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Chapter Text

An ordinary man would have never heard the light sound of a tiny metal fist knocking on the massive door.

But with the curse that gave him his power came preternatural hearing and an instinctual attraction to any desperate soul in the vicinity with an interest in making him a deal. He was certainly getting a strong whiff of that from behind the door, which in itself was quite unusual.

It had been nearly a decade since anyone had had the guts to visit him in situ. What was wrong with people these days, he thought irritably. Too scared to visit the monster in his lair or just too lazy? Now everybody expected him to come to them or worse still he had to go seek them out himself, skulking around towns looking out for desperate people. It was getting tiresome.

It was a harsh night out too, freezing rain on its way to turning into sleet and snow. Of course in Rumplestilskin’s garden in the courtyard of the Dark Castle winter never came and the enchanted roses were always in full bloom, but then no one knew about the courtyard except him, much as he would’ve liked to share it with someone.

Insistent, though slightly weaker than before, came the tapping at the door. Of course, he could have appeared in front of the supplicant in a cloud of purple smoke, but sometimes the Lord of the Dark Castle liked to do things the old fashioned way. He walked to the door and prised the rusty thing it open. The sudden movement of the door, so long left unopened, dislodged a bit of snow from the stone ledge above. It fell to the ground with a soft thump as Rumplestiltskin opened the door the rest of the way.

He stared through the doorway at the rain, the sleet and the grey November sky outside and saw no visitor.

Who had knocked at his door? Was it a prank? He looked around for some foolhardy prankster hiding in the bushes, but saw no one. A dove cooed down at him from a tree. Rumplestilskin snarled. Every since one ruined his deal with the miller’s daughter he’d hated the damn birds.

“Sir!” squeaked a tiny, high-pitched voice, in an oddly clipped military manner. “Sir, down here, sir!”

He peered down to see something small, shiny and metal, wiggling its way out of a tiny snow drift at his feet. What in the world was it? A person under a shrinking spell perhaps? Gently he melted some of the snow around the wriggling thing to see.

“How in the world--?” he marveled at the little creature which now stood stiffly at attention, still immersed halfway in the snow drift, one hand holding the butt of a metal rifle, the tiny point of a bayonet resting against its shoulder, its other hand lifted in salute. He could tell from the strange silver aura around it that it was not an ordinary person under a curse. This was magic, yes, but of an unfamiliar kind. He had seen living beings transmuted into other forms, had done it frequently enough on his own, turning humans into snails and living beings into dolls. But to do the reverse, to give a lifeless inanimate object a spirit and a mind and a voice? Such a thing had never been done! Perhaps he was merely imagining it. Had the thing actually spoken? Here was a magic Rumplestilskin had never seen before in all his years in the Enchanted Forest. Through all his studies on magic and curses, he had yet to read about a curse that could bring a toy to full life like this, so that it was a creature that could think and feel and express itself like a regular human being. How utterly peculiar. He wondered what the purpose of such a magic might be. Its signature was nothing like he’d ever seen before.

He peered down at it and watched as the tiny figure pulled itself forward using its rifle to help drag itself through the snow. The snow layer was barely an inch and a half high, but the tiny soldier was nearly hip deep in the stuff. It would have been comical if the little thing hadn’t been so clearly struggling.

“S-s-salutations oh merciful Lord of the D-d-dark Castle!” stuttered the tiny creature in a high pitched squeak of a voice as it broke free from the snow at last. “News of your great power and generous dealings have reached far and wide throughout the kingdom.”

“Have they now?” The corner of Rumplestiltskin’s mouth twitched into a smile. Merciful dealings indeed, whoever this peculiar creature was messenger for, its master had certainly told it to lay the flattery on with a trowel.

“Who are you an emissary for?” Rumple asked the tin soldier. “A powerful witch or warlock has sent you perhaps to ask for a meeting?”

“No sir,” squeaked the tin soldier. “I am here of my own accord for my own purpose. I wish to deal with you, oh Great and Powerful Dark One, sir!”

“Well in that case, you might as well come in and give me your name. It’s always important to know who one is dealing with in these circumstances, Captain…”

“Not Captain, sir!” corrected the tiny creature in its squeaky voice. “I have yet to earn that honour, sir. Private Roberta Bell at your service, sir!”

“Right,” said Rumplestiltskin. Someday, he thought idly, he would have to write his memoirs. He could entertain himself reading about his most bizarre deals during dull nights alone in the castle. Yes, he decided, he would take up the worthy task tonight, as soon as he dealt with the ridiculously tiny soldier.

