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elriel-oblivion · 3 years

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So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter.

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

#elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar

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playavacationblog-blog · 6 years

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The Berkshires in White

Recently, I asked a friend who grew up in the Berkshires how his family had spent their winters in the mountainous region. He answered with an adamant “Inside!” What a shame, I thought. Most people who've been to this western corner of Massachusetts experience it in summer-when stalwart and novice pilgrims alike cram their calendars with world-class performing and visual arts. But snowfall and cold weather hide few of the Berkshires' charms. Quite the opposite, in fact: Winter reveals many more.

This is where to trade splashing through city slush for snowshoeing in woods shared by overwintering moose, bobcats and foxes. Many of the cultural institutions don't hibernate either; the recently, splendidly restored Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center presents a busy winter schedule of filmed performances of plays by London's National Theatre; classic movies; and concerts by musicians on a spectrum from Yo-Yo Ma to Diana Ross.

A little shopping for antiques or contemporary goods, or the appeal of a massage at a mansion-housed spa, pulls some skiers and snowboarders down from the Berkshire Mountains' approximately 1,000 skiable acres. And come dinnertime, you'll find wine and craft-beer bars and locally sourced fare at cozy restaurants-where there's a good chance of finding barstools and tables by a roaring fire.

Schussing Into Winter

Berkshire towns are about 10 to 20 minutes apart by car. Hurrying is discouraged here. Driving on two-lane roads and “highways,” whose speed limits hover no higher than 50 mph, is worth it to see the snow-fluffed fields and villages-straight from a Grandma Moses painting-you'll pass along the way.

Wherever you're staying, downhill skiing for all ages is not too far away. Jiminy Peak, 12 miles from Pittsfield, is the biggest ski center in a collection of small to medium ones. (Compare Jiminy's 45 runs and 1,150-foot drop to, say, the 127 runs and 4,425-foot drop at Colorado's Telluride.) The smaller Bousquet Mountain, just south of town, is more sparsely attended and less expensive than most of its peers, part of the reason the passionately opinionated Skibum.net ranks it the best in the Berkshires. Ski Butternut, east of Great Barrington, suits the “relaxed” skier and has especially kid-friendly slopes.

Taking It Easier

Those preferring a more meditative pace can head to the Arcadian Shop in Lenox to rent cross-country skis or snowshoes. The store suggests customers use its webby footwear on Lenox's 500-acre Kennedy Park, set right behind the store and polka-dotted with walkers, skiers and sledders. After a frosty workout, you can warm up with hot drinks at the in-store Trailside Café.

A less populated swath of the silent white landscape, Hollow Fields' 40 acres are protected by the Berkshire Natural Resources Council. BNRC's occasional guided tours lead participants above the gorgeous sea of snow to look for signs of winter wildlife. Otherwise, a trail map helps you find your own way.

Museums and Performing Arts

Any Berkshire sojourner who skips Mass MoCA's enormous North Adams campus-it's the largest contemporary art museum in the country-will practically be committing a cultural crime, especially since the completion of the latest galleries, in Building Six. Along with installations by artists including Laurie Anderson and Jenny Holzer, the space houses the late Gunnar Schonbeck's handmade instruments of his own invention and appeals to even nonmusical visitors. At The Mount, Edith Wharton's former Lenox residence, the famous garden is dormant in winter, but the house regularly hosts literary events related to both Wharton's work and others'. Tours of the interior can be made by appointment at this time of year. In Stockbridge, the Norman Rockwell Museum celebrates the master American illustrator's trenchant, loving depictions of American life while also championing the work of other artists. A holiday exhibit stays up through February 2018, and “Never Abandon Imagination,” featuring American fantasy artist Tony DiTerlizzi-who cites Rockwell as an influence on a timeline between Hieronymus Bosch and Jim Henson-runs through May 2018. For HD-streamed performances by the Metropolitan Opera and the Bolshoi Ballet, movies and more, check out the schedule at Great Barrington's Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center, a landmark since 1905.

