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.