A quick note about the names:
I decided that since this little story takes place in an old age, the Christian names 'Lukas,' 'Matthias,' and 'Berwald' wouldn't have been very appropriate. Therefore, I searched a little for some old Norse names that may make sense for the characters (in my opinion). Denmark will be referred to as MistiviR ("Scandinavian form of the Slavic name Mmsti-("to avenge") + voj ("warrior"). Norway will be referred to as LingormR meaning "dragon that creeps through the heather." Sweden will be referred to as Bøse; this variant of the name shows up in old Swedish and is said it may be related to the Norwegian dialect word 'bause' meaning "magnate; proud, very touchy person." And regarding the capital R at the end of the names: It represents a certain sound in the old Norse language that no one is quite sure how it is pronounced. When old Norse began to be written down in medieval times, the capital R was written down as a lower case r. It is also said that an equivalent to this would be like a German z.

Edit: It's been brought to my attention that Bøse in modern Danish means gay which is kinda silly but, evolution of language I guess! Sorry if this is suddenly a much weirder story for you Danes, haha!
This information was found from vikinganswerlady .

The sun was still high and bright in the sky, though it was slowly descending behind the trees as it was a few hours past midday. It was Spring and the land was slowly turning green. The grasses were lush from the rains, the trees beginning to blossom, Spring flowers blooming. The gloom of winter was slowly decaying, a lighter scene being painted in its place.

Two travelers made their way down a narrow dirt path that wound through a south-eastern forest. The tallest, a rather grim man with deep blue eyes and sharp features walked slowly, his eyes pointed ahead, watching for twists and turns, roots that stuck from the ground, branches, animals. He wore a large sword and a knife at his hip and a heavy cloak, for the air had a particular bite to it. He took a moment, letting his eyes slide from the scenery to his left where his rather loud companion walked next to him.

Also blonde, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up at odd angles. He wasn't quite as tall, neither was he as broad, but there was strength in his arms and his hands. His eyes, a bright icy blue, scanned everything around them quickly, never settling on one thing for too long as he spoke avidly about his plans for the summer raids, the year's farming, the crops to come. Bøse did not mind this idle chat, it was the volume of the other's voice that was internally bothering him, keeping his mouth in a frown, his brow creased as he attempted to drown the other out.

Suddenly, the smaller tripped over a branch, letting out a loud curse as he stumbled before regaining his feet. "I thought you were to be looking out for these things!"

Bøse smirked softly, but his expression returned, muttering a brief apology. "I am sorry, but I did not see it. Perhaps something put it there. Perhaps the tree wished you to fall and bite your tongue." He sent a glance to the other.

MistiviR let out a bark of a laugh, causing Bøse to wince. "Hah! You say this because you wish me not to be angry with you! I would have preferred you speak the truth, and not make me believe a tree was trying to do me harm."

"You believe it would not?"

"Please," MistiviR rolled his eyes, "Trees do not put their branches for one to trip on because it is hostile. The branch falls, it is weak, and the unobservant trip."

This theory seemed to amuse Bøse. "I believe LingormR would have a different opinion."

MistiviR wrinkled his nose. "LingormR believes in many things. He blames the sickness of his goats, the knots in his hair when he sleeps, the hiding of his tafl pieces on invisible things. I find it hard to believe what is not there. I believe in the earth beneath our feet, the warmth of flesh, the sinking of ax into bark or skin. I believe in the things I see and feel every day."

"Oh?" Bøse lifted his head slightly, looking up past the budding branches to the blue sky and the puffy clouds. A breeze brushed by, chilling the two, ruffling their hair, infiltrating their clothes despite the thick material from which they were made. "What of the gods, then? Surely you believe in them, though you have not seen the face of Baldr or peered into the single eye of Odin or the rot of Hel."

MistiviR waved a dismissive hand in the air. "A completely different matter. They are everything, they are all. They are the things of which I previously spoke. I can feel the gods. Little invisible folk that enjoy tormenting us are just old wives' prattle to blame for their inconveniences."

Interesting.

