National Treasure 3: Croatoa

This is my interpretation of how the next National Treasure movie should play out. It's a bit more Riley centered than the actual movies, but he's my favorite character so I couldn't help myself! Also, as I see this actually playing out in my head like a movie, forgive me if it seems a little more screenplay-esque than novel-esque. In other words, it's very dialogue driven.

Flashback

Within a darkened tent lit only by a lantern resting on a cot-side table, a small boy sporting a mop of black hair sits on his father's lap, peering up at him with soft blue eyes. Looking bored, he continues reciting the last lines of the story while his father nods in approval.

"…and should you chance upon the warrior, stare deep into his eyes; for if you stand strong and pierce right through his burning gaze, only his eyes-"

"-eye, son, eye. It's just one."

The boy sighs, rolling his own eyes, "only his eye will reveal the truth."

"Well done, son," the father says, ruffling the boy's hair. The boy suddenly looks up and watches as a pale young woman pushes the tent flap open and makes her way around a table stacked high with books and papers. Smiling, she sits on the cot next to her husband and son.

"Did he get it right today?" she asks her husband.

"Almost," he replies, "He's still messing up on the 'eye' part."

She looks sternly down into her son's eyes. "You must remember it correctly, sweetheart. The end is the most important part of the story."

"But, mom," the boy says, pouting out his lower lip, "I remember the original song all the way. How come that isn't enough?"

"Because, baby, the song means nothing if you don't understand the words. If you forget what the lyrics mean, you won't remember the story the song tells. You do like the story about the warrior, right?"

"Yeah…but I don't really get the end part," he admits, looking down sheepishly.

"You will one day, sweetheart, you will."

She pats his leg as he gives her a hopeful look. "Can we sing it now, momma?"

"Yes, baby, we can."

The father picks up the boy and places him on his mother's lap, watching on in silence as she starts to sing in a Native American tongue. Picking up a wooden flute, he plays along with her singing, the two of them filling the small tent with a haunting tune. Pausing, he leans down and whispers into the boy's ear, smiling.

"You're not going to let her sing it all by herself, are you?" he says.

The boy smiles and shakes his head from side to side. Picking up in time with his mother, he sings along with her in perfect unison, never missing a syllable despite the complex language of the song.