Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money from them. Mercedes Lackey's finally letting us write this stuff, so hurray! Also, this was written as part of an application for a roleplay - it was a requirement that it include a physical description of the subject. This is set at a sort of... ambiguous time, so bear with me. xD It's just a snippet of something Vanyel, really. :3
Vanyel faced the mirror and horselipped out a sigh.
Stef was right - he really did look a wreck. If he had been thin in his youth, he was all bone and sinew now, with the kind of tightly compacted muscle that was utilitarian only, and certainly not in any way ornamental. Still, that had begun nearly the moment he'd first put on his Whites and gone on the circuit; there really wasn't any reason for him to notice it now unless it had gotten worse.
He cocked his head to the left slightly and inspected. It had.
There were more scars, too. The biggest one, despite its age, still shone weakly in the wavering lamplight, and he couldn't help thinking of how Stef would sometimes run his finger around its edges unconsciously at night, his auburn head resting easily in the crook of Van's arm.
He chuckled to himself, wringing the last few drops of wetness from his bath out of his two-toned hair. His reflection, ever predictable, did the same; Van found himself watching it with a sort of weightless interest, as sometimes he watched the Companions in Companions' Field in the early mornings. It felt good to return from a mission and have access to simple household comforts such as mirrors again. It had been a long time indeed since he'd been able to stand in front of a glass of any kind, really, he thought with some surprise. His face remained young-old, much as it had been even fifteen years earlier, boyish features contrasting vividly with the thick streaks of white in his black mop, and he wore his (fairly new) crow's feet well when he laughed.
Aha, he thought, with a shrewd smile at his reflection, as if catching it red-handed at something faintly embarrassing. So that's where the vain little peacock in me went! Well, I'm glad he forgot to be too appalled at my patch job of my breeches two weeks ago.
But as he tossed the lovely red robe that had been a welcome-home present from Stef over his shoulders, Van couldn't help thinking that for the moment, he didn't really mind.
He doused the light, and his reflection vanished into indistinct darkness. For the moment, he was going to allow his deepest concern to not be a matter of pressing national importance, nor any terrifying battle of the most recent mission, nor even his completely tattered breeches or shockingly scarred skin. No, he decided - for the moment, he was going to be concerned with nothing more than his young lover waiting for him in the next room, waiting to properly welcome him home.