"Funny that you mention this. LingormR was worried for us traveling this path. He believes this forest is riddled with the wee folk. He told me that I should make sure we turn our shirts inside out and tie bells to our ankles." MistiviR laughed but a sudden look of worry passed Bøse's features. "He told me to stay far from the creek, for an old, gnarled hag lives on its banks. She sinks her claws into your legs and drags you into the mud where she devours you, leaving only your bones behind. She gives your belongings to her many children which, according to LingormR take the shape of toads and ugly salamanders." Again, Bøse frowned. "He said there is a piper who travels by skipping overhead, along the bows of the trees, his feet and hands like sharp talons to grip the branches. He plays his pipe and the music is supposed to bewitch you and you become his servant forever. He makes you carry his load on foot for he can dance among the trees, only to trap more bewildered travelers." No, Bøse did not like the sound of this at all. "And he said little people just riddle the sides of the paths, stealing things from your pack when you are least wary, spooking your horses and leading you astray-"

"Please, MistiviR, stop." The larger Norseman pleaded, his voice suddenly gravely serious. He had always considered himself a rather practical man, never falling prey to old tales meant to keep children from wandering too far from the village. But he had always wondered about those things that went bump in the night when it could not be explained by man or beast. He had wondered just what happened when your belongings would go missing, only to be found randomly in a place it never belonged, or why one felt being pinched or poked when clearly, no one was there. Did he necessarily believe in little people quietly distressing them? He didn't very well know, but the stories that LingormR spoke of seemed to put him on edge and raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

Suddenly, a rustling in the brush caused them both to stop. Both men cast wide eyes to the side of the road, watching as the dead leaves and green growth shuddered as something moved beneath it. Bøse held his breath, his hand slowly reaching for the small knife he carried, fingers wrapping around the hilt. Forthwith, a rabbit suddenly dashed out of the underbrush, causing Bøse to jolt in surprise and MistiviR to let out a cry.

Once MistiviR realized it was a rabbit and not something with claws ready to enslave him, he suddenly dashed off the path after it. Shocked, Bøse followed swiftly, sheathing his knife as he went.

MistiviR thought how impressive it would be if he arrived at LingormR's village with a rabbit to present, and perhaps he could find more along the way. More food to bestow upon the fellow. Determined, he pulled his own knife, holding it firmly as he plodded along. The rabbit finally halted once they were a good ways away from the path. It stopped beneath a very large oak with a thick trunk and branches that twist very high with a very wide expanse. MistiviR, creeping slowly as close he could to the rabbit without startling it, raised the knife, holding it by the blade, ready to throw, when loud footsteps sounded behind him and suddenly, the larger man crashed into him, causing them both to lurch forward and fall to the soft, wet earth, the rabbit tearing away into the forest.

MistiviR let out a growl and shoved the bigger off him, sitting up. "You stupid oaf! I had it! I would have had him if it were not for your loud clambering!"

Bøse flashed him a dangerous look and he parted his lips to speak, but something next to MistiviR's hand caught his eye. He tilted his head slightly, examining the gray mushrooms arranged in a ring on the ground. He had heard tales of the peculiar phenomenon, but never believed them of course. He figured it was another tale to keep children away from the fungus of the forest for fear of finding something poisonous. But the atmosphere had become strange since MistiviR has spoken of the warnings given to him by LingormR and the large oak seemed rather foreboding and the ring below sent a chill through him.

MistiviR followed his peculiar look to the mushrooms and he laughed again. "Oh, Bøse, you truly are a fun traveling companion. It is merely mushrooms, probably good to the taste too if all you superstitious folk were not so afraid of touching them." He stood and picked up his knife that had fallen from his hand earlier, re-sheathing it. Bøse also stood, but he moved slowly, cautiously, not liking the feel of the place they had stumbled on.

"I think we should find the path. We will be late. LingormR will be worried."

MistiviR pursed his lips, eyes narrowing slightly. His expression slid into a snarky grin. "You are afraid."

Bøse's expression turned dark. "I do not feel we should be in this place-"

"You are afraid of a silly little ring of mushrooms!"

"MistiviR, please."

"You are spooked, and I am going to show you that there is nothing to fear from a mushroom."

The man turned, prepared to show the other how ridiculous he was acting. He put a foot inside the ring.

"Mistiv-!"