He watched in amusement as the little thing used its tiny metal rifle as a pole to pole vault over the threshold of the Dark Castle into the warmth of the impressive front hall.

Once again, Private Bell was dismayed to find herself up to her knees in the plush, resistant fibres of the Dark One’s fancy area rug. At this rate it would take her forever to get to the dining room.

With an impatient wave of his hand Rumplestiltskin teleported himself and the tin soldier to the dining room, making sure the soldier ended up on a plate on the dining table.

Chapter Text

Rumplestiltskin steepled his hands together and studied the little creature. Really, it was the oddest thing. Private Bell was made entirely of metal covered over with paint. She had a little captain’s hat painted blue, and dark brown painted hair tied into a pigtail down her back, a tiny little khaki coloured rucksack and incongruously rosy cheeks and red lips for a soldier. Miniscule dabs of white paint with even smaller dabs of blue inside served as her eyes. Her little uniform was painted a darker blue and tiny dots of gold and silver paint picked out what he supposed were meant to be medals and insignias of rank. Her body did not look particularly curvy or feminine, but then perhaps such details would be hard to notice due to her small size and the strictures of the uniform.

The paint seemed to have been licked away the further down her uniform his eyes travelled. There were more black streaks and tiny bubbles in the paint job the further down you went. He could see that when it had been cast from the mold, the soldier’s feet had been placed apart as if it was striding on parade, connected together with a little metal base that should’ve been rectangular with a flat bottom, but had melted into an irregularly shaped metal puddle, along with two small lumps that had probably been formed into feet originally.

So this was the problem. He was glad it wasn’t something silly and trivial. He was surprised to find he had already formed quite a high opinion of the little soldier in the short space of time that he had known her and was pleased to see she hadn’t come to ask for something selfish or frivolous like wealth, fame, to marry a prince and live in a castle or for some terrible fate to befall a business competitor like most people did. Back when he had just been an ordinary man, Rumplestiltskin had been a soldier too. As a result of that little adventure he had suffered for fourteen years with a painful limp before assuming the mantle of the Dark One and all the power that came with it. He understood why someone would seek him out to correct such an affliction.

“May I take a look?” the Dark One asked politely.

“Yes of course,” said Private Bell and he picked her up in the palm of his hand and gently examined the melted metal.

“Were you in a fire?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded Private Bell. “I was nearly killed.”

“And did it hurt when this occurred?” He knew it was a little nosy, but he was still quite curious about the little creature and what it was possible for it to think and feel. He was eager to discover if it was quite like a regular human in all respects other than being made of metal and being tiny, of course.

“Oh yes,” said the tin soldier solemnly. “You must understand, we tin soldiers don’t feel things like humans do. Not hot or cold or tired or hungry. But this, it was nearly more than I could bear.”

The Dark One’s heart, rumoured to be made of metal or stone itself, but actually quite human underneath all the scales and armour, softened at this. “I may have to melt part of it to reshape it back into its original form,” he said, nodding to her base. “I’m afraid it may cause you pain again, but unfortunately there’s really no other way I know of fixing you. I hesitate to use magic. You are magical already, but I am unfamiliar with what magic created you. If it is light magic, it may not mix too well with my own and whatever I try magically could do more harm than good.”

Private Bell looked up at the sorcerer in confusion. “What- what are you talking about?” she asked bluntly.

Rumplestilskin’s reptilian eyes widened in irritation. “I don’t know what is so difficult to understand. Your base was melted in a fire you, said. It was extremely painful, you said. To fix it I may have to re-melt it and shape it, because I’m not using my magic on you, whatever you are. Get it?”

“Oh no, I believe I haven’t explained myself quite thoroughly,” said the small soldier, distressed, drawing herself up to her full height. “I do not feel hot or cold. I was in no pain from my base and feet being melted or my paint being licked off by the fire.”

“But you said—“

“It hurt dreadfully, but it hurt here,” said Private Bell and had she been able to cry tears she would have sobbed buckets, as she thumped her miniscule chest with one hand. “My love threw himself into the fire to save me and now I am all alone, the only one like me in all the world. I miss him more than words can say.”

“So you want me to make another one? Another one like you?”

“N-no. I came to you because I thought, if any in this world could, you could return my love to me.”

“I’m sorry, but before you came here you must have known, I cannot return the dead to life. It is one of the rules that binds my magic, as it does everyone else’s.”

