"Come! Show me what my son is made of!"
Despite wanting to keep a cool head to best deal with the situation, Bran still found himself grinding his teeth at Arthur's words. The man who had raised him then sold him off wasn't a great guy, Bran would be the first to say that, but he was at least there. What right did this Arthur have to say that he was his father? It was just so beyond reason.
Bran dropped into a low crouch and drew the box cutter's blade against the platform's surface. He didn't know exactly what it was made of, but it had the look of marble; not a great conductor of magic, but a conductor nonetheless.
Unfortunately, despite being a good deal older than Bran, the man Arthur was highly nimble on his feet and he easily dodged the plume of flame that ripped across the surface of the tower.
"Very good," he commented with a toothy grin.
Bran rolled his eyes and dodged another swing of the chain.
