Bilbo usually dines with Thorin, or with the immediate family – Thorin, Dís, Dwalin, Fíli, Kíli and Tauriel. The food, therefore, is all tasted beforehand by servants, who make sure nothing is poisoned. Bilbo thinks it's necessary, but knows as every hobbit does, that not every poison works immediately. To Bilbo, what would make sense if he were to eat a bit of everything first – hobbits can taste poison, after all and are perfectly capable of digesting anything put in front of them.
Things are different, however, when there are feasts and suchlike. Assassinations in feasts are difficult, unless one poisons the target's utensils – and even then, Bilbo is perfectly away of how cutlery and crockery are passed back and forth between families. An assassin would be either very stupid or very desperate to poison the food at a feast.
But to Bilbo, neither of those things matters, in the moment where he's eating his sautéed potatoes and spinach and tastes damsblight on his tongue.
"STOP EATING!" he yells immediately, putting down his fork hurriedly. The ruckus of the feast does not immediately die down, but those at the high table with him freeze, Thorin meeting his eyes. Two seconds later, Thorin roars the same, causing silence to fall.
"Bilbo," the King looks to him, "what is the matter?"
"Poison – damsblight," he says, feeling sick for reasons other than the poison that he can feel on his tongue and the roof of his mouth. A steady set of cries from the feasting dwarrow rises, people whispering and shouting damsblight and poison. Thorin has to work his Kingly magic as a table is flipped – but Bilbo's eyes slip to Tauriel, because he can see her hand shaking as Kíli jumps over the table to help Dwalin detain a dwarf that throws a knife in Bilbo's direction, missing by a large margin.
The elf certainly has eaten her fair share already, Bilbo realises, having tended to his meats rather than his vegetables first. He gets up, going to her side as she stands, shaking. To his horror, he is the only thing that stops her completely collapsing to the floor, gasping her denial in Quenya.
"Oh, Tauriel," Bilbo whispers, knowing that she has not yet told anyone. He helps her remain settled on the ground, leaning her tall frame against him as she ducks her head. She shakes, her hands the most as she presses one to her stomach lightly. "Tauriel, oh I'm so sorry."
"Princess?" Dís starts, voice loud and drawing attention to her. The feasting dwarves cannot see her from where she sits on the stone behind the high table, but those of the Company and the Royal Family can see her plainly. Angry cries ring out – because even though she is an elf, to dwarves, children are sacred and Tauriel is of Durin, now, married to Kíli as she is. "Oín, tend to her, dammit!"
Oín, thankfully, already had the presence of mind to come check on her, kneeling by her side before Dís finished speaking. He reaches into the bag of herbs at his belt, taking out one that will make Tauriel expel what she has eaten. Bilbo hates himself as he speaks next.
"It's too late, Oín, elves metabolise food quicker. The effects are easily seen, already – she's miscarrying." A sound escapes Tauriel's lips and to Bilbo's guilt – oh, why could I have not eaten my meat second? – he realises she is crying. He wraps an arm around her as Kíli realises what's going on.
"No!"
"Good riddance!" shouts the dwarf he and Dwalin are detaining, Kíli immediately roaring in his face, drawing a sword from the belt of the nearest dwarf, holding it to his neck, deliberately slicing hairs from his beards as he does.
"For the act of poisoning my wife and murdering my unborn child, an heir of Erebor, I ask my King to sentence this dwarf with the punishment of execution!"
"If there were any proof that he did such things, I would," Thorin rumbles, voice full of anger. "He will be placed in a cell, but not before he is punished for the attempted murder of my Consort. Take his beard, son of my heart." Kíli snarls, but begins to shear him with the borrowed sword, the feasting dwarves calling out in hateful Khuzdul to the shamed dwarf.
Tauriel, still crying, presses her head into Bilbo's tunic as Oín takes her temperature and pulse, shaking his head and ordering nearby guards to get a stretcher big enough for her. They comply, two disappearing out of the half-dozen, the remaining four making a crescent around them. Bilbo strokes Tauriel's silken hair, crooning in Quenyan Elvish to her. Unlike Sindarin, he isn't completely fluent, but he must be doing well enough for Tauriel, because she doesn't complain.
Kíli eventually joins them behind the high table, the stretcher arriving as he does. Bilbo lets her go as he takes her, helping her onto the pallet, holding her hand and kissing her forehead. He lets Thorin gather him in his arms as he speaks to Nori, who nods sharply at whatever he's been ordered to do. Bilbo feels numb, voices passing through his ear and out the other.
Oh, Kíli and Tauriel. I'm so sorry.