On the march across Rohan Merry is healed orc-style.
Rough hands grabbed Merry by the shoulders, forcing him upright. His world whirled around him: grass and sky, the occasional tree, and the laughing horde of Orcs all around.
The bandage was ripped off; those hands rubbed a rancid salve into his forehead. "Can't take his medicine!" the harsh voices jeered.
Uglúk forced the draught down Merry. The hobbit gagged and spewed, but some crept down his throat. His leg bonds were cut, and Merry was pulled to his feet. Pale, yes, grim and defiant -- but very much alive.
He turned to face his cousin and smiled wanly. "Hullo, Pip."