves though that lovely hair and gaze into those questioning eyes.
He is furious when the other one kills his Jaffa guard, thus leading to the lovely ones death.
His servants are stunned when he orders him placed into the sarcophagus. He waits, a bath feeling necessary and delights in the lovely ones gaze when he finds him.
Then the words, the words he didn’t know he was so desperate to here. Then his own carefully thought out words, an offering of the lives of those men with him, they could be his beloved’s first personal Jaffa.
He sees the moment his beloved recognizes his words and waits, with a surprising amount of trepidation. He accepts, though he asks Ra to also spare the Abydonians, it is a simple thing to agree to as they simply treated his beloved in the way that was proper.
Ra smiles, offering his arm to ‘Daniel’, soon the other system lords will know of him, as Ra will be inclined to show him off, but for now, Daniel is his.