“But he’s not dead,” said Private Bell stoutly. “He’s right here, with me.” And she took off her rucksack and held it up to Rumplestilskin like it was the rarest, most precious treasure in the universe. “I travel with him always.”

“What?”

He put the tiny soldier down and took her proffered rucksack as delicately as he could in his clawed hands. Carefully he emptied its contents out onto a tea saucer, wondering what he might find. To his surprise all that came out was a tiny pink gem that caught the light in such a way that it seemed to glow from within.

An odd blush rose to Private Bell’s painted cheeks as he gingerly touched the stone. “May I introduce Corporal Gold, the bravest soldier I’ve ever known,” she said, breathing rapidly, “the man I love.”

“It’s a ruby,” said Rumplestilskin flatly.

“No, sir,” said Private Bell picking the gem up in her hands. “Look closer.”

A magnifying glass instantly appeared in Rumplestilskin’s hand, allowing him to see the gem more closely.

Except it wasn’t a gem. He gasped as he realized instantly what it was. He was so surprised he nearly dropped it. The tiny pink thing glowed from within in Private Bell’s hands. It glowed and pulsed and if he heighted his hearing the sound of it was audible. Lub dub, lub dub. It was a tiny magical heart. And it was beating.

“How is this possible?” Rumplestilskin marveled. “Where is his body?”

“Melted to ash,” sighed Private Bell. “When the fire burnt itself out, his noble heart was all that was left.”

“I have never heard of such a thing happening to a human being before,” mused the sorcerer, “not even a magical one. If the brain and body are gone, then a heart, even a heart that has been removed with magic will die as well.”

“Maybe so, but he is not a human being,” argued the tin soldier, “and neither am I. Magic created us. Perhaps magic has preserved his heart alive as well.”

“You could be right,” said Rumplestilskin slowly. “This is a living heart, for all the body that it once contained may be dust. And you say he was made of metal, just as you are?”

“Oh yes,” said Private Bell, eager to offer the sorcerer whatever he needed in order to revive her friend. “Tin just like me.”

“I make no promises,” intoned the Dark One. “But if I am able to return your love to you, you will owe me a favour of my choosing, understand? ”

“Understood, sir!” cried Private Bell and saluted him. “Thank you, sir!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Rumplestilskin, “This may take a while.” And then he disappeared in a puff of purple smoke with the tiny heart in his hand.

Chapter Text

THE DOVE

Up in his work room the sorcerer examined the small heart under a microscope of his own invention. It was part technology taken from Victor Frankenstein’s lab in the World Without Colour and partialy a magical arrangement of lenses as per his own creative design.

As delicately as he could he adjust the focus knob with two clawed fingers. Just as he was going to get the magnification absolutely perfect, a sound from outside the window of his tower distracted him.

It was that accursed dove from outside cooing irritatingly from the tree branch adjacent to the window of his workroom. Rumplestiltskin shot out his hand and summoned the dove over through telekinesis, eager to do it some mischief for ruining his concentration, but as the dover floated over his way on a ribbon of magic, a grand idea suddenly occurred to him. He really did want to get this business with the tin soldier over and done with. It bothered him having someone else in the castle, even someone so small and apparently harmless as the little toy soldier. He wouldn’t have said it in so many words, would never admit it, but having other people around in his domain made him feel peculiarly vulnerable. It was easy enough to surpress his need for company and deep loneliness and longing for friendship when he was just around another person for a short time, however if the period of time was extended indefinitely, he worried his barriers would breakdown under the onslaught of need seething within him and he’d give in to the pressure in his soul to touch someone else, to try to love someone else and he knew how that always ended up for him.

Magic always came with a price, he often told others. His own magic was great, as was the price it demanded. Because of what and who and how he was he would always remain alone, apart from other people. He could never be loved. The last person who’d even considered loving him had been so disgusted by the thought that she had ripped her own heart out to make her disconcerting feelings stop. He had made himself weak and vulnerable for Cora, letting him fool himself into thinking that she could love him and she had hurt him badly. He would not make the same mistake again, not even to let in a friend. Yes, it was best to let this business with the tin soldier end quickly, to return her love’s heart to a functioning body as soon as possible, so he could send her on her way. He did not like the way she was making him feel and he had only known her for half a day.

Of course, she’d never specified what manner of body she needed her love to be returned to her in. With a mischevious grin, Rumplestilskin took the valiantly struggling bird in his hand and magically extracted its heart. In its place he put the heart of Corporal Gold into the bird’s chest and teleported downstairs in a puff of purple smoke.

