Daemags

Greatest of the minstrels of old || Home of Daemags Day || Mod @polutrope

[daemags]

Daemags Day: April 12 2026!

A day to create and celebrate the myriad romantic possibilities between the two greatest minstrels doomed to live, Daeron and Maglor.

Happening Sunday, April 12, 2026 around the world in Your Timezone.

🌊 FAQ and Guidelines 🌊

🎶 Prompt Info 🎶

with thanks to @magolfinday for the inspo and event format | banner art by @welcomingdisaster

[deeep-in-silm]

The tiniest daemags for @daemags day <3

(should actually be working on some upcoming exams but sshhhhh)

[holy-marmalade]

Daeron and Maglor for @daemags day (not even a week late 👍) - Or when your rival turned enemy turned booty call is about to drop on you that he is leaving Middle-Earth right as you’re realizing you’re actually in love with him.

I did it ;-; It’s one if not the most complicated piece I’ve ever done so far but I had so much fun. I was going to do even more but I ran out of steam ><

I included some close-up shots and lil comments and headcanons about those

I wanted Daeron to be the Luthien’s brother version, combined with the millenia of wandering, he is slightly eldritch-like. The horns look like antlers but I had in mind those rabbits that have caught papillomavirus and are growing horns around their face (don’t look it up, it’s a bit gruesome). I guess Elrond has to remove those every now and then. He also has a cleft lip. You have to admire that he can outperform Maglor on the flute with a lip like that. But he is just that good 🙂‍↕️It does give him a perpetual annoyed face (he is not annoyed, he is having a crisis of heart)

Most people are familiar with my Maglor already but for those who aren’t, his tattoos say Elrond and Elros (not visible) on the collarbones and Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen on the arm.

The bottles are all existing old art nouveau and art deco perfume bottles. I am not that good at design and I love them very much ^^ The little tag on the back of the mirror says « Finrod », said mirror was probably part of all the old stuff in the Rivendell attic. How did Finrod’s mirror (probably made by Curufin) ended up here is a mystery.

Maedhros’s portrait use to belong to Fingon but Maglor stole it from his bedchamber after his death with a bunch of other keepsakes he gave to Maedhros. He kept the portrait though.

[polutrope]

A FLORID AFFAIR

for @daemags day

Rating: E | No warnings Relationship: Daeron/Maglor Words: 3.7k

After long years wandering and singing their sorrows, Daeron and Maglor both find themselves in Rivendell. Unfortunately, neither speaks to the other; that is, until a duet on the occasion of Arwen's coming-of-age puts them in close proximity and, as chance would have it, in inhaling range of a certain flower known to excite amorous feelings.

Read on AO3

[balrogballs]

DAERON AND MAGLOR (WIP)

apologies @daemags day, i misread the date and am afraid i have nothing bespoke to offer, only this cropped WIP section from a much larger 20-person mereth aderthad classical painting i’ve been chipping slowly away at for a couple months now!

this section shows daeron and maglor judging each other’s poetry: maglor’s parchment reads ‘how much poetry can you even write about being a cuck’ as a placeholder but will be replaced with something equally bitchy but more timeline-accurate. daeron’s own notes will read ‘the noldolantë is naught but a tyrant’s lullaby’.

also features the new maglor design i’ve landed on for this painting, aka ‘wouldn’t it be funny if he had the temperament of nerdanel but looks so much like fëanor that it gives him, curufin, and fëanor himself a complex’. fëanorians are in black here, inspired by from charcoal to nigrosin by @angamaite-der-ritter, which states “the widespread usage of black dyes became firmly associated with the Fëanárian faction, starting ostensibly in the period of Kanafinwë Macalaurë’s regency” (though i did give their clothing red accents to distinguish them from other characters in black, and idk yet what i’ll go with when i paint in their circlets).

thank you so much for running the event and the daemags advocacy, @polutrope — you have opened my eyes to the best ship dynamic in the world.

[annarobots]

Major Triad

Daeron and Maglor perform for a third. You know this song. Yes, you.

read on ao3

For @daemags and @polutrope.

