Work Text:
Kieran had known a lot of homes. Castles and palaces, huts and cottages. Regardless of where he was the garden was always his favorite place. They reminded him of home. His first home; the one he still privately thought of when he heard the word.
A small cottage with a garden in the back. Plants and herbs on the small table inside, the smell of life when it rained and the faint smell of smoke when it didn't. Memories of tending the garden with his mother and sparring with his father while his mother read were some of his fondest memories.
And Harding's room smelt like home.