Getting House Proud

The Berkshires' range of unusual, beautiful and useful wares for any room in the house is mind-expanding. At One Mercantile, in Great Barrington, you'll find ceiling lamps with long cords in an array of colors, red metal first-aid kits worth putting on display, and rustic-chic rugs made of flattened firehoses. A short walk north leads to Farm & Home, which has shelves lined with contemporary pottery. Here, large Depression-era reach-in coolers still bear their original signage-“Please serve yourself”-but are filled with tidy rows of notebooks and many-shaped soaps (one in the form of an avocado). In the back of the store, you might run into co-owner Chapin Fish, who practices real estate at a desk in the midst of everything. In Lenox, Design Menagerie promises “Objects of Utility and Beauty” and keeps its word. Women's unusual, minimalist, un-retail-looking accessories is Rei Kawakubo–meets–Eileen Fisher; and quilts by artisan Louise Gray are flexibly designed to use on a bed or hang on a wall.

Taking the Edge Off

After a day of skiing or walking from shop to shop, think about heading to one of two mansions turned resorts for a massage or other soothing services. In Lenox, both The Potting Shed Spa at Blantyre and The Spa at Cranwell are open to nonguests-but even in colder months it's wise to make an appointment in advance.

Tasting Trio

West Stockbridge has an artsy-craftsy Main Street, but if you're not in the mood, consider giving this town its due at three cheek-by-jowl establishments of a different kind. All day at the busy No. Six Depot, the clientele lines up patiently for coffee hand-roasted on-site and takes fresh pastries, salads and paninis to tables beneath a rotating display of sophisticated works by local and international artists. The café also hosts pop-up dinners prepared by up-and-coming New England chefs. Across the street, Shaker Mill Books houses an abundance of new, used and rare books, as well as those by local authors; owner Eric Wilska is restoring a nearby barn to house even more inventory. Down the street, Charles H. Baldwin & Sons makes vanilla extract and other goodies, such as Mr. Baldwin's Proper Bloody Mary Mix and maple syrup, which are tempting enough to make adults feel like kids in a candy store (meanwhile, loads of real candy keep real kids happy too). It was the Mohicans who taught the first settlers here to tap maple trees and boil the sap down to syrup-just one bit of magic from experiencing the Berkshires in winter.

PLAY

Bousquet Mountain

101 Dan Fox Dr., Pittsfield; 413-442-8316; bousquets.com

Hollow Fields

Visit website for detailed directions

Jiminy Peak

37 Corey Rd., Hancock; 413-738-5500; jiminypeak.com

Kennedy Park

Behind the Arcadian Shop, see “Shop”

Ski Butternut

380 State Rd., Great Barrington; 413-528-2000; skibutternut.com

EXPLORE

Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center

14 Castle St., Great Barrington; 413-528-0100; mahaiwe.com

Mass MoCA

1040 Mass MoCA Way, North Adams; 413-662-2111; massmoca.org

The Mount

2 Plunkett St., Lenox; 413-551-5111; call ahead to inquire about winter operating hours; edithwharton.org

Norman Rockwell Museum

9 Glendale Rd., Stockbridge; 413-298-4100; nrm.org

10×10 Upstreet Arts Festival

The annual winter arts festival hosted by Barrington Stage Co. and Pittsfield's Office of Cultural Development hosts 10 days of dozens of events, including fireworks, a wildly popular 10-minute-play festival, art auction, poetry slam and dance performances. Feb. 15–25, 2018, at various venues, Pittsfield; 413-499-9348; discoverpittsfield.com

SHOP

Arcadian Shop

91 Pittsfield Rd., Lenox; 413-637-3010; arcadian.com

Charles H. Baldwin & Sons

1 Center St., West Stockbridge; 413-232-7785; baldwinextracts.com

Design Menagerie

26 Housatonic St., Lenox; 413-551-7528; designmenagerie.com

Farm & Home

276 Main St., Great Barrington; 413-528-9100; farmandhome.us

One Mercantile

8 Castle St., Great Barrington; 413-528-1718; one-mercantile.myshopify.com

Shaker Mill Books

3 Depot St., West Stockbridge; 413-232-0251; shakermillbooks.com

RELAX

The Potting Shed Spa at Blantyre

16 Blantyre Rd., Lenox; 844-881-0104; blantyre.com; spa services, from $125

The Spa at Cranwell

55 Lee Rd., Lenox; 413-637-1364; cranwell.com; massages, from $60

EAT

Freight Yard Pub and Restaurant

A good stop for its broad-ranging menu-think soup to nuts (or omelets to steaks)-near Mass MoCA. 1 Furnace St., North Adams; 413-663-6547; thefreightyardpub.com; dinner for two, $60*