1.1k, Mature, Daeron/Maglor, Daeron/Maglor/Reader, No Archive Warnings Apply, Valinor in the Fourth Age of Arda (Tolkien), Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Established Relationship, Frottage, Voyeurism, Voyeur Reader, reader appreciation, Exhibitionist Daemags, crashing right through the fourth wall like the Kool-Aid Man yelling "Oh Yeah!"

[i-am-a-lonely-visitor]

WIP snippet for @daemags day!!!!!! happy daemags to all and to all a good daemags (and also i'm sorry for getting magolfin in the daemags)

~

The Golodh queen takes the stage, as Daeron waits in the wings. 

In Doriath there are no soloists. From Daeron’s childhood, deep in the years of starlight, there have been those who start the songs and those who join them; so it was once in Cuiviénen, so it remains in the halls of Menegroth. Even when Lúthien sings, it is among voices that bend and braid to her—even when it is only Lúthien and Daeron, in some deep-woods glen, his pipe, her throat, accompanied by the whispering leaves and swaying branches awakened to the music that gave life to them.  

Yet when the Golodh queen sings, he sings alone. Uncrowned, dark-haired, bare-shouldered in his silks, Maglor Fëanorion seems to gather to his rosebud lips all the airs of Thû’s sky, weaving and spinning them as he strikes his strange metallic harp into melodies of bewildering geometry. It is almost like the tales told by Daeron’s own queen of her fae-sister, the great Spider, who the Golodhrim in grave whispers say killed the holy Trees of Dor-Rodyn, then swallowed half the horde of their dead king, coveting all beauty for her own. 

This is not to say that Maglor’s song is unbeautiful. Rather it is too beautiful, out of proportion to the site of its performance, dissonant with the whirring insects and gentle lapping of Ivrin’s waters on its shores. 

Daeron watches in fascination, silent fingers dancing on the flute across his lap. He is itching to play counterpoint, to probe the mind that would take such a curious aesthetic position. And perhaps it’s that Maglor simply wants for repertoire—from what Daeron can parse of the thick Golodh tongue, the song recounts the ancient springtime, before the breaking of the Lamps. A tired subject if there ever was one. 

Or perhaps Maglor is playing it safe. For all the rumors and harrowed snatches Daeron has gleaned of their flight—the western lands plunged in darkness, the dismal crossing of the Ice—there is something missing in the Golodh story. A song unsung, and Daeron would hear it: how this strange prince came to these shores and became bride to his uncle; what he might sing when he knows no one is watching. 

[starshadeemilyart]

Maglor and Daeron, captured during their years of wandering

Peek below the cut for the full image (contains peanus)

[starshadeemilyart]

Bringing this back for @daemags ❤️

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was that made music for the dance and song of Lúthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Fëanor. But seeking for Lúthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Lúthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Of Beren and Lúthien" "And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. For Maglor was mighty among the singers of old, named only after Daeron of Doriath but he came never back among the people of the Elves." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath"

↳ for @daemags day!

[ID: a moodboard comprised of nine images mainly in shades of cool grey-green and brown.

1: A detail from the painting "Spring" by Lawrence Alma Tadema, showing a young woman with pale skin and dark brown hair playing a flute. She wears a light blue robe and is crowned with a wreath of dark green leaves / 2: Sunbeams shining into a misty forest / 3: A white and brown moth perched on a tree trunk / 4: Sheet music on a stand / 5: A carved wooden flower / 6: A pale-skinned person wearing diaphanous embroidered hanfu. They hold a fan in the shape of a butterfly. Water and cherry blossoms can be seen behind them / 7: Pale hands reaching amid small white flowers / 8: An ornately inlaid stringed instrument set in a circular wall niche / 9: A small waterfall cascading down into a pool //End ID]

[starshadeemilyart]

For @daemags DaeMags day 2026! I have a vision of Daeron binding Maglor with seaweed on the beach. While they fuck. On the beach. With sand in their cracks. Please notice both of their chest hair. Why is Maglor’s pale ass not sunburnt? Maybe because he’s an elf I dunno. This is my second time drawing Daeron and I really like this design for him and his big brown eyes.

[arofili]

@daemags day | daeron x maglor | the musical, mournful wanderers

And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. [...] He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Fëanor. But seeking for Lúthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Lúthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

—The Silmarillion, “Of Beren and Lúthien”

And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. For Maglor was mighty among the singers of old, named only after Daeron of Doriath; but he came never back among the people of the Elves.

