I remember telling my mom I'd make a good Spinster, just hanging out at home, doing needle work. She laughed and said, "You're black, you'd be a slave."
More than likely, you would not have been a knight, you would have been a peasant working the fields for your short life before dying of some incurable bacterial infection when you got a cut on some of your farm tools.
One of these literally shows a dead soldier in a field of flowers so, yeah.
It's idle longing. I could give up my career, move to a deeply rural area, and break my back doing menial jobs until I die of health complications at 64. I won't, but it's nice to long for the imagined simplicity sometimes y'know?
Naw, me and 63 of my closest friends are going to kill this massive hairy thing and eat the good parts, then kill another one. They can't run out, can they?