Mission Bar + Tapas

On Thursday nights a local music collective plays at this classic neighborhood haunt with American “tapas,” like mac 'n' cheese. 438 North St., Pittsfield; 413-499-1736; missionbarandtapas.com; dinner for two, $30

No. Six Depot

6 Depot St., West Stockbridge; 413-232-0205; sixdepot.com; lunch for two, $25

Nudel

A small, airy storefront restaurant that collaborates with local farmers and craft-food makers to realize a creative yet comforting menu. 37 Church St., Lenox; 413-551-7183; nudelrestaurant.com; dinner for two, $100

The Old Inn on the Green

High-style local fare, such as Hudson Valley foie gras, served in rooms lit entirely by candle- and firelight. 134 Hartsville–New Marlborough Rd., New Marlborough; 413-229-7924; oldinn.com; dinner for two nonguests, $70

Rubi's Coffee and Sandwiches

In a sunny space at the end of an alley off Main Street, with espresso, fresh pastries, sandwiches and an enormous fireplace. 264 Main St., Great Barrington; 413-528-0488; rubiners.com; lunch for two, $25

Widow Bingham's Tavern

Dine on the likes of turkey sandwiches and Lion's Ale beer-battered haddock in a bar connected to the oldest hotel in Stockbridge. The Red Lion Inn, 30 Main St., Stockbridge; 413-298-5545; redlioninn.com; dinner for two, $50

STAY

RCI® affiliated resorts in the Berkshires include:

Vacation Village in the Berkshires 6057

All of the cushy accommodations feature a kitchen and a hot tub. 276 Brodie Mountain Rd., Hancock Member Review: “Serene and quiet setting.”

Holiday Inn Club Vacations Oak 'n Spruce Resort 1243

Equipped with an indoor pool and lots of other on-site activities for families. 190 Meadow St., South Lee Member Review: “Fantastic location.”

Berkshire Mountain Lodge D567

When you're not out and about, you'll appreciate the resort's modern amenities and plush living and dining areas. 8 Dan Fox Dr., Pittsfield Member Review: “Lots of hiking trails nearby and great scenery.”

Wind in the Pines 1903

Access to outdoor activities, shopping and great restaurants makes this an idyllic Berkshire getaway. 949 S. Main St., Great Barrington Member Review: “The rooms were excellent.”

Wyndham Bentley Brook II 7819

At the base of Jiminy Peak, this resort offers a reprieve after full days visiting the nearby attractions. 1 Corey Rd., Hancock Member Review: “Nice pool and waitstaff.”

For complete member reviews (as member reviews have been condensed) and additional resort listings, visit RCI.com or call 800-338-7777 (Weeks) or 877-968-7476 (Points). Club Members, please call your specific Club or RCI telephone number.

Search Now

Non-RCI affiliated resorts in the Berkshires include:

The Briarcliff Motel

A retro '60s-style motel conveniently located at Monument Mountain. 506 Stockbridge Rd., Great Barrington; 413-528-3000; thebriarcliffmotel.com; doubles from $90 a night

Hotel on North

No two rooms are alike at this boutique property. 297 North St., Pittsfield; 413-358-4741; hotelonnorth.com; doubles from $159 a night

The Red Lion Inn

Guests can choose between the main inn and private guest houses, many named for former residents. 30 Main St., Stockbridge; 413-298-5545; redlioninn.com; doubles from $114 a night

The Old Inn on the Green

This historic inn-a former stagecoach relay-has candlelit dining rooms and pastoral murals. 134 Hartsville–New Marlborough Rd., New Marlborough; 413-229-7924l; oldinn.com; doubles from $260 a night (including breakfast and one overnight dinner)

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