—The Silmarillion, “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath”

[daemags]

Daemags Day: April 12 2026!

A day to create and celebrate the myriad romantic possibilities between the two greatest minstrels doomed to live, Daeron and Maglor.

Happening Sunday, April 12, 2026 around the world in Your Timezone.

🌊 FAQ and Guidelines 🌊

🎶 Prompt Info 🎶

with thanks to @magolfinday for the inspo and event format | banner art by @welcomingdisaster

[daemags]

If you're in a place with a long weekend, I hope your plans involve writing Daemags.

If the muses aren't with you, remember this event is about appreciation as well as creating new works. Queue up some favourite art, fic, or meta to share next Sunday -- even your own!

[daemags]

Daemags Day: April 12 2026!

A day to create and celebrate the myriad romantic possibilities between the two greatest minstrels doomed to live, Daeron and Maglor.

Happening Sunday, April 12, 2026 around the world in Your Timezone.

🌊 FAQ and Guidelines 🌊

🎶 Prompt Info 🎶

with thanks to @magolfinday for the inspo and event format | banner art by @welcomingdisaster

[daemags]

4 weeks to Daemags Day! Got anything planned?

Don't forget you can leave prompts in the collection, and go there for ideas.

[rrr6867]

ngl, thingol was probably sat there at Luthien’s wedding very conflicted:

on one hand, his daughter has married a random homeless guy (complete with a fuckass 80’s mullet)

but at least he didn’t kill your nephews and destroy your brother’s property UNLIKE DAERON’S HUSBAND!

[arofili]

@tolkienseaweek day one | yearning, unrest, wandering | maglor x daeron

          They live their lives in flashes, in moments. One night together at the Mereth Aderthad. A single duet at the edges of the Girdle. A letter, two, smuggled by footmen marchwardens; and then— Nothing.           Daeron vanishes. Maglor is left—           Not alone. They had not truly been together. But—perhaps adrift.           Maglor is only alone after it is all over, when the Sea devours Beleriand, and he is left roaming the scars and wounds that are the remnants of its beaches. He wanders, and he wonders: Is Daeron drowned, out of reach forever, or did he wander far enough before the end came?           The waves crash endlessly, unforgivingly, each one a flash of promise, or of doom. He may never know.

[whovianofmidgard]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maedhros & Maglor (Tolkien), Daeron/Maglor (Tolkien), past Maglor/Maglor’s Wife, past Finrod/Maglor, Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros & Maglor Characters: Maedhros (Tolkien), Maglor (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel, Maglor’s Wife (Tolkien), Original Female Elf Character(s), Daeron (Tolkien), Finrod Felagund, Fingon (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Minor Fingon/Maedhros (Tolkien), Valinor in the Fourth Age of Arda (Tolkien), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, True Love, True Love’s Kiss, Guilt, Self-Hatred, Self-Sabotage, Maedhros being miserable and making stupid decisions, fading, Flashbacks, Maglor’s not doing so well, Past Relationship(s), Maedhros Has Issues (Tolkien), Protective Maedhros (Tolkien), Maedhros tracks down Maglor’s exs and current boyfriend, Maglor Needs a Hug (Tolkien), Maglor Gets a Hug (Tolkien), Poor Maglor (Tolkien), Brothers, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, No Incest, Wingman Maedhros, Maglor’s romantic life, Romance, what even is true love?, Happy Ending Summary:

“Is this what you have been tearing yourself up about?” Maedhros had no answer, silent tears streaming down his face like a river undammed. “Well then, you may stop tormenting yourself further, my dear tortured big brother,” Maglor told him. Then his lilting voice warmed, mouth waveringly curling into a weak smile, and two arms wrapped themselves around a tall and broad back in a fast embrace. “I forgive you for all!” Yet, haunted by those droopy, melancholy misted eyes, Maedhros could not. ——————

Maedhros has been keeping his distance since Maglor sailed west, too guilty and ill at ease with the sad fate he had left his little brother; alone and exiled, lamenting the shore in his grief. Maglor’s exile is over, but his fate still hangs by a thread, for he has been cursed and is now in danger of fading. Maedhros can only do so much to save his brother, but between a perilous ritual and a fairy tale solution, he throws his lot in with fool’s hope: he will find Maglor his true love’s kiss and break the curse!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Beat the Heat

For my first entry, I'd like to thank @searchingforserendipity25 for the amazing DaeMags Prompt.