Rumplestilskin popped up behind Private Bell startling her so badly, she backed up on her stand and tipped over into a nearby tea cup. Peeping up from inside the cup she saw the wizard holding a sleeping dove in his hand in front of her.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Why it is Corporal Gold!” said the magician. “I have inserted his heart into the body of this dove for you.”

Private Bell raised one tiny painted eyebrow.

“Well you never specified how you wanted him returned to you, just alive you said and just think how useful he’ll be now that he’s in this form! Why he’ll be able to fly you around wherever you choose, to whatever location you desire. Why think of all the adventures you two will have!”

Rumplestiltskin set the dove down on the table by the teacup that held the still skeptical Private Bell.

Annoyed by her wide eyed stare and the dove’s motionless behavior he poofed her out of the teacup in a puff of purple smoke, beside the bird.

Private Bell bent down near the dove’s closed eye and said softly, “Corporal Gold, Corporal Gold, please wake up! It is I, your faithful comrade in arms, Private Roberta Bell! Please come back to me, I love you!”

But the dove did not budge or open its eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Rumplestilskin. “Why does he not wake?”

“Um, uh—“ the sorcerer hemmed and hawed. Truly for the life of him he could not fathom what was wrong.

Chapter Text

THE DOVE- PART 2

“I think I will have to try again,” the sorcerer muttered rather sheepishly. “This matter may require further study. Uh, why don’t you come back in a fortnight and I shall have your answer then.”

“Come back?” asked the distressed little soldier. “But I have already traversed three kingdoms just to get here and it has taken me so many years. My steps, you see are quite small indeed. I cannot go back to where I came from. Not yet. I will not leave until you do as I asked. Return my friend to me,” she commanded stubbornly, seemingly unaware of her tiny size and the wizard’s great power.

He could have ended her with a single snap of his fingers, yet she stood before him on a teacup saucer undaunted and unafraid.

Rumplestiltskin sighed and ran his hand through his silver curls until they stood on end. He gnashed his rotten fangs in a way he hoped might intimidate the tiny soldier into leaving, but she remained standing steadfast, though slightly askew on her warped tin base. Whatever would he do with her?

“You must leave,” he growled.

“I will not depart this castle until you help me,” returned the squeaky voice. “Come, is this simple task truly beyond your great power?”

“What makes you think I can’t just make you leave any time I want?” sneered Rumplestiltskin, ignoring her last question. “I have taken nothing from you. If I return the heart there is no deal and we are even,” he said.

Then with a snap of his fingers Gold’s heart was back in the tiny rucksack on Private Bell’s back and the dove’s heart was back inside the dove’s breast and both the dove and Private Bell were outside the walls of the Dark Castle.

Rumplestiltskin was inside, safe from the tin soldier’s pleas at last.

So why did he feel so badly? Rumplestiltskin kicked some priceless treasures around his room. He rearranged one his three magical fleeces, the copper, the silver and the gold. But still he could not relax. What he needed was another desperate soul and some normal deal he could easily fulfill to bring him back to himself, he realized. Yes, of course, that was it!

In a puff of purple smoke he was gone to the village tavern to satisfy a young man’s foolish crush on an oblivious tavern wench.

His deal done, the Dark One returned that evening to his castle, feeling much better. Upon his arrival he was initially pleased, and then strangely a little disappointed not to see any ridiculous, tiny, painted soldier mucking up the bleak gray granite of the front steps.

As he entered the castle he couldn’t help observing that something was indeed amiss. With his excellent hearing he picked up the sound of splashing water from somewhere deep within the castle. Thinking the kitchen may have flooded from the underground well beneath it he poofed himself downstairs and was met by quite the bizarre sight.

There in the sink, wearing bits of steel wool upon its tiny hands like mittens, was the little tin soldier, methodically scrubbing the stuck on grease and grime off the wizard’s pots, pans and cauldrons.

“How did you get in?” demanded Rumplestiltskin, aghast at the strange spectacle. “I have thousands of magical wards up to protect this castle from intruders! How did you get past them?”

“There are cracks in the stone work by the front door,” said the soldier with a shrug of her little epaulets. “They weren’t that hard to find. The wards are designed to keep out full sized humans, not little creatures like me. How do you think all the mice got in?”

“I have mice?” gasped the Dark One.

Chapter Text

I HAVE MICE!

“I have mice?” gasped the Dark One in shock.

“Yes,” answered the tin soldier.

