Who Is The Lion In Wicked

So, picture this: I’m at a friend’s house, half-listening to the Wicked soundtrack for the umpteenth time, when her six-year-old nephew wanders in. He hears the booming voice in “No One Mourns the Wicked” and looks up, dead serious: “Who’s the real lion in this? The one who roars, or the one who’s scared?” I nearly choked on my popcorn. That kid, with all his innocent wisdom, put his finger on the very question that haunts every fan of the musical.

See, we’re not talking about the Cowardly Lion you meet in The Wizard of Oz. That guy is just the end result of a much weirder journey. In Wicked, the “Lion” isn’t a single character—it’s a symbol that swings between two creatures: the vulnerable cub and the fierce, broken adult.

Let’s start with the obvious one: Fiyero. Wait, hear me out. I know Fiyero isn’t literally a lion—he’s a Winkie prince who turns into a scarecrow by the end. But his arc is pure lion energy: all bravado, tawny hair, and lazy arrogance, hiding a heart that’s terrified of being useless. He roars to impress, but he’s really just a scared kid playing king.

Then there’s the actual lion cub, the one Elphaba and Fiyero rescue from that creepy lab. That little guy is pure vulnerability. He can’t roar yet. He’s literally a stuffed animal with a heartbeat. That cub is the story’s emotional heartbeat, because he represents every living thing the Wizard wants to control and mutilate.

But the real lion? The one the Wizard fears? That’s Elphaba. I know, I know—she’s a green girl with a broom, not a big cat. But watch her walk in “Defying Gravity.” She’s not flying; she’s prowling the sky. She bares her teeth, she roars her defiance, and she claims her territory. The green skin is just her mane.

The irony is heartbreaking: in The Wizard of Oz, the Lion is looking for courage. In Wicked, everyone around the lion is looking for courage, while the actual lion (Elphaba) has it in spades and is punished for it. It’s like the universe handing out haircuts to bald people.

Colman Domingo voicing Cowardly Lion in Wicked: For Good as new

And yet, there’s a twist I didn’t see until my third listen. The music itself is a lion. Listen to the orchestra when the Wizard enters. It purrs—low, threatening, seductive. It’s the sound of power that doesn’t need to roar because you know it can eat you. That’s a different kind of lion: the one that doesn’t stalk, but sits on a throne and lets others do the stalking.

So who is the Lion in Wicked? Everyone, and no one. It’s Fiyero, roaring for attention. It’s the cub, trembling in a cage. It’s Elphaba, roaring for justice. It’s the Wizard, roaring with machine noise. It’s even poor Boq, if you squint really hard—he’s a lion tamer who becomes a tin man, stripped of his roar.

Honestly? I think the real lion is you. Yeah, you, reading this. Because everyone who watches Wicked is asked the same question: Are you the one roaring, or the one who’s scared? Or both at the same time? When you leave the theater, you take that cub and that king home with you.

Wicked Fans Just Figured Out One of For Good's Most Surprising Details

There’s a moment in the second act, right before “For Good,” where the Lion (the fully grown, cowardly one from Oz) shows up and is just… pathetic. He’s lost his nerve, his magic, his friends. It’s a gut punch. That’s the hardest lesson: the lion can lose its roar. Not because it’s weak, but because the world grinds it down.

So next time you hear the line “A man’s called a traitor or a liberator,” think about the lion. The Wizard calls Elphaba a wicked beast, but she’s just a lion who refused to be caged. Fiyero is called a playboy, but he’s a lion who refused to be tamed. The cub? He’s the only one who isn’t called anything—he’s just survived.

And that kid—my friend’s nephew—he doesn’t know it yet, but he asked the only question that matters in the whole show. It’s not “Who is the Lion?” It’s “Who has the courage to admit they’re scared of the roar?” Usually, it’s the one who’s roaring the loudest.

So maybe we’re all lions. Maybe we’re all cubs. Maybe the green girl with the broom is the only one brave enough to say it out loud. That’s why we keep coming back to her story—not for the magic, but for the roar.