A/N: Grace is my Dragonborn character - A Redguard and native of Hammerfell. All characters are property of Bethesda.

"I don't know about this, brother." Farkas sniffed at the bowl in front of him and wrinkled his nose. "It smells awful spicy to me."

"That is the point of the challenge, Farkas," Vilkas growled. "Grace claims only Redguards can eat this dish, and we need to prove her wrong."

"For the Nords!" Torvar cheered.

Grace rolled her eyes as she placed the last bowl in front of the men. "All right, the terms once more. You have to finish your entire bowlful. Drink any liquid to stop the burn before the bowl is empty, and you lose."

"We won't lose," sneered Vilkas. "We're no milk drinkers."

"We'll see," Grace smirked. "Go."

The three men dug into their bowls and took their first bite. They paused and braced for the heat.

Nothing.

"You call this spicy?" Torvar declared. "I've had mead spicier than this!"

"It's good, though," Farkas stated, taking another bite. "I like it."

Vilkas grinned. "So much for being a challenge."

The mocking ended when the heat kicked in at bite three.

All three men fell silent, and sweat broke out on their brows. Eyes began to run, and sniffles were heard as the men continued to power through their eating. Torvar began taking bigger bites, but had to stop occasionally to fan his mouth. Vilkas took small sips of air in between bites. Farkas reached for a piece of bread at one point, but Vilkas slapped his hand away - he was not about to let his brother lose on a technicality.

Soon, spoons clattered down as all three bowls were empty. The men grinned at each other and went for the nearest bottles of ale.

"No, wait!" Grace cried, but it was too late. The bottles were empty within seconds, and the men bit back screeches as heat in their mouths exploded tenfold.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO US, WOMAN?" Vilkas bellowed. He was surprised the words came out so clearly; he thought for sure his tongue had incinerated.

"ME? You're the ones who drank ale! Everyone knows it makes the burning worse!"

"Apparently not everyone!" he yelled. His fellow challengers weren't faring much better. Torvar was drinking directly out of the nearest flower vase, and Farkas was desperately trying to clean off his tongue with his bare hands. "How do we fix this?!"

Grace stepped to the side, gesturing to three tankards sitting on a nearby table. "With these."

She barely managed to get out of the way as the men stampeded towards the table. They each grabbed a tankard and upended it, not caring that the liquid streamed down their faces and fronts as they gulped it down. Soon all three lowered their tankards, letting out a sigh of relief as the pain in their mouths finally lessened.

Grace smirked. "Milk drinkers. The lot of you."

"We won the challenge," Vilkas stated, using the back of his hand to wipe his face. "It is not our fault you did not warn us about the ale."

"That's not why I said it." Grace gestured at Vilkas's tankard. "Look."

He looked into his tankard, and saw a thin film of white liquid inside. The puddles of milk on the floor and all over their fronts confirmed it. Grumbling, the men clanked their tankards down and went downstairs to clean up.

"Gods, I haven't laughed that hard in years." Aela came out of the corner where she'd been observing the challenge, and frowned as Grace stirred the pot again. "That burns my nose from here. You really eat that?"

Grace ladled up some for a better look. "Yes… although we usually take the seeds out of the peppers first. That's where most of the heat is." She grinned at Aela. "The next time Tilma makes this, I should probably let her know that."