Bøse's words were suddenly lost on MistiviR's ears, for the moment he touched the soft grass between the mushrooms, a great whoosh of air burst all around him drowning out all sound, everything suddenly growing dark and bright simultaneously. His eyes grew wide and all he could behold were hundreds of faces and hands and limbs, each vastly different from the next. They all were of different colors and hues, different body shapes: some were long and spindly with thin fingers and gaunt faces; some were incredibly fat, bouncing around with red grins and thick beards. Some were dressed with things from the forests, leaves, fresh flower petals, bark; others were dressed in nothing at all. They were all singing and laughing in their many voices and they danced and leaped and thrashed and pinched, but they all had one thing in common and that was their dark, beady eyes, all piercing MistiviR.

They tossed the large man between them, his feet moving on their own as his body moved with them, dancing and bounding and stomping, his arms moving wildly around him, whether it was to keep the creatures from prodding him or from the incredible dance, he didn't know. He took note of some little folk playing away at some instruments which accounted for the strange music flowing through his ears, producing the beat to which he was springing. He grew very tired very fast but he could not stop moving. His breath became strained, he could feel the sweat starting to drench his clothes, his feet began to ache and his face pained as he began yelling for them to stop, to set him free, his pleadings desperate, his voice growing hoarse. But they would not stop. They laughed in his face and pinched his cheeks and urged him to keep dancing.

And so abruptly, it was over, and he was lying on his back, cool hands harshly slapping his cheeks and he was suddenly aware of a harsh pain in his head and the ache in his bones. He groaned and blinked a few times before looking up. The forest was not light anymore but incredibly dark, the stars shining dimly past the thin leaved branches, the moon casting its silver light to the floor. He felt another smack to his cheek and he looked to the person hovering over him, could see his fair skin, his pale blonde hair, and his sea colored eyes. LingormR's expression was intense and MistiviR realized he was speaking to him while he shook him violently. He groaned again and moved to grab his hands, making him stop for fear of his head bursting.

"What-"

"Hush, do not speak." His clear voice rang loudly in MistiviR's head and he winced. Bøse suddenly appeared in his line of view, peering down at him with concern.

"The mushrooms-"

MistiviR was hushed again but he was slowly ushered to sit back up. They were where MistiviR had last remembered they were, but they were now a safe distance away from the ring and the oak. LingormR handed him a skin sack of water and he drank deeply.

"You fool!" LingormR hissed suddenly and MistiviR instinctively drew back slightly. "I warn you of the dangers of this wood, I tell you to be careful and what do you do? You step foot straight into an elf-ring! Bøse comes running into my yard, tells me you were screaming and dancing like a mad man and for a moment I thought I would laugh, but I knew of the dangers here and I know of how half-witted you are!"

He snatched the sack back and corked it. "I hope you have learned something you muttonhead." And with that, he stood, reaching out and helping MistiviR to his feet.

He cast a glance over to the ring. "I don't understand..."

"Come. It is dark and even I am not completely aware of the things lurking in this forest." LingormR took MistiviR's arm and began leading him away in the direction of what he presumed was the path. He stole a glance behind him, past Bøse to the tree and the ring. He heard a shrill laugh and the faint spell of music which bled away into the night.

MistiviR took to wearing his shirt inside out and always wore bells when wandering through a wood from that day on. He, and Bøse, had become firm believers of the little folk, but never do they speak of their experience, for faerie things did not belong to others, and was to be a secret for as long as the two could remember.

Faerie-rings, elf-rings, pixie-rings, etc. are circles in the grass, occasionally marked by a ring of mushrooms, where all types of faerie folk gather to dance and make merry. For the unwary, however, the faeries may pull the weary traveler inside and make him dance with them. Sometimes, people are lured by the faint sound of music lingering in the area. Although it may feel they are only dancing for a few minutes or even a few hours, when they are expelled from the circle, they find that seven years have passed. A person can be saved from a faerie-ring if they have a friend who turns their coat inside out, keeps one foot planted firmly outside the ring, and reaches inside to pull them out.

I wrote this quickly in school again after reading an interesting faerie book that went over many different things about Faerie. There was a small section about faerie rings and I thought it would have been a simple idea for a little drabble. The Nordics are my favorite little group and it was fun writing for them! And I apologize if it ended a little abruptly. Maybe it has left you just as confused as our poor Dane, haha.