Not included, Faeron the demon-spawn lol

Words: 710

Characters: Daeron x Maglor

Prompt: Beat the Heat

Warnings: Nudity, sexual innuendo

Daeron stared at his unexpected visitor in disbelief.

"How do you even bear this heat?" Maglor groaned, wiping a ridiculously ornate handkerchief across his fair brow.

Cocking his head, Daeron smirked at the sight of the heavy robes and the beautiful but entirely impractical layers covering and restraining that glorious body he so adored.

The mighty singer, if one was to ask him, was disarmingly cute when he was whining, especially when his grievances were as frivolous and easily remedied as his present gripe.

Even beneath the canopy of the dense trees of his native forest, the sweltering summer heat could not be outrun or avoided, but Daeron was comparatively unfazed by circumstances he was so deeply familiar with.

"Well," he smiled as he pulled his own light tunic over his head resolutely, "I can show you what we usually do when it gets too hot to breathe."

The unconvinced expression on the distinctly Ñoldorin face only stoked the fire of his own enthusiasm, putting even the blazing sun overhead to shame with its intensity.

Maglor’s brows knit in confusion before his eyes lit up with undisguised curiosity.

"That's what you get for wanting to parade around like the little prince you are," Daeron laughed provocatively and discarded his worn leggings as well before padding cautiously towards the edge of the lazy river noiselessly. “The Blessed Realm must be quite a place if everyone dresses up like that with no regard for their physical comfort and safety.”

"I don't..." Looking down at his brother's handiwork, Maglor bit back the rest of his useless protestation. "I am sorry if I've left my more casual wear in my drawer when I set out for a potentially lethal quest."

Chuckling melodiously to himself, Daeron merely shook his head in quiet amusement.

Despite their consistent squabbling and impassionate fights, he liked Maglor and felt oddly honoured to be allowed to see behind the façade of the ever-stolid, hardened warrior and prince Fëanor’s second son generally presented to the people within the Girdle.

"Come here, Prince of Princes," he invited, extending a broad, tanned hand trustingly. "Lay off the burden of your station and your name, and join me in the purifying waters of the ever-young waters blessed by Ulmo himself."

"Bathing?" Maglor scoffed. He had expected a secret ritual involving rare, undiscovered plants and maybe even a few incantations as Daeron seemed so much closer and more intimately bonded to the fertile earth he lived and thrived upon.

The idea that his best remedy to the oppressive, asphyxiating heat was to simply throw himself into the cool river was almost disappointing.

At the very instant that thought crossed his mind and made his brow furrow in dismay, his gaze fell on the mesmerising skin—dappled by specks of sunlight filtering through the trees—of his host and all his misgivings subsided instantly.

“I wonder what they’ve taught you in that tree-lit paradise of yours,” Daeron commented sharply as he floated on his back on a clement current, “if you don’t even know that these garments—beautiful as they might be—are hardly appropriate for a summer day over here.”

A thousand replies came to Maglor’s outraged and rather vexed mind—they had not known and, moreover, had had no reason to even think about the meteorological conditions of a far-away world—but as he saw the peaceful expression on Daeron’s face, his desire to shed the stifling layers of heavy brocade took precedence over his irrepressible need to defend his honour.

“Go ahead,” Daeron grinned, getting to his feet again, “you may call me an ignorant savage now, but, tell me dearest Kanafinwë, is this not better?”

Maglor swallowed heavily. Rivulets of pure, cold water ran down the mesmerizingly broad expanse of Daeron’s chest and his wide stance let the young prince divine every curve and dip of his body through the shimmering, translucent veil of the river.

For some unfathomable reason, this hint and promise of nudity was more titillating and entrancing to him than the sight of Daeron’s bare flesh, stretched out on a carpet of soft grass.

“It’s…perfect. And so are you,” Maglor admitted and dove through the blessedly cool floods to embrace this paragon of ancient magic and sublime comfort.

@fellowshipofthefics Here's my submission for the first week of the July Summer Fics.

Lots of love from me!