"When will he come, Mother?" Cersei’s head was rested—not on her mother’s swollen belly, but in the space just above it, close to her heart. She could hear her mother’s lazy heartbeat, kaThump, kaThump, as steady as Jaime’s was.
"Soon, my love." Mother’s voice was soft, and her hand was woven through Cersei’s golden curls and she felt so secure, so safe. "And he might be a she. You may have a sister instead of a brother."
"I want another brother. I want another Jaime. Please, mother, have a boy?" Jaime wanted another Cersei, but Cersei was sure that if she asked Mother very nicely, Mother would heed her request. Mother liked her better than Jaime. Mother spent more time with her than with Jaime.
Mother just chuckled. ”I shall try, my sweet. Another Tywin, like your father perhaps. Or Tyrion, like the old kings of the Rock.”
"Tyrion," said Cersei. "I like the name Tyrion. It would be strange to have another father."
Mother laughed. ”You do not even understand the depth of truth to your words, my love. Westeros would not survive if there were two of him. Tyrion then. We’ll name him Tyrion. Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion. What a fine set of Lannisters!”
Cersei nuzzled into her mother, hiding the smile on her lips. She didn’t know why she hid it. She tried not to hide things from her mother (except that, but only because they’d gotten in trouble the first time). But this smile—this smile was for her unborn baby brother. This smile was for Tyrion.