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Arthur wasn't a forgiving man. It had never been taught or encouraged since forgiveness wasn't a particularly kingly trait. He hadn't forgiven his father for what he'd done to his mother. He hadn't forgiven Morgana for the death and destruction she'd wrought upon Camelot. He hadn't forgiven his uncle for his deceit. He wasn't even sure he'd ever truly forgiven Gwen for her infidelity. No, now he realized that hadn't been forgiveness, but merely him trying to forget.
Of course this revelation was only possible because he was dying. He lay there helpless, body weak and heart breaking, as his dearest friend confessed to a lifetime's worth of lies. Merlin was a sorcerer, he had violated the most sacrosanct laws of his kingdom, he had betrayed his trust over and over again. Yet it had all been for him. Merlin looked so desperate when he said that, so eager to be believed, to be forgiven. He heard the other man weep all night, heard the whispered apologies, heard the crushing guilt he'd born all these years.
Of course he forgave him. He'd forgiven him the moment the truth had left his lips. How could he not? Yes, he'd needed time to process, to grieve the relationship he thought they had, but in the end this was still Merlin, his Merlin, and he'd be damned if he let a little magic come between them now.