“You must tell me where their nest is now!” insisted the wizard. “If they are running loose in the castle, they might chew threw the sacks of my magical ingredients and consume them or spill my potions or gnaw on my enchanted grain in the pantry. This is too unspeakable for words!”

“I will tell you where they nest within your walls if you return my lost love to me,” said Private Bell.

Rumplestiltskin studies the pots and pans and cauldrons and urns the little soldier had been so valiantly scrubbing. They sparkled and shone now with new vitality. What was once tarnished crusted metal now gleamed silver by the flickering lights of the kitchen candelabra. She certainly has a way with metal, he thought. With metal…metal! That’s it! Of course putting Gold’s heart into the dove wouldn’t work. Its natural state was to be housed in a body of metal! The answer was staring him right in the face!

“All right,” he said to the tiny tin soldier. “You’ve proven your determiniation to me, so let’s make it official. In a puff of smoke a tiny contract appeared in one of Rumplestilskin’s hand and a miniscule quill, no bigger than a toothpick appeared in the other.

“The price for what you wish for me to accomplish is for you to finish cleaning all the metal pots and pans in this kitchen and then when you are done with that, to dust all the small magical items in my cabinet of curiosities,” explained the sorcerer.

“And once this is done my love will be returned to me?” implored Private Bell.

“Indeed he will,” promised the wizard.

“Then we have a deal sir!” saluted the soldier. After taking the tiny contract parchment and quill from the wizard’s enormous clawed hands, without flinching the tin soldier read it and signed with a flourish. “There.”

Rumplestilskin was pleased. At least this would buy him some time and having her down in the scullery cleaning out the pots would keep her out of his hair and hopefully off his mind. Not that he really cared a lick for the ridiculous little creature and wanted to avoid her for fear of losing his heart to her, no absolutely not, it was only to keep him from being distracted. Yes, that was it.

Chapter Text

And so Private Bell began her work on the giant mound of dirty metal pots, pans, urns, silverware and cauldrons that had collected over Rumplestilskin’s many years in the Dark Castle.

He had never bothered to clean them, even magically. What’s the point when you can just magically create a new pot or teleport a new one into the castle whenever you wished?

The job was overwhelming and tedious, but the tin soldier had love and determination on her side. Also, as a tin soldier, Private Bell did not possess the ordinary needs and weaknesses of human beings. She never needed to sleep or eat and never grew tired. Thus, she could scrub continuously from morning until night and keep a steady pace the whole time. She did not need to break her work to slake her thirst or to indulge in even the humblest repast. She was never forced to take a nap out of exhaustion. Her mind was made of metal too, and once honed to a task it never grew bored or distractable, but focused on it until it was completed.

Occasionally, Rumplestilskin passed by the scullery to check and see how she was getting on. It was absolutely NOT to make sure the little creature hadn’t fallen down the drain of the sink or gotten stuck under a heavy metal cauldron or to make sure its little metal hands hadn’t been worn down to nubs from all that scrubbing. No, of course not, it was just to make sure the soldier wasn’t shirking her duty, that was all.

One night, Rumplestilskin astonished himself by being suddenly consumed with worry that Private Bell would rust from washing all those pots and pans in sudsy water. In a frantic haze of anxiety he popped into the kitchen under an invisibility spell to see how his tiny scullery maid was doing.

She was still at the pots and had not a speck of rust on her as far as he could tell. Then he remembered how she had first come to the castle after trudging through days of rain and snow that would have rusted any ordinary tin objection, not to mention all the days and nights she’d spent outdoors in all sorts of weather, in all her years travelling in her long journey from her home to his castle. He imagined she must’ve had quite a few adventures on that trip. He suddenly entertained the fond fantasy of the little soldier sitting by his hand at the dinner table, telling him tales of her travels as he sipped on soup and tea. How companionable that would be!

Suddenly, a sound broke him from his reverie. It was a high pitched kind of whistling sound, like someone playing a narrow bodied tin flute. Only it wasn’t a tin flute, of course. Listening carefully he could hear words being formed into a tune. The little tin soldier was singing in time to the sound of the steel wool scouring the pots:

Scrub scrub scrub
I scrub for love
Every night and every day.
Scrub scrub scrub
I scrub for love,
For magic’s price I’d gladly pay,
To hold your hand once more my love
All the night and all of the day.

Oddly touched, the wizard vanished once again, to reappear in his workroom. He had to think, think, think. There was no turning back now. Somehow he must do right by the little creature. His reputation, (he dare not say his heart), was on the line.