One fascinating thing about the Valar is the narrative superfluousness of most of them.
If we wanted the bare minimum number of Valar, for, say, a blockbuster film, how many are necessary for plot purposes?
Manwe
Varda (because of her significance as the one most revered by the Elves)
Ulmo
Aule (largely because of Dwarves)
Yavanna (marginally, because of the Two Trees)
Mandos
Nienna (because of her weeping over the Trees)
Orome (largely because of Huan)
Tulkas (whose part is major early on but quickly fades out)
(Melkor, obviously)
Even of these ten I've named, many, as I've hinted above, only occupy the stage briefly. Tulkas, for instance, is soon heard of no more, because the Valar, detached and inactive, no longer really seem to fit with his portrayal as a warrior unleashed. I always imagine the sad image of a domesticated Tulkas, bored and apathetic, maybe occasionally going out for a desultory run, by the time of the later Silmarillion.
As an introduction to the overall corpus of the Quenta Silmarillion - what we might call the Noldolante - the Valaquenta is, then, curiously ineffective.
Or is it?
Do we see the Valar, conspicuous by their absence though they might be, through the actions of the Elves and Men they've apparently abandoned? Is there something of Tulkas in the defiance of Hurin at the end of the Nirnaeth? Something of Nienna in her near-namesake Nienor? Ulmo in the songs of Daeron and Maglor?
Well, maybe. Or maybe, inactive though they are in person, the song of the Valar lingers in Beleriand.
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Actually, one of my favourites among the Valar is one I did not list above. I was reminded when I reread this chapter of the beauty of the description of Este, spouse of Irmo, who is scarcely mentioned outside the Valaquenta. The peace and rest she offers is exactly what I'd seek if I were to go West. Not majestic Lights or mighty cities, just a quiet, soft grey garden of Lorien...
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Among the friendly dead, being bad at games did not seem to matter
-Il Lupo Fenriso
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