His strength did not return before Hap had managed to maneuver itself into position as Wilhelm’s support. This was, however, less humiliating than having to allow someone else to feed him. He’d already gone through it was, he’d rather not repeat the ordeal. So he did not protest as his head was lifted and settled off the floor. In truth, Hap’s legs were no more or less comfortable than the furs his head had been resting on, but it was that tilted support that was important. 

He might have found the help in picking up the bowl himself just as bothersome had the Keeper said anything about it, but Hap did not. So Wilhelm endured. It would not have been his place to protest any help offered in the first place, but he would have found it difficult to resist. All that truly mattered was that the food reached his stomach with as little fuss as possible. He still did not enjoy the process, and struggled once more to keep it down. But it stayed where they put it, and then threatened to return when Hap pushed a plant at him that wrinkled his nose and turned his head.

Wilhelm grumbled his protests then, a wordless refusal to open his mouth that trembled through nearly every part of him. But it merely spoke over his noise and he could not refute simple logic. If it worked, and he could get that herb down, it would be good for him. If it did not, the Keeper could not blame him, surely it could taste that scent on its own tongue. Lying so thick on the air as it was. But it was that last sentence that defeated him. It would not do to die here, lying down and inconvenient to even one isolated being. The light had called him to stay alive, and death came with walking. If he hadn’t the strength to stand and continue on his way, then he could not die here. Where someone would see.

It was a firmly entrenched instinct as much as it was a religious philosophy. In death, a troll moved on. 

Finally he grunted and opened his lips and then his teeth, loosening his jaw enough that Hap could set the herb in his mouth. In this, pride did not win over the desire to keep that smell off of his hands if he could. His lips were even pulled back as tightly as he could manage. Once it was within, he chewed once, abandoned the attempt and simply swallowed over a gag, rolling over to cough reflexively as he forced the herb down. At least it was a sign that there was still life in him, if he had the energy enough to move when desperate not to choke. The movement did not agree with him, but eventually everything was in his stomach where it should be, and he could answer the question.

“Anything you have to offer, I will eat, little one.” Provided it was not of the elements, at least. Trolls were not picky, and they usually had strong stomachs. It was just his trouble that he’d neglected his a little too long. “I sympathise